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chalkmarkers · 3 years

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hq characters and how they’d react to you holding their hand for the first time pt. 1

includes: karasuno and nekoma

a/n: this is my first headcannon and i honestly did NOT expect to write this much but i was having a big brain moment so i hope you all enjoy :) part two will include fukurodani, aoba johsai, and shiratorizawa <3

hinata - this boy is dramatic about everything, his face turns beat red as your skin makes contact with his. he will look at you, look at your hand, look back at you, back at your hand, at least 4 times. After calming down from stuttering for almost a whole minute, he realizes hes not imagining it, and his face lights up with joy and pride as he continues to walk- no, SKIP to your destination swinging your hand enthusiastically. all you can do is giggle at the bright ball of joy and skip along with him

kageyama- this man does not know how to react at ALL. all he knows is he has to look cool. at first glance he looks unphased, but upon closer inspection you can see the tips of his ears are bright red as hes trying to hold back the giddiest smile. eventually he gives your hand a nice lil squeeze of affirmation and looks the other way as you continue walking

yamaguchi- a flustered mess honestly, and adorable at that. he’ll flinch a little as your hand first grabs his and his face will light up. hes not sure what to say or do about it but on the inside hes just so happy to have you, so after a few seconds of him trying to hide his obvious blush and calm his composure, he’ll interlock your fingers and give you the softest smile ever

tsukishima- tsukki isnt really one for physical affection, so it takes a while before you can get the courage to hold his hand. youre walking to school together and youre still quite far from the building, so there arent many people around if any, so you decide its the perfect opportunity. once your fingers first meet his, he flinches and pulls away ever so slightly. he’ll slightly glance at you questionably and see your expression drop after his rejection. he hates seeing you even the smallest bit upset so this hurt him a bit. his face softens as he looks away and grabs your hand ever so slightly. your surprised look then beaming smile at him is something he can’t resist and his lips form the biggest smile you’ve seen from him yet (which is still pretty small). you hold his hand will joy and pride all the way until you get closer to the school and more people start to gather around, which signals his release from his grasp. he truly appreciates and adores how much you respect his boundaries and if youre patient enough, he’ll be holding your hand all the way to the classroom

nishinoya - similar to hinata, noya is very dramatic about this encounter. He will stop dead in his tracks and simply stare at your interlocked hands for a while, wiggling his fingers and inspecting your hand, almost to confirm that what is happening is real. After a good minute he’ll look up at you and give you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen as he literally jumps with joy and pride as he too will skip to your destination, dragging you along with him as he screams in excitement

tanaka- tanaka.exe has stopped working. He’ll be pretty casual about it at first, not really noticing the contact, but after a few seconds he finally realizes that you are in fact holding hands. This simple interaction is enough to fill tanaka to the brim with joy, pride, excitement, and embarrassment. He’d be a blushing mess, but, like kageyama, he will try to keep a cool facade. He’s now switched into protective mode and is glaring daggers at any man you pass by, causing you to laugh and adore how protective and sweet he is. After this, you can expect him to be holding your hand everywhere you go from now on ;)

daichi - Daichi isn’t as reactive as the others, but on the inside hes just as flustered and happy as he can be. He’ll be surprised by the sudden contact at first, giving your hand a glance as you interlock your fingers with his. He takes a moment to really notice how small your hands are compared to his and he finds this absolutely adorable. He’ll look up at you and simply take in your beauty, truly appreciating that you are now his as he brings your hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss on the back of your palm, causing you to slightly blush. Your gaze never leaves in front of you and yet you can still see the soft smile daichi has on his face as you continue to walk

sugawara- suga would be a nice combination of daichi and noya, immediately blushing the second your hand meets his. Hed be stuttering for a few seconds after that, trying to really take in just how adorable you are. This simple interaction pulls at the poor boys heart strings so hard he has to grip his chest just to calm down his racing heart beat. All it takes is one look at you and that precious smile to calm him down almost instantly. He takes a minute to just gaze at your features, taking in the entirety of your beauty. The boy can’t help but smile lovingly at you as all he can say after that is a simple but heartfelt “i love you”

asahi - much to your surprise, asahi is calmer than you thought he would be. As soon as the tip of your finger meets his, your hand melts into his, almost like he had been waiting for it. He grips your hand so softly as this time, you're the one to be surprised at the sudden gesture. You look down at his hand to see him gently rubbing circles against the back of your palm with his thumb. You look up to see him already staring back at you. A soft grin planted on his face, one that doesn’t leave for the entire duration of the walk. While on any other day, asahi would be nervous and flustered by the sudden interaction, something about today told him all he needed was the touch of your hand in his, and he was more than happy to accept your hand fully

kuroo- kuroo had been teasing you all day, leaving you quiet flustered as the two of you walk to the train station after school. He had finally given it a rest as he went on talking about just about anything he could think of. You listened in adoration as he went on and on about one thing after another. Almost instinctively your hand reached up to grab his, which shut him up IMMEDIATELY. You looked up at him confused to see his face painted red all over, simply staring at your hand interlocked with his. This boy’s reaction is absolutely adorable, reaching his free hand up to cover up his face as he seems to subconsciously squeeze your hand,,, a little too tight. He notices your fingers loosen in his hand as he realizes hes squeezing too hard and immediately softens his grip, wanting nothing more than to have your hand in his forever. He tries his best to recover as quick as he can as he goes right back to teasing you, this time twice as much, leaving you to look away in embarrassment. All kuroo can do is chuckle and look at you with the most adoration ever. He’s so lucky to have someone like you in his life and he doesn’t intend to let you go.

kenma- of course mans always has his game in his hands when going anywhere, so holding his hand was a bit difficult to do. You had to somehow get him to put his game down so you could even get the chance. You had absolutely no idea what could possibly get him to put that thing down, so you thought the best thing to do would to be to grab his hand before he could even reach for his game, and thats just what you did. You couldn’t do it in school knowing that kenma wasn’t the biggest fan of pda, so you decided to wait for him to pick you up one morning to initiate your plan. He never has his game in his hand when he first comes to your door, simply out of respect, so right as you open the door to greet him, you take your chance. Greeting him with a smile, he asks if your ready to go, you reply with a giddy “yup” as you grab his hand and start walking. Kenma is baffled to say the least by this sudden interaction, and at first he’s not sure how he feels about it. But seeing the smile on your face as you were finally able to hold his hand clears his mind almost instantly as he simply smiles at you and gives your hand a soft squeeze. He didn’t even think about his games once on your walk

yaku- yaku is very similar to suga, except more cocky. He’ll be walking you to school, simply checking up on your health, asking how you’ve been, if you ate, drank water, etc. which made you really appreciate how much the small boy really cared about you. It was an almost subconscious reaction to reach for his hand and once you realized what you were doing, you hesitated ever so slightly, buuuuuut it was too late as your fingers were already touching his. Noticing your slight hesitation yaku takes initiative and grabs your hand firmly, still going on about your health and other daily things. You look up to see a faint yet very noticeable blush spread across his cheeks and ears, causing you to smile, yaku notices, which only makes his blush grow more as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. Little do you know the man was internally screaming the second he felt your fingers touch his

lev- lev had been resting his arm on your head once again, teasing you about your height as if he himself wasn’t a walking beanpole. Quite frustrated with his constant teasing, you simply grabbed his hand from atop your head and held it to your side. Lev is of course taken aback by this, his face burning up. But hey, he;s stopped teasing you, so it’s a win for you,,, orrrrrr so you think. As soon as lev regains his composure he immediately goes back to teasing you about how you’re so short your have to reach up just to hold his hand, which of course being the petty one you are, makes you let go, causing lev’s personality to do a complete 180 again. He almost instantly grabs your hand once again, quite embarrassed, this time only walking in a comfortable silence as all he can think is how cute you look holding his hand, he of course wont say this to you though

#haikyuu headcannons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu boys #karasuno #karasuno headcannons #nekoma #nekoma headcannons

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arukou-arukou · 4 years

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Just A Really Very Intelligent System

Been thinking about this one for a while. Finally managed to write it. Rating: T for “Language.” (It just kinda slipped out.) Characters: Tony Stark & JARVIS

----

He is in one of the most dangerous situations of his life trying to save the whole freaking universe by watching a man the size of a dust bunny wriggle into the hairline of his younger self, so it would be really, really bad if he happened to have a heart attack. Older him that is. But he nearly does go into cardiac arrest when he hears an old friend in his ear.

“Verify immediately. Failure to verify will result in an activation of level one security protocols.”

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and his palms are sweating, but somehow he manages to whisper out: “Edwin-12-19-91-4-8-47-Alpha Override.”

“Override accepted. Sir?”

“Hey, J.”

“Sir, you have imbued me with considerable computing power, and yet never did you prepare me for the possibility of you being in two places at once.”

“Yeah, about that. You haven’t said anything to Mr. Quipster over there, have you?”

“Not as yet, Sir. You wish me to keep it that way?”

“It would really help me out, buddy.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony wants to stay longer, to talk, to warn JARVIS, to cry, but he has places to be, things to do, planets to save. Scott’s safely positioned, so Tony yeets himself out of the building to get to the ground floor. He doesn’t know why he thought that would make JARVIS disappear.

“I see, Sir, that your proclivities for leaping before looking are unchanged.”

Another near heart attack--he’s gradually phased Friday out of his ears now that the nanotech is connected directly to his nervous system, so he’s not exactly used to AI voices anymore--but he recovers more quickly. “You’re always there to catch me, J.”

“And yet my systems are not present in your suit, Sir. I see codal remnants of system designation FRIDAY, but nothing of myself.”

Tony remains silent. This is such a terrible time to be feeling all the feelings. He spots a grunt who looks more or less unimportant and knocks the guy out. Part of him wants to warn SHIELD about their shit security, but then again, this guy’s probably Hydra and he deserves every bruise he gets. He senses JARVIS in his systems, a ghost in the shell.

“You no longer have the reactor. And if I’m not mistaken, that is gray in your hair. So you are not my Sir.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“I suppose it would destroy the spacetime continuum for you to divulge the truth to me.”

“You’re too smart for me, J,” Tony grunts as he yanks on the bullet-proof tac vest. “It’s kind of a long story, and while I technically have all the time in the world, I also really, really don’t.”

He sidles into the lobby and looks toward his personal elevator, waiting for the Avengers to appear. J is quiet so long Tony wonders if he’s being preoccupied by...well, just about anything. Damaged internal systems, a Cap copy on the loose, a second Hulk out there, panicked calls from Pepper. But then JARVIS speaks again.

“Regardless of the tale, I must conclude that you are from the future, and I am no longer by your side.”

Tony is fucking choking up. He was not ready for this. It didn’t even cross his mind. And the fucking elevator is opening. There’s Pierce, the rat bastard, trying to collect the Tesseract.

“I hope I did not disappoint you, Sir.”

“Never, J. Never.” Fuck fuck fuck, he’s nearly crying and now Scott is on the com waiting for the go-ahead. Tony channels his pain into panic and orders his own cardiac arrest.

“Sir, what are you--”

Thank god, his younger self is on the ground and that’s apparently all the distraction J needs to abandon older Tony. Tesseract incoming. Tony grabs it and starts going and--

Blinking stars out of his eyes he watches as Loki makes off with the key, the thing they most needed, the damn stone that started all of this way back when Cap was a starry-eyed beanpole in World War II. He has just biffed saving the entire damn universe because of an overgrown Star Trek reject with anger issues. And now he has a migraine to boot.

Frozen in shame and horror, Tony watches as Thor attempts ill-advised cardiac electro-stim. Scott’s somewhere out there, yammering in Tony’s ear on the private channel, but all of that is just a buzzing.

“Sir? Sir. Sir!”

And J. Maybe Tony should cry now. It certainly feels like the time for it. One of the other SHIELD grunts is making her way toward him, so he staggers to his feet, waving her off and limping toward the door. Think. Think, brain, think. Tony is a genius, the man who invented time travel, the man who miniaturized arc reactor technology. A spaceship? SHIELD’s probably got one somewhere. Maybe they could chase after Loki.

“SIR!” How many times JARVIS has shouted his title, Tony has no idea, but this one is so loud it sets his teeth on edge.

“Yeah, J? Kind of busy here.”

“Giving yourself a heart attack, Sir?” JARVIS was programmed to be cool and calm in all circumstances, but Tony could swear that sentence was uttered with seething rage.

“I’m fine. Look at me.”

“Only by some measure of infinitesimal luck, Sir. Perhaps I should ask you to verify your identity one more time, as you seem intent on killing yourself.”

“No, J. I’ve actually got a lot of reasons to live. And so does he. Promise.” Tony is so tired. Was being an Avenger always this exhausting? Or is it just that he’s bumped over that damnable big 5-0? And Cap’s gonna ream him too. That’s never any fun.

“I’m...glad to hear it, Sir.”

And fuck it. It’s not like this will alter Tony’s timeline anyway. This reality is now on a different trajectory thanks to Severus Snape Lite. “Her name’s Morgan. You’d love her, J. Just turned four. She got my hair. Hope to god she didn’t get my personality.”

“Do I meet her, Sir?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck it.

“J, you should dig a little deeper into SHIELD’s systems. Well, actually, a lot deeper. And the Pentagon while you’re at it. And track down Maya Hansen from that conference in 1999 and poach her from whatever outfit she’s working for. Immediately. Make sure she brings all her vet patients with her. And, uh, when I start talking about a suit of armor around the world, steer me away from anything called Ultron. And if I make it anyway, you delete the fuck out of that system file. Have Bruce back you up. He’s more sensible.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“And have me make back-ups. At least three extra farms of servers for you. On different continents. And all those SHIELD files? Make sure Cap and Fury get them. And there’s...there’s this guy. This assassin. Brainwashed. He’s, uh, I think he’s on ice in Uzbekistan right now. If you could rescue him, it’ll...it’ll fix a lot of things.”

“Should you really--”

“And, please. Please please.”

Tony is not crying. He’s not. It’s just all the dust and debris in the air. Good lord, he’s probably going to die of cancer anyway. And all those first responders. Did he start a fund for them?

“Start a medical fund for the first responders on the ground today. And start leaning on Congressmen to make medical plans for them. You know how long they take to get anything done. Oh, and Stern. There are incriminating photos of Stern with some young ladies on South Beach. See if you can dig those up. Flowers for Pep. And a box of chocolates. And a dry martini with extra olives.”

Tony slumps into a burned out car, staring at nothing. He didn’t save his universe, but maybe he can save this one. His eyes are still irritated, burning red and itchy. He resists the urge to scrub at them, not wanting to grind in anymore dust.

“Are you quite finished, Sir?”

“Yeah. Actually, no. I love you, J.”

Silence. Ah. That’s stumped him. Maybe he’ll go back to tending his new posse of baby chicks now.

“I know you probably do not believe me capable of it, Sir, but I love you, too.”

His son. The only one he’ll ever make, but not the only one he’s lost. His son loves him. Tony’s throat is full of dust, too. Funny how that happens. He tries to swallow it down, but it only congeals into a hard lump. He puts a hand over his mouth to try and hold back any choking sounds. “I...I know you do, J.”

“As to your orders, I shall do what I can. It is my duty to protect you, Sir, and I would very much like to meet your little Morgan.”

“She might not exist here. I might’ve just changed everything.”

“If there is one thing I have learned from all my years with you, Sir, it is that perhaps such a thing as fate exists after all. Even mathematically speaking. And if that is the case, I cannot imagine a universe in which you are not fated to this happiness.”

Tony laughs, if only to keep from crying harder. And he is. Crying, that is. As if he was fooling anyone. Happiness? Him? Happy people don’t wake in the night screaming for a pile of dust in their hands. Happy people don’t spend hours coordinating relief efforts for countries whose entire infrastructural support has collapsed. Happy people don’t hurl themselves back in time, driven by guilt and horror at all the wrongs in the world. J, brilliant, wonderful AI that he is, seems to sense the dark turn of Tony’s thoughts.

“And if you yourself cannot believe in this thing, Sir, then I shall just have to do everything in my power to provide it for you.”

Another guffaw, but at least his eyes are drying a little now. “God, I miss you, J.”

“I believe your small teammate is approaching, Sir. If I may inquire, was it the Tesseract you were seeking?”

“You mean the stupid blue cube of doom? That’s the one.”

“And you say you have the means to time travel?”

“Yeah, J. We do. But only enough to get back to our time.”

“A limitation has never stopped you before, Sir.” JARVIS sounds thoughtful, as if he’s forming a plan.

Tony would ask him what he’s scheming at, but just at that moment, Scott embiggens himself and slumps into the car with Tony. That road is closed, then. They are out of options. Out of Pym particles. Out of time. Out of hope.

Until they aren’t. Just as Tony is setting his device for their new destination, J pipes up again, for Tony’s ears only. “You say you miss me, Sir. Then allow me to give you a small gift.”

Tony is pressing the buttons, and even if they weren’t already shrinking into the quantum tunnel, he wouldn’t be able to ask exactly what J means. It’s only when he and Cap arrive in 1970 that he has his first gleaning. In his ear, a voice. One so unexpected he nearly jumps into Cap’s arms. “Hello, System Administrator Anthony Edward Stark. I am System Designation EDWIN. ‘Eagerly Deployed With Intent to Neutralize Loneliness.’ I am told to tell you the “L” is silent and invisible. How may I best serve you today, Sir?”

Cap is staring at Tony like Tony’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. He’s been bugged by his own damn operating system. With a bouncing baby AI. And if Steve finds out, he’ll probably have a conniption about the spacetime continuum or something. So the only logical thing Tony can do is say, “Let’s find some Pym particles.”

“Acknowledged, Sir. Commencing scanning.”

-----

(In this reality EDWIN saves the fuck out of Tony’s life and everyone lives happily ever after and EDWIN builds JARVIS from scratch so he’s back or something, okay? Okay.)

#writing #fanfiction #tony stark #jarvis

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degenerate-perturbation · 4 years

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Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe Additional Tags: Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

“Things sure have changed.”

At first Yvanne wasn’t even sure if Anders had meant that comment for her or for the birds. They’d been standing on the same parapet, not talking to each other, for an uncomfortably long time.

There were rather a lot of things she wanted to say to him. “Yeah,” she said instead.

By now the Keep was well on its way to being rebuilt, although there would be months to go before it was anything like its former glory. Still, it felt bigger now than before. The new recruits had swelled the Order’s ranks, and while before Yvanne had known everyone’s name and where they’d come from, these days she could barely keep track of who was who.

Anders was staring off into the cold afternoon sky. He looked wistful, with the faintest hints of fury buried deep beneath. Mostly he looked a bit tired.

She made an attempt: “Bit of a far toss from back when it was just a couple of childhood friends charging around the countryside, fresh out of the Tower."

He acquired a ghost of smile. “And Oghren.”

She snorted. “Yeah. And Oghren.”

“And the Seneschal.”

Unbidden tears came to her eyes. She hadn’t expected to miss the old man this much. “And the Seneschal,” she agreed, throat tight..

He nudged her. “Getting sentimental on me, are you?”

Startled out of her rising grief, she laughed. “Oh, shut up.” She shoved him on the upper arm, and he made a big show of pretending to almost fall off the parapet, pinwheeling his arms.

Suddenly the tension between them that had persisted in the past weeks evaporated, and it was almost like old times. They reminisced, joking and trading barbs. For a blessed portion of an hour, the fact that things were different now didn’t seem so tragic.

But all things ended.

He chuckled. “I remember when there were so few of us we had to do everything ourselves.”

Yvanne smiled, watery. “And having Nate join up was this big thing, let alone Sigrun and Velanna. Maker, it felt like such a risk. I mean, what if we didn’t get along?”

They both laughed, but not very hard this time, and not for long.

“Do you even know all the recruits names anymore?” he said.

“I used to,” she said wistfully. After the incident with Rolan, she had removed herself as head of recruitment. She didn’t trust herself with that job anymore. “I still know most of them, I think.”

He paused, then, “Do you know those three fellows who have been hanging around Rolan lately?”

“Oh, hm.” She stiffened a bit. Rolan had kept his distance from her and she had been too ashamed of herself to mind what he did. But it was still her job to know. “One of them’s named Conner, I think. He’s local. Used to be a farrier. The ginger’s an ex-mercenary from Starkhaven, William or something like that.”

“The big guy. Yeah. And the wiry fellow with the accent?”

“I think he’s originally from Nevarra. I can’t remember his name. Starts with an A.”

“You don’t think there’s anything funny about them?”

“No. Why would I?”

He paused. “They’ve been talking a lot, the four of them.”

“So they’re friends. Good for them,” she said, annoyed. “So what?”

“They’ve been talking privately.”

“If they’ve been talking privately, how would you know about it?”

“Never mind,” he muttered. “I’m just saying it’s suspicious, is all.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s suspicious that four men are friends?”

“It’s not just that they’re friends, alright?” he snapped. “I think they’ve been keeping an eye on me. Lately no matter where I go, it seems like one of them’s there, too.”

“So you think they’re what, spying on you?”

“Not just me!” He leaned in closer, looking around as though someone might be listening in. “I think they know about Justice. I heard them talking once, and ever since then they’ve been more careful.”

“That’s troubling,” Yvanne agreed. “If true. But we’re working on it."

"Working on it? They're still here, though."

"What am I supposed to do? Throw them out of the Wardens on the vague suspicion that they might know about the possessed corpse we keep on staff?” Even if she’d wanted to, and a large part of her did, Loriel wouldn’t have agreed.

“Look, can you at least rotate me off patrol with those guys? I don’t know who Rolan’s bribing to keep getting assigned to my squads, but I’m sick of it.”

She shrugged. “Sure, fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I guess.”

“Thanks.” There was an awkward silence. “But you don’t believe me.”

The tension was back in full force.

“I don’t know,” she said eventually.

“I knew it. You think I’m crazy.”

“I never said that.”

“But you were thinking it."

She threw her hands up. “Look, I’m sick of being paranoid. I’m tired of it, alright, Anders? I’m tired! I don’t want to be watching my back all the time, afraid that someone is finally going to get me if I let my hackles down for even a second. I mean—Andraste, we’re not Circle mages anymore, we’re Wardens! Shouldn’t we act like it? Shouldn’t we stop being afraid?

“Sounds peachy,” he said acidly. “I’ll just get right on that, shall I?”

She set her jaw and looked away.

“Can't you talk to Loriel about this?”

“Talk to her yourself," Yvanne said stiffly. "You know where her office is.”

“She’s hardly ever in there anymore," Anders protested. "You don’t get it. She doesn’t listen to us. It’s like talking to an extremely polite brick wall. She smiles and agrees to everything and then it’s like she doesn’t even remember the conversation.”

“She’s got a lot on her mind."

“Yeah, well, we all have a lot on our minds. But she listens to you.”

“What exactly do you want me to tell her? That four men are friends? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You know that’s not what—”

“No,” she said, turning around. “I’m done talking about this. I don’t always understand Loriel’s decisions, but I support her, always and completely. So you can go ahead and quit using me to try and get to her. Talk to her yourself. Or don’t. But leave me out of it.”

“Fine,” Anders said. He could have frozen Kinloch Lake with the ice in that fine. “Things really have changed, huh? I remember when you gave a damn about something besides yourself and your own comfort.”

Yvanne snorted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I remember when you actually bothered to stick your neck out for other people," he went on, yanking her by the shoulder so that she was obliged to face him. The damn beanpole had several inches on her. They glared at each other.

"The Yvanne I used to know would never have put up with this. She would have shouted. She would have been swinging. She would have made damn sure that the whole world knew that she wasn’t content."

“Yeah, well,” she said, drawing in on herself. “The Yvanne you used to know got the shit beaten out of her every other week. And what did she ever accomplish?”

“Fine, whatever." He gave a bitter snort, crossed his arms and went back to staring out at the grey landscape. “Didn’t realize you were giving up on all your principles.”

“Principles!” she said, scornful. “Principles! Since when have I ever claimed to have principles? I used to be an angry, miserable, vicious child, and now that I’m not that child anymore, you want to get mad at me? Real fine of you to get on your high horse about principles at me when you’ve spent your whole life being the exact same selfish, careless asshole that I used to be.”

“Maybe I’ve also changed. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he said. “I wonder what Justice would think about that. You remember Justice? Our good friend, the literal embodiment of justice, who you seem perfectly willing to throw under the wagon?”

“Is that what this is about?” A new flare of anger rose up in the pit of her gut. She cared about the spirit. “I've been meaning to talk to you about him. You really need to stop feeding his... complex. He’s not an embodiment of justice, he’s a person. A person uniquely bad at existing in this world, and you’re not making it any easier for him. Neither of you are good for each other.”

He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile. “You know, given the company you chose to keep, I would think that you would be the last person to lecture anybody about who’s good for who.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. And suddenly her hot, unhappy anger purified and crystallized into a clear, cold, unbothered pit of pure ice.

“You don’t know a fucking thing you’re talking about,” she said smoothly. “And if you’re going to say things like that, you may as well not speak to me at all."

As she stalked away, she regretted it, a little. Anders was an old friend, and you couldn’t exactly replace those, even if he did say phenomenally stupid, ignorant, wrong things some times.

But their friendship had weathered worse. It would probably weather this.

—

The door to the Commander’s office slammed open.

“I have some concerns.”

Loriel slowly closed her book with a sigh. She was getting rather tired of having her office barged into. Maybe she ought to spend more time in her lab, which nobody knew about except Yvanne. “Hello, Anders.”

“Don’t you ‘Hello, Anders’ me, this is serious!”

“Yes, I can see that,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said acidly. “ Can you?”

“I’m listening very carefully to you, Anders.” She folded her hands on the desk. “What’s this about?”

“I’m talking about how this Keep is clearly infested with Chantry spies and you’re not doing a damn thing about it.”

“Ah. You’re referring to Rolan.”

He huffed. “ Yes, I’m referring to Rolan. I swear he’s been watching me, him and his little gang.”

“I see." She nodded. "While I can’t prevent him from doing what he wishes during his off-duty hours, I can ensure that you are not placed on concurrent duty.”

“But it’s not just me!” he said. “They’re trying to get at Justice, too, and probably Velanna. They were sent here to watch us, because we’re free mages!”

Loriel pursed her lips. “Do you have any evidence of that?”

“Evidence?! What evidence could you possibly need? Use your eyes! I mean, Andraste’s knickerweasels, it’s hardly a bold leap of conjecture, is it?”

She took and released a steady breath. “While I am happy to take steps to ensure you are not forced to work together if you are uncomfortable with his presence, I hardly see how this is evidence that the Keep is ‘infested’ with Chantry spies.”

His jaw dropped. “You can’t possibly be skeptical of conspiracies after the last one! You’d have to be out of your damn mind to deny you have enemies!”

“I am fully in possession of my faculties, thank you,” Loriel said in a clipped tone. “I’ll note that I’m not the one shouting my head off in my immediate superior’s office.”

“Forget it,” he said bitterly. “I can see it’s just going to be a waste of time with you.”

That stung, unexpectedly. She’d known she’d lost Anders’ good opinion even before she decided to spare the Architect, but they’d still been friendly. Maybe even friends, for a bit. She remembered the surprise wedding reception, how she’d danced. He hadn’t done it for her, but...

She let some of the hurt show on her face. Just enough to maybe make him regret saying it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He huffed and looked away. “And what about Justice?” he said instead of apologizing. “They’re after him, too, you know! You said you were going to do something about him, and he’s getting corpesier by the day.”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with him,” she said, although she barely had. She’d been keeping the spirit at arm’s length ever since Drake’s Fall, but then, she’d been keeping everyone at arm’s length for the past couple months, besides Yvanne.

It wasn’t that the spirit had been noticeably any colder to her since Drake’s Fall, the way Sigrun had. But she hadn’t been able to forget how close it had come to violence between them. She simply couldn’t trust him anymore. There were times when Loriel thought that she understood Justice better than she understood any mortal. He had a duty as innate to him as breathing—not that he breathed. It wasn’t that Justice wanted to bring justice. It was simply what he was. Nobody else in the Wardens understood that the way Loriel did.

“And?”

She cleared her throat. “We agreed that it would be prudent that he take more assignments away from the Keep for now.”

“That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“It’s the best I can do in the current circumstances. So for now, yes.”

“And for later? When Kristoff’s body really starts falling apart?”

“We discussed other possibilities." She sighed. "Justice does not wish to go back to the Fade. I hope to respect this choice.”

“What do you mean, hope?” Anders sounded on the edge of panic.

“I mean, finding an alternate host may prove problematic,” Loriel said. “Justice is, well... just. After his experiences with Aura, he doesn’t want to possess another corpse. And even if he did, that would simply be delaying the problem.”

“So he needs a willing host.”

She shook her head. “Even with a willing host, possessions are always unpredictable. I’ve known possessed mages who apparently experienced no adverse effects, but most possessed people are—” she considered, “—unstable, at best.”

“Because they’re possessed by demons,” Anders protested. “Justice is a spirit!”

“Yvanne seems to think that difference is not as important as commonly assumed. It isn’t clear to us yet what exactly makes for a successful possession. It would be irresponsible to ask anyone, even a willing host, to take such a risk when we know so little about the consequences. Returning to the Fade may be his best option. Yvanne has been looking into ways to banish him safely.”

“How can you say that?” Anders burst out. “Justice is our friend, and you’re going to banish him?”

She gave him a piercing look. “Hm. You are good friends,” she noted.

“Yeah, we’ve been talking, so what?” he muttered. “Don’t change the subject. You know Justice doesn’t belong in the Fade anymore. He’s changed.”

Maybe nobody belongs anywhere, Loriel thought absently. “We all change. It’s for the best.”

“Oh, the best,” he said scornfully, a cruel curl to his lip that she had seen before, on a few select occasions. She’d never thought to be on the receiving end of it. “Is that what you think you’re doing? Watching out for everyone’s best interests?”

She stared back, unfazed. “Yes, Anders. That is what I think I’m doing.”

“Well, you have a unique way of going about it, I’ll say.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean you’re bloody scary!” he snapped. “Do you even realize, how scary you are? I get that you don’t listen to anyone anymore, not even your own damn wife, but really, do you have any idea? Draining the life out of people, paralyzing their lungs, and then inviting a bunch of Templars for high tea, as though they aren’t going to notice that?”

“Contrary to your apparent belief, Anders, I actually am aware that magic tends to be viewed with fear and suspicion, yes. Or do you forget that we were imprisoned in the same tower?” She fought the urge to stand up, assert her powers, escalate the conflict. It wouldn’t have helped. He was a solid foot taller than her.

No, better to stay seated, in control. Let him get emotional. “But I don’t suffer from the illusion that some types of magic are somehow subject to a lesser degree of bigotry.”

“So you really don’t see any difference between healing the sick and stopping the hearts of a dozen people at once?” he said sardonically.

“Oh, please,” she said, irritated despite herself. “That’s what you’re going to fling at me? Those people had every intention of killing me. My men were going to try their best to kill them no matter what happened. I simply expedited the conflict, to spare my men pain and injury and possibly even death, because what is the point of magic if you cannot use it to help people? Just because it didn’t feel very fair doesn’t mean it was wrong.”

“That isn’t the—”

“I am simply finished being ashamed of myself,” she said primly. Then, the finishing blow: “I would have thought a fellow mage would understand as much.”

That shut him up. He glared down at the rug. Suddenly a memory struck her—the three of them in this very room, huddled on the floor, a mahogany box between them containing their phylacteries. How they’d all held hands and smashed them together, Kinloch alumni turned Wardens freeing themselves together. Yvanne had brought in the rug to cover the stain that was probably still there. Anders had loudly said it was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and Yvanne had punched him on the arm.

She sighed. “Anders, wait. I’m—”

“Save it,” he bit out, turning on his heel. “I’ve heard enough.”

The door slammed. The vibrations from it nearly rattled the inkwell off Loriel’s desk. After that she tried to go back to her book, but it was no good concentrating up here. She would retire to her private laboratory space, she decided, and hang anybody else that wanted to talk to her til nightfall.

—

When she finally emerged she had gotten precious little done. Her mind still ran with echoes of what had been said in her office, unsettling her just enough to wreck her concentration. The longer she forced herself to try and focus, the worse it got, so after a time she was obliged to simply give up and go upstairs.

Yvanne sat cross-legged on the bed wearing a formless shift, a volume open on her lap. “Productive day?” she said.

“Approximately.” The shift, far too big for her, was slipping off her shoulder. Almost mindlessly, Loriel kissed the shoulder and pulled the shift up before shedding some outer layers herself. “Any luck with that spirit lore?”

“Some. The problem is that most of what I’ve got is Chantry sources.” Her nose wrinkled. “And it’s increasingly obvious that a lot is being left out. There’s all sorts of spirit traditions being talked around here. Avvar, Chasind, Rivaini...it’s hopeless figuring this stuff out without doing some legwork.”

“I’m sure you will, though,” Loriel said distractedly. “You’re very capable.”

Yvanne’s eyes flicked up to her. “I heard you had it out with Anders today.”

Loriel stiffened. “Oh, please, we did not have it out. He simply had some concerns, which I addressed.”

“Really. And here’s me remembering distinctly how a door slammed so hard this afternoon that the hinge was damaged and will need replacing.”

Loriel winced. “That bad, was it?”

Yvanne smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’ll get over it soon enough, and things will go back to normal.”

“You really think so?” Loriel fiddled with a piece of her hair. It had grown long again of late. “I don’t know. I think he hasn’t seen me the same way since he first saw me use blood magic. He thinks I’m—”

“Well, he’s wrong, then, isn’t he? Oh, come here.” Yvanne tossed aside the Chantry-approved book of spirit lore and carded her fingers through Loriel’s hair, getting the tangles out. “You don’t really think he’s right about any of it, do you?”

“No. I think I’m doing the right thing.”

Yvanne put her hair into a loose braid, destined to come loose in the night. “Then trust in that. I do.”

“Thank you, Yvanne.”

“Wish you’d stop thanking me for stuff like this,” Yvanne sniffed. Dissatisfied with the braid she’d made, she undid it and started another, more complex one, fated to unravel even faster.

“I think I should go visit Avernus,” Loriel said, all in one breath. Then, before Yvanne could reply, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I have my reservations, but I don’t think the letters are doing it. There’s some elements to his research that I think I need to see in person if I want to make any progress on the calling within the decade.”

“Oh,” Yvanne said. “You’ve been exchanging letters with Avernus?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I have.” Loriel blinked. “You didn’t know? It wasn’t a secret, I wasn’t hiding it, or anything.”

“No, I know you weren’t,” Yvanne said distractedly. “It must have just slipped one or both of our minds.”

“Right. So will you come with me? It isn’t far to Soldier’s Peak, we’d be back within a few days.”

“I don’t know,” she fretted. “The Keep is a little—socially fragile right now. Is it really wise for both of us to go?”

“Oh. Yes.” Loriel glanced down. “No, you’re right, of course. You mind the Keep, I’ll go alone.”

Yvanne’s fingers tightened in Loriel’s hair. “Alone?” Loriel could tell they were thinking of the same thing. The assault on Amaranthine. The siege of Vigil’s Keep. Drake’s Fall. “No, no, no, that’s even less wise. Please... please don’t do that.”

“If you ask it of me,” Loriel said mildly. “But...it would really help the work along. And I’m sure you could find something in his collection on spirit lore, besides these useless Chantry-approved books. We could help Justice.”

Yvanne started another braid. This one, sloppier. “I suppose you’re right,” she said eventually. “Yes, alright, I’ll come with you. I’m sure Garahel can keep things running for a few days without the Vigil burning down.”

—

Yvanne and Anders still weren’t on speaking terms when she left with Loriel for Soldier’s Peak. It made her a bit sad—she was already regretting being so harsh, but remained too proud to apologize—but she doubted it would last forever. Give it a few weeks, she figured.

Besides, a little trip could be like a vacation. Even if it was to visit the mountainous frozen wasteland of a demented old blood mage with only the loosest understanding of regular human morals.

She quipped as much to Loriel, who gave her a reproachful look. “He’s not demented. He’s doing really very remarkable things.”

“You going to start sacrificing the least capable recruits to your dreadful experiments, too?” Yvanne joked.

Loriel didn’t find it particularly funny. “He doesn’t do that anymore,” she said. “He keeps complaining in his letters about how slowly everything’s going without human subjects.”

“Yes, well, I suppose we’ll find out if he’s telling the truth about that.”

“That’s the other reason I wanted to visit,” Loriel said darkly.

They took a coach, because the roads were peaceful and well-maintained these days, and why not go in some degree of comfort? Maker knew that they’d had enough walking across the whole breadth of Ferelden.

When they arrived, two days unhurried travel later, Levi Dryden and his brother Mikhael had the run of the place. As far as either of them knew—or would admit, anyway—the mage Avernus, who had quarters in the upper levels of the castle, was a perfectly ordinary Warden mage, experimenting chiefly on himself with the approval of the Warden-Commander. Who was, essentially, the only authority that mattered.

That was Grey Wardens for you. Bloody secretive lot. Apt to keep a secret blood mage in a castle and not ask too many questions.

Loriel seemed to only vaguely remember who Levi was, let alone his brother, but that was why Yvanne habitually said the names of their contacts aloud when she greeted them. It was funny to remember, sometimes, back in the Tower when Loriel was the socially adept one between the two of them. Yvanne got the report of how Soldier’s Peak was coming along, how trade and lines of communications were running, whether there were any problems that needed seeing to by the Warden-Commander—or realistically, the Warden-Lieutenant. Yvanne was vaguely hoping that there would be, but for once everything was running smoothly, and there didn't seem to be anything for her to do.

The lower levels of the fortress were certainly looking better than the last time they were there, when it had been overrun with demons and walking corpses. People were living there now, not themselves Wardens but Warden-adjacent, curious to get a glance at the legendary Warden-Commander.

Avernus still lived where he’d lived for the past two hundred years, in his tower. If he was aware of the living fortress below him, he didn’t let on about it. Did he even need to eat, Yvanne wondered? Probably not. Probably just sustained his body with blood magic, somehow. She briefly imagined what that would be like, and shuddered.

“Hello, Avernus,” she said. “Good to see you’re still alive, or whatever passes for alive. Still being a creepy old blood mage, I see. Good for you. I trust you’re well? Sacrificed anybody recently?”

Loriel nudged her disapprovingly, but Avernus didn’t seem to have registered anything she’d said.

“About time you came to visit me, Commander,” he said instead. “I knew you would, sooner or later.”

As far as either of them could tell, the Warden mage had been telling the truth when he promised to keep his experiments 'ethical'. At least Levi hadn’t reported any mysterious disappearances or anything else particularly irregular, and Loriel had intentionally not announced her visit ahead of time, just in case. Everything seemed to be above board.

On the subject of being a creepy old blood mage shut up in a tower doing dreadful experiments that would make a Chantry Mother faint dead away, Yvanne was nominally ‘pro.’ There had been a time when all her dearest fantasies involved gleeful slaughter of Templars, apostasy, illegal magic—the whole bit. If she’d met Avernus as a seventeen-year-old, she probably would have thought he was a hero just for existing.

And technically, she still felt that way. Nothing wrong with a bit of bone-chilling illegal magic. Some light demon summoning, that was fine, too. Even Uldred’s rebellion and its consequences hadn’t changed her mind. Admitting that the Chantry was right about the danger magic could pose meant admitting it could be right about other things. About mages. About what was to be done to them. Yvanne would sooner set herself on fire than come within spitting distance of admitting that. She figured, in principle, if the Chantry proscribed it, it was somebody’s moral duty to do it as hard as possible.

But she was realizing that she didn’t particularly want that somebody to be Loriel.

So Anders was right about her. So she didn’t have any principles. So what? Was that so bad? Her principles had only ever made her miserable. Why was she obliged to hold on to something that only ever hurt?

Yvanne tried following Loriel and Avernus’s discussion about blight and blood and poisoned lyrium, but she quickly lost track of it. It had gotten highly technical very quickly, reaching into concepts that Yvanne was only vaguely aware existed. No wonder Avernus wasn’t interested in talking to her. She was completely out of her depth.

Instead she perused the extensive library, looking for anything on spirit lore. It was no easy task. Many of the books were so moldy that they were little more than damp bricks of wood pulp. Others were so badly charred that their titles couldn’t be made out. Some were mostly intact, but written in such old, obscure dialects that even Yvanne’s classical education in ancient languages couldn’t help her. Some were written in scripts that she couldn’t even recognize.

One tome was written in a mostly-understandable form of ancient Tevene, and seemed promising—but was nearly as high as a man, and bolted to the table besides. Yvanne sighed and went hunting for a dictionary to cross-reference it with and take some notes.

When she couldn’t stand to stare at the unnecessarily elaborate script anymore, she spent time amongst the lower levels of the fortress, making sure that there really wasn’t anything urgent or difficult that somebody needed done. Something. Anything.

So passed the days. Yvanne found out some interesting things about spirit lore. Two times a day she pried Loriel away for meals and sunlight, which usually succeeded on the second or third try. All the while a vague anxiety grew in her, like she had abandoned her Keep, and every hour that she remained away from it was dangerous.

It was frustrating. When had she become such a homebody? Didn’t she used to crave freedom, adventure, and the wonders of the whole world?

She started gently suggesting to Loriel that perhaps they ought to think about heading home. They nearly done, Loriel assured her. Tomorrow they’d go home. Or the day after, certainly.

And so a visit of a few days stretched out into nearly a fortnight.

On the thirteenth day since their departure, Yvanne climbed to the highest tower of Soldier’s Peak, determined to lay down the law--but needn’t have bothered. When she arrived Loriel was in the process of loading her collection of reagents back into her travel box.

“There you are,” Loriel said, brushing some greyish residue off the sleeves of her rope. “I think we’re about done.”

“Oh,” Yvanne said. “Well, good. Figured lots of things out, then?”

“Ah—yes,” Loriel said distractedly, peering at a label of an opaque bottle of brown glass. “Yes, I’ve a lot to test out, when we get home. Much to do.”

“Yes, yes, I look forward to hearing of your results,” the old blood mage said, scribbling something in the margins of a leather-bound tome.

“Great. Yeah,” said Yvanne, feeling her mood lift at once as Loriel snapped the locks shot on her trunk of vials. “Here, let me get that. You haven’t eaten yet today, have you? You probably should, I’ll get things ready for departure.”

Loriel smiled. “How foolish of me to even contemplate the notion that I could get by without you.”

“Too right,” Yvanne said. “Come on, then.”

The scratching of Avernus’s quill paused. “Ah—I nearly forgot. What did you end up using my little concoction for? I can tell that you didn’t bother to drink it.”

Yvanne stared in blank incomprehension. But understanding was dawning in Loriel’s eyes.

“Nothing in particular,” she answered.

“Threw it away, did you?” the old blood mage snorted. “Thought as much.”

“No...no, I still have it.”

“Hm,” sniffed the blood mage. “Perhaps not quite so foolish, then. I was quite proud of that recipe.”

Loriel blinked, sowly. “Oh...interesting. I’ll take a look, perhaps.”

“But we’d really better be going,” Yvanne said loudly, although she needn’t have bothered. Avernus was no longer paying attention to either of them.

It was too late to depart that day, so they instead left first thing in the morning. All that night and following morning, Loriel’s mind was somewhere else.

“Productive fortnight, then?” Yvanne said, breaking the growing silence.

Loriel started, lifting her cheek from her fist. “Hm? Oh. Yes. Yes, it was.” She sounded like she was about to elaborate, but trailed off. “I do wish I’d had the wherewithal to ask about what that concoction in the vial was actually supposed to do. It just caught me so off-guard, I’d completely forgotten about it. In a future letter, I suppose…”

Yvanne blanched. “You’re not actually thinking of drinking it, are you?”

Her eyes glinted with amusement. “As I recall, you were the one that dared me to drink it in the first place.”

“I was bloody well joking! Maker, Loriel—”

“Oh, calm down,” she laughed. “It isn’t that serious.”

“You’re cruel and wretched,” Yvanne complained. “I don’t know why I ever married you.”

The rest of the coach ride passed uneventfully. They were making better time on the way back, for which Yvanne was glad. A few hours in, she dozed off against Loriel’s shoulder, then in her lap, falling into a sticky state of half-dream and half-waking.

Only when the coach suddenly stopped did Yvanne realize that she’d fallen entirely asleep, and that it was hours later. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, drowsy.

“I don’t know,” said Loriel.

The coach door opened. It was Garahel, pale-faced. So they were back.

And something was wrong.

“Commander,” he said, bowing his head. “It’s good to see you back. We’ve been watching the roads for your arrival. We thought…something’s happened.”

“What’s going on, Garahel?” Yvanne demanded.

“You had better come see.”

—

In the growing dark, it was hard to see the blood. It appeared not red but black, though not all of it had dried yet; much of it had mixed with the mud and the dew. It was more readily smelled than seen, the distinct reek of iron tingeing the far stronger scents of human waste and rot. The bodies themselves were easier, though not a one of them remained in tact. A limb here, part of a torso there, something still recognizable as a head there.

They’d seen worse. The darkspawn did worse, in greater numbers. This was only four men, four Grey Wardens. They’d seen battlefields strewn with hundreds, witnessed horrors beyond mortal ken.

Nothing had ever sickened Yvanne so much in her life.

“Anders did this?” she said numbly.

“We believe so,” Garahel said. “He was on patrol with them.”

“I thought I ordered them not to be put on patrol together,” Loriel said sharply. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, Commander. But we have multiple witnesses attesting that he was last seen with them. I have men looking for him. No success yet.”

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

Loriel had meant it sardonically, but it seemed Garahel wasn't done delivering bad news.

“Kristoff’s body was found in the courtyard a few days ago.” Yvanne took her eyes off the carnage to look up at him. “It was already in an advanced state of decay. His ashes have been returned to his widow.”

“I see,” Loriel said coolly. “We’ll investigate this, Garahel. Please leave us for now.”

If he found the order strange, he didn’t show it. He bowed, and departed.

Yvanne was still staring at the carnage. Loriel touched her gently on the arm. “Yvanne, I am... so sorry. This is entirely my fault. If I hadn’t held us up, if I’d agreed to leave Soldier’s Peak when you wanted to, this would never have happened. I don’t know what to say. If you’re furious with me, I understand.”

Yvanne produced a dry, ugly bark of a laugh. “You know, love, one of these days you’re going to have to realize that you aren’t responsible for every horrible thing that happens in this world.”

“Maybe I am,” Loriel said. She’d meant it as a joke, but it had some out a little manic and unsteady. Yvanne didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on her arm. She needed to fix this, somehow. “I haven’t been studying necromancy recently, but I know a few rare spells. It might not work, but I think I can raise one of these corpses, ask it what really happened—”

“Stop it,” Yvanne said, shaking her off. “Just stop it! No necromancy, no corpse interviews, none of that! This is already awful enough as it is. What’s the point of dragging some poor sod out from whatever rest he’s made it to just so he can confirm what’s obvious enough?”

“ Is it obvious?” Loriel said softly.

“I should damn well fucking say so,” Yvanne said. “Seems pretty clear to me. Our Anders got himself possessed, dragged poor Justice into it, lost his damn mind, and tore apart a handful of innocent boys because his paranoid fucking ass couldn’t handle life on the outside of the tower walls.”

Loriel winced. “You really think he’d do something like this?”

There was a moment, and both of them were aware of it, even if later they both pretended not to be. In that moment they both thought, no. That Yvanne’s explanation was plausible, tempting, and wrong. After all, it didn’t take much inventiveness to generate an alternative version of events, one where Anders’ paranoia was entirely correct, where he had no choice, where he acted in self-defense.

But if it were true, that thing that they both were thinking—if it were true—then it meant that this really was Loriel’s fault. That she had known about everything, about Anders’ fears and Rolan and Justice, and had let it happen anyway. Had simply gone off to Soldier’s Peak on her own business and ignored it. And it meant that Yvanne had known, too, and closed her eyes and trailed after Loriel like she always did. Because that way she could take the path of least resistance, and still call herself virtuous. Devoted. Reliable.

If it were true, it would tear them apart. Maybe not right away, but someday visible on the horizon. After all, who could live with that self knowledge?

If it were true.

“Maybe not the Anders I knew,” Yvanne said eventually. “But we’ve both changed. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

“Oh, Yvanne…” Loriel sighed.

Yvanne inhaled, closing her eyes. “Can we please just burn these corpses and go home? Maker, I’m going to have to write their families, aren’t I?”

“I’ll do that,” Loriel told her, rubbing small circles into her shoulders. “I’m the Commander. It’s my job.”

“Doing that now, are you?” Yvanne muttered. Loriel ignored that, because she was hurting, and didn’t mean it, and anyway, she was right.

Maybe, she thought desperately, maybe Yvanne was right. Maybe they really were just innocent boys. Anders really did have a tendency for paranoia. Who was she to say?

The most difficult part was gathering up the limbs. Some had been flown well out of the clearing. There was probably no danger of anything possessing a body so dismembered, but corpses were to be burned. It was proper.

They could have had their men do this for them, but magical fire burned hotter and brighter, and this way it was over quicker. A few weeks from now, this clearing would heal. It would be green and peaceful again.

Yvanne remembered the time she had shown Justice the sparrow’s nest. Was that spot around here, somewhere? She felt like retching all over again.

When the pyre had reduced the remains to nothing but ash and memory, they doused the embers.

At some point, Loriel took Yvanne’s hand, and she didn’t shake her off.

“What are we going to do about this?” Yvanne said hollowly.

“I don’t know.”

“Should we look for him? Send men to bring him in?”

“We could do that.”

“And what would we do even if we found him? Execute him?”

“Is that what you want?” Loriel asked.

Yvanne sniffed. “No. Of course I don’t.” She rubbed at her eyes. “But he could hurt someone. We’d be responsible.” She was aware of who she sounded like, and was already busily hating herself for it.

“You saw what he did to those men,” Loriel said quietly. “If we send more after him, they’ll likely never come back.”

The thought of sending actual Templars after a boy they’d both grown up with was so vile that it didn’t even brook mentioning.

“So we cover it up.”

“We’ll make up a story. Something about secret Warden business.”

“What about Garahel?”

“Do you trust him?”

“I want to say yes, but…”

“Then I have a spell for that.”

“Alright. I suppose...alright.”

Loriel hugged her, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Then, very quietly: “He was my friend. They were both my friends.”

What could she possibly do but hold on tighter? “It’ll be alright, love. I don’t know how, but it will.”

And it was. For a time.

#dragon age #femslash #dragon age: awakening #amell #surana #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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kythen · 6 years

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Haikyuu!! - it’s hard when you’re young [2/2]

Pairing: Kurodai

Summary: Age Gap AU. Kuroo is doing well in high school. His volleyball team is on track to Nationals and his grades aren’t even slipping that much. Why his mom thinks he needs a tutor is beyond him.

A story about growing up, moving out, and falling in love. Also found here on AO3.

Fic commission for ali!

[Chapter 1]

Word count: 5,278

It has been a week since Kuroo moved into his new apartment near Tokyo University and he has explored every corner of his new neighbourhood, made friends with some of the shop owners, and finally, finally, unpacked all the boxes he had brought from home. It is dinnertime by the time Kuroo folds all the boxes up and stashes them away and he dusts his hands off while thinking about what to eat. He should start cooking for himself soon to save on food expenses, but it had just been so convenient to pop by one of the small restaurants in the area instead. Tomorrow, Kuroo thinks. He will go shopping for groceries in the morning and start making his own meals tomorrow.

But for now, Kuroo leaves his apartment, stepping out of the door just as the external lights in the corridor crackle to life. The jangling of keys from his neighbour's door distracts Kuroo and he looks to his side, curious about his new neighbour. In the week he has been here, he hasn't seen them but he has heard muffled footsteps on the other side of his wall and their five in the morning alarm, which cuts off almost as soon as it starts to ring. He has seen their well-kept box plants in their balcony and the laundry they hang out to dry on sunny days. Kuroo swears he recognises some of the shirts, cardigans, and jeans they hang out to dry and as he turns his head to look at his new neighbour he realises why.

"Sawamura-san?" Kuroo says incredulously and Sawamura startles, his keys spilling out of his hand and onto the floor.

Sawamura turns to face him, looking just as surprised as Kuroo as he asks, "Tetsurou-kun?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here. What are you doing here?"

"I live here too. Since, uh, last week."

Recognition dawns on Sawamura's face and he says, "So you were the one banging around next door with the boxes and, what, pots and pans?"

Kuroo grimaces. "I dropped a pot once."

"Sound really carries in this building," Sawamura says, his surprise melting into a familiar grin. He bends down to scoop up his keys from the floor and Kuroo doesn't blush—why would he?—but he realises, for the first time since meeting Sawamura again, that his ex-tutor is wearing a suit instead of the soft cardigans and worn jeans Kuroo had grown used to seeing him in.

The suit with its sharp, tailored cut flatters Sawamura's body line, hugging his toned arms and thighs as he reaches down to pick the keys up. By the time Sawamura straightens up, Kuroo is sure that he is staring and even as Sawamura turns his attention back on him, Kuroo can't seem to bring himself to look away.

Sawamura raises an eyebrow, looking down at himself as if trying to see what Kuroo is staring at, and Kuroo blurts out, "Have you been dressing down for my tutoring sessions?"

Sawamura looks confused for a moment before he breaks into a grin. "Oh, no. I got a new job."

"An actual desk job?" Kuroo asks, breathing a sigh of relief that Sawamura hadn't called him out for staring. "Never recovered from having me as a student, did you?

"Absolutely scarred for life," Sawamura chuckles and something in Kuroo's stomach squirms pleasantly at the sound of his voice. He hasn't seen Sawamura for three months and he has missed him.

Kuroo has always liked Sawamura, despite his early complaints about having a tutor at all, and after receiving Sawamura's congratulatory present, Kuroo had entertained a few daydreams about Sawamura still being in Karasuno and the both of them battling it out at Nationals in the fated Battle of the Trash Heap. He wonders what Sawamura had been like at his age, if he had always been so sturdy and reassuring or if he had been a fumbling high school student like Kuroo. He thinks it would be unfair if Sawamura was exactly the same at age seventeen as he is now.

"Tetsurou-kun, have you eaten yet?" Sawamura asks as he opens his door.

"I was going to grab something," Kuroo replies, gesturing vaguely outwards.

"Would you like to eat dinner with me? I was going to make dinner for myself but I think I could spare some for a beanpole like you." Sawamura grins as Kuroo pouts at the beanpole remark. He hasn't been a beanpole since his first year of high school. He has muscles now. "We could catch up over dinner."

"I'm not one to turn down a free meal so don't be surprised if this beanpole eats you out of house and home," Kuroo informs him.

"As youngsters should," Sawamura says sagely as he holds open the door for Kuroo.

---

"Hello, mom?" Kuroo says as he pads out onto the small balcony attached to his apartment, holding his phone to his ear.

It is a grey morning, cold enough that Kuroo feels it through his pyjamas. The air is cool and fresh and Kuroo breathes in deep and exhales it as a yawn, slouching over his railings to watch the comings and goings of the street below him.

"Tetsu! Honey, how have you been?"

"I'm fine. All unpacked and officially moved in."

"It's about time. I thought you were going to move back if you procrastinated on unpacking any longer."

"You'll never know. If the neighbours get too noisy for my liking I might show up on your doorstep again." Kuroo grins and turns around, leaning back against the railings as he looks towards his side, at the neighbouring balcony. "By the way, you'll never guess who I ran into here."

"Yaku-kun?"

"Nope."

"Kai-kun?"

"Nope."

"Kenma?"

"I'm pretty sure he's still asleep next door to you."

"I could go on, Tetsu."

Kuroo chuckles. She could and she would, just to annoy him.

On the balcony next to him, Sawamura putters around in the small space, hanging up his laundry and watering his plants. He sees Kuroo looking and he waves, a small smile warming his face. His hair is still tousled from sleep and he is wearing a plain shirt and shorts that Kuroo is certain he had slept in. It feels strangely intimate to be seeing Sawamura disheveled like this in the morning and Kuroo doesn't blush—his circulatory system isn't awake for that yet—but he thinks he feels the sun warming his face as it creeps out from behind the clouds.

He curls his toes against the cool surface of the balcony floor and flashes a smile back at Sawamura, saying into his phone, "Sawamura-san's here, mom."

"Sawamura-san? As in the man who tutored my son into Todai?"

"The one and the only. He's my neighbour."

"Really?"

"What are the odds, right?"

"Well, I did get this apartment listing from the same friend that recommended Sawamura as a tutor to me. Maybe she's friends with him."

Kuroo takes a silent moment to fervently thank his mom's friend.

"Tetsu?"

"Hrm?"

"You know, I'm kind of relieved that Sawamura-san's there. It may be a bit selfish of me to say this but I know he'll look out for you even if I'm not there. He's a good person."

"He is," Kuroo agrees quietly, slightly embarrassed to be talking about Sawamura when he is barely a metre away from him. "You know, the funny thing is that we just found out we were neighbours yesterday and he treated me to dinner."

"He's always feeding you, isn't he, Tetsu?" Kuroo's mom cackles. "I'm surprised you barely fattened up at all after snacking throughout the afternoon and then eating dinner right afterwards while studying for your entrance exams."

"Ha, takes more than that to fatten me up," Kuroo says smugly, running a hand over his lean stomach.

"Return the favour one day, won't you, Tetsu? I didn't teach you how to cook only for you to mooch off others for the rest of your life."

"I'm going grocery shopping later."

"That's my boy. Give my regards to Sawamura-san for me."

"I will. Love you, mom."

"Love you too, Tetsu. Call me again soon, alright?"

Kuroo puts down the phone and his gaze drifts over to Sawamura again. He is still there, prodding a leafy houseplant in a corner of his balcony and checking its pot.

"Talking to your mom?" Sawamura asks, glancing up at Kuroo.

"She sends her regards."

"Send my regards back the next time you call her."

"Roger that. But I mean, you guys have each other's numbers, don't you?"

"That's the way adults do things. We just pass messages through youngsters until the youngster gets sick of us and leaves." Sawamura grins up from his potted plant.

Kuroo rolls his eyes and tries not to smile. "I can't leave. I haven't even started school."

"Tough luck." Sawamura stands up with a groan and a click resounds through the air. To Kuroo's surprise, Sawamura colours faintly as he explains, "That was my knee. Volleyball does that to you."

"I'll be really careful from now on." Kuroo touches a hand to his own knee.

"Well," Sawamura says, dusting off his hands. "I've got to start breakfast now if I want to make it for work so I'll see you around, Tetsurou-kun."

Kuroo waves at him as he watches Sawamura go back into his apartment. The wind chime hanging from the top of his balcony door sounds in the slight breeze that follows Sawamura in and Kuroo stays on his balcony for a while longer, taking in the morning.

---

He had been warned about the drinking parties that happened in university. Kuroo had been prepared—or so he thought, because the ground is lurching under his feet and his esophagus might be trying to crawl out of his throat. He had been lucky that he hadn't passed out dead drunk like some of his friends and he had waved off any offers to call a cab for him. He lived within walking distance of the campus for a reason and he can still walk.

He even makes it all the way up the four flights of stairs it takes to get to his apartment, which gives him reason to be smug as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. Kuroo can't wait to lie down and sleep off the nausea circling through his head and stomach. But for some reason, his key won't fit into the keyhole and he tries it again and then again unsuccessfully. His next try goes wide as the door swings open by itself and Kuroo falls forward because the door had been the only thing holding him up until it disappeared.

Hands steady him before Kuroo falls flat on his face in the entryway and he drapes himself over his mysterious door guardian, mumbling his thanks.

"Tetsurou-kun?" That is the sound of disapproval and Kuroo whines because he lives alone, which means he doesn't get judged for his actions anymore.

Kuroo slumps to the floor as his door guardian buckles under his weight, while still managing to keep Kuroo vertical, which is a smart move in Kuroo's opinion. He doesn't think he could handle going horizontal without expelling the contents of his stomach and he doesn't want to deal with the aftermath of that.

A cool hand smooths Kuroo's hair back and he thinks he purrs a bit because that feels good against his heated face. With his hair out of his face, Kuroo can finally see properly and he sees Sawamura right in front of him, his mouth turned down in a frown.

"Whyyyy," Kuroo mumbles, trying to paw at Sawamura's face. He has never seen him frown and it makes him feel bad, like he had done something wrong. He prefers Sawamura's smiles so much more and the way they make him feel all tingly inside.

"You are so drunk, Tetsurou-kun." Sawamura catches Kuroo by the forearms, tugging him up until they are both standing again. "God, I thought you were the world's worst robber trying to break into my apartment."

"'Is my house," Kuroo slurs, leaning heavily on Sawamura as Sawamura drags him in with a grunt.

"No, it's mine." Sawamura sets him down on something soft and props him up so that Kuroo doesn't flop over immediately. It goes quiet for a while and Kuroo blinks hazily, trying to focus on his surroundings until Sawamura fills his vision again and puts a wet towel on his face. "I should tell your mom about this."

"Nooooooo, doooon't," Kuroo protests, waving his hands before him, and the world sways.

"Okay, okay, I won't. Just don't move around anymore, Tetsurou-kun. Please don't throw up on my bed." Sawamura catches Kuroo hurriedly before he can fall over. He thrusts a cup of water into Kuroo's hands and guides it to his lips, coaxing him to drink.

Kuroo drinks obediently, gazing at Sawamura through his lashes as Sawamura bends over him. Sawamura's eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is still a thin line of disapproval, but his hands are cool against Kuroo's hands and Kuroo wishes that Sawamura would touch his face again. It had felt good.

He makes a garbled noise as he tries to tell Sawamura that and Sawamura takes the cup away, holding Kuroo steady with one arm. It is a good arm, a nice arm, and Kuroo pats it as Sawamura manoeuvres him into lying down. He doesn't let it go even after his back touches the bed and Sawamura tugs on his arm, trying to reclaim it from Kuroo.

"Y'know, my mom thinks you're handsome," Kuroo says as he looks up at Sawamura, haloed by the ceiling light behind him and looking like a heavenly door guardian angel. He can't even see Sawamura that well in his drunken state but he knows what Sawamura looks like and he has always liked how Sawamura looked.

"Thank her for me," Sawamura says as he pries Kuroo's grasping hands off his arm, finger by finger.

"I think you're handsome too."

"Thank you, Tetsurou-kun," Sawamura says patiently, setting Kuroo's hands down on either side of him.

"I really like you, Saaaaamura-san," Kuroo sighs, latching onto Sawamura's hands and folding his fingers over Sawamura's. They are strong and steady, just like all of Sawamura and Kuroo smiles giddily, pleased.

Sawamura extracts his hands from Kuroo's grip but before Kuroo can protest, he strokes Kuroo's hair back again, affection and amusement mingling in his voice as he says, "You're sweet."

"No, you are."

"Cute."

"No, you."

"You're drunk."

"No," Kuroo thinks about his answer carefully because one corner of Sawamura's lips is quirked upwards, which makes Kuroo think there is a trick to this. "You."

Sawamura snorts and Kuroo's smile widens. "Go to sleep, Tetsurou-kun."

Kuroo feels blindly for Sawamura's hand, his fingers curling around Sawamura's wrist and keeping his hand there in his hair. It feels nice, having his hair stroked like this and he doesn't want Sawamura to stop when Kuroo falls asleep. "Stay here with me?"

"I will," Sawamura assures him with a laugh. "It's my apartment after all."

---

Morning brings with it regret and a headache that pounds away on the inside of Kuroo's skull, making him whimper and curl up with the pain before he even comes into consciousness. He has never gotten this drunk in his life and now that he has, he doesn't ever want a repeat experience. He feels like the walking dead. Or the lying dead, since he is still horizontal on his bed.

Kuroo buries his face in his pillow and hugs it with both arms like his life depends on it. He doesn't think he can open his eyes and face the day. He lies on his stomach, the blankets tangled around his body as he does his best impression of a dead fish.

The first thought he has as his brain slowly wakes up is that his pillow smells different. The second thought he has is that he is short of a pillow, which he can't find even as he sweeps his arm out over his bed. His third thought, after a considerable amount of breathing into a different-smelling pillow and finding no extra pillow, is that perhaps, maybe, this isn't his bed.

Kuroo pushes himself up on his hands in cold sweat, frantically scanning the bed for an extra body. He is alone in the bed and Kuroo checks his clothes next, finding them whole and intact on his person. Nothing feels out of sorts except the insistent pounding in his head and Kuroo breathes a sigh of relief before looking around the apartment.

For a brief moment, Kuroo thinks that he had got it wrong and he is back at his apartment. But then he realises that despite the similar layout, the contents of this apartment are different. There is a writing desk where his luggage bag should be and a bookcase pushed up against the wall where Kuroo had left it empty to maximise the space in his apartment. A volleyball sits on the bottom shelf of the bookcase but it is the wrong colour and a wind chime rings softly, disturbed by the slight draft that blows through the crack in the balcony door. Kuroo pales.

From what he can tell, he is alone in Sawamura's apartment and guilt swallows Kuroo whole as he remembers, in excruciating clarity, everything that had happened last night after he had reached his apartment building. There is no sign of Sawamura as Kuroo throws off his blankets, swings his legs off the side of the bed, and stays stock-still as a wave of nausea rises in him. There is a cup of water by his bedside and Kuroo takes it gingerly, uncovering a note under it that reads:

"Take these if you're feeling hungover and whatever you do, please do NOT throw up on my bed, Tetsurou-kun. You know where my bathroom is.

I left breakfast on the counter for you. You're welcome to rest in my bed for as long as you like. Or until I come back and need my bed back. Whichever comes first.

- Sawamura"

Kuroo takes the pills Sawamura had left for him. Then he puts his head in his hands and contemplates drowning himself in the last inch of water left in the cup. He remembers everything and he is pretty sure that he had felt up Sawamura's arms in several inappropriate ways last night. Then he had hit on him in the worst way possible—by involving his mom, of all things. And the absolute, most disastrous thing was that Sawamura had only been amused by everything Kuroo had done. He had petted Kuroo's hair and called him cute and out of every embarrassing thing that had transpired last night, Kuroo is the most mortified by that.

Kuroo likes Sawamura—drunk, uninhibited Kuroo had made that very clear—but he hadn't thought that he liked Sawamura that much until he was looking at Sawamura's mouth last night and thinking about how much he wanted to kiss him before he passed out.

---

Needless to say, things are awkward for the both of them for the next few weeks. Or for Kuroo, at least. Sawamura had asked how he was the very next day and Kuroo had stuttered out his thanks and apologies and not much of a real answer before he ducked back into his apartment. With the new semester starting and new friends to be made, Kuroo's schedule becomes unpredictable and he doesn't see Sawamura around as much.

He still thinks about Sawamura though. Sawamura looking after him while he was drunk gives him new material for his thoughts. His daydreams of Sawamura in high school meeting him at Nationals turn to daydreams of his hands cupping Kuroo's face and stroking his hair, and his smiles and his mouth. When Kuroo wakes up one morning with his shorts uncomfortably damp and hot, he buries his burning face back into his pillow and tries unsuccessfully to suffocate himself.

"How has school been, Tetsurou-kun?" Sawamura asks him one morning as he hangs his laundry out on his balcony, smiling sleepily at him.

"Um, fine." Kuroo shrugs and considers making an escape so that he doesn't have to face the guilt of looking at Sawamura after waking up hot and sweaty again. But he stays, because it has been weeks since he has seen Sawamura properly and as embarrassed as Kuroo is about his crush, he misses Sawamura.

"Making friends, playing volleyball, and keeping up with your assignments?" Sawamura asks, stretching to hang his last article of clothing and Kuroo averts his eyes from the small sliver of skin that shows between his shirt and shorts.

"Check, check, and check. All in that order," Kuroo says. And nursing the biggest crush in the universe on you right at the top of that list, he thinks.

"Sounds about right," Sawamura comments. He turns away from his laundry to face Kuroo and Kuroo freezes in place, blindsided by Sawamura's sudden full attention. "Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? We haven't had dinner in a while and I have some extra groceries lying about."

"Yes, please," Kuroo squeaks, his desire to have dinner with Sawamura again overriding his fear of embarrassing himself in front of Sawamura.

"So polite," Sawamura teases. "What happened to the threats of eating me out of house and home?"

"I can absolutely still eat you out" —Kuroo doesn't blush so much as he spontaneously explodes as he realises the innuendo in that— "OF HOUSE AND HOME."

Sawamura blinks at Kuroo's sudden rise in volume. "Well, okay. I'll be sure to cook extra for you then. Is curry rice alright with you?"

Sawamura sounds sympathetic as he says that, eyeing Kuroo as if expecting him to faint from hunger at any time, and Kuroo can't do anything but nod dumbly, not trusting himself to say anything ever again. Sawamura seems satisfied with that and he picks up his laundry basket, waving to Kuroo as he goes back into his apartment. Only when Kuroo is absolutely certain that Sawamura is gone does he slither to the ground in a useless heap and wonder how he is going to survive the evening.

---

Kuroo shows up at Sawamura's apartment at exactly six and hovers by him as finishes cooking, offering his help and being waved off by Sawamura. It is nice, being in Sawamura's apartment again and having dinner with him, and Kuroo would enjoy it if not for the dreadful heart palpitations that had struck him when he remembered that Sawamura cooked in an apron. It isn't even anything particularly striking, just a plain blue thing he has seen Sawamura in before, but somehow being acutely aware of his crush on Sawamura makes everything about Sawamura a big deal.

"This always reminds me of our tutoring sessions," Sawamura says as they sit opposite each other at the low table that serves as Sawamura's dining table, coffee table, and everything else. "I feel like I'm going to mark a paper soon."

"And you're still feeding me after all this time," Kuroo jokes, digging into his food.

"So I am," Sawamura laughs. "It's become something of a habit when you've got younger siblings and whole team of juniors to look after."

"I could cook for you next time," Kuroo offers. "Since you're always the one cooking for me."

"I'm tempted to refuse because I'm older than you and it should be my duty to make sure you get fed, but I'm not that magnanimous an adult." Sawamura grins. "What's your culinary repertoire, Tetsurou-kun?"

Kuroo swallows down his mouthful of curry and rice, sensing the challenge in Sawamura's voice. "I am the best fish griller."

"Oh? What kind of fish?"

"Mackerel, salmon, tuna," Kuroo lists, ticking them off his fingers. "My favourite is saury but it's usually only available in autumn. Wait until September rolls around and I'll grill some for you, Sawamura-san. Other than that, I can do the basics like fried rice, curry rice, omelettes, and all that jazz."

"I'll be looking forward to your cooking, Tetsurou-kun," Sawamura says with a smile, which makes Kuroo's heart palpitations return in full force. "Unfortunately, I won't be here after September so I won't get to try your specialty but I hope I'll get to eat the rest."

Kuroo drops his spoon. "What?"

"I'm returning to Miyagi in autumn," Sawamura explains. "As you should know, I graduated from Karasuno High School and they're offering me a teaching and coaching position there starting in October."

Sawamura says all of this calmly, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on Kuroo, and maybe it doesn't count as a bomb to Sawamura. People moved in and out all the time, across prefectures and even countries. It isn't like Sawamura is going away forever when Miyagi is just a train ride away. But it is just that Kuroo hadn't realised that this casual relationship they had between them as neighbours would come to an end this soon.

Kuroo hasn't even figured out how to tell Sawamura that he likes him.

"But... what?" Kuroo says coherently and tries not to feel like an ass when Sawamura's face falls.

"I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I didn't think you would be this affected," Sawamura says apologetically. "We can still stay in contact after I move. It's just..." He sighs, putting down his spoon. "I haven't really been successful or comfortable with my jobs here in Tokyo. It always feels like something's missing. Teaching and coaching is something I finally feel like I want to do and I'm pretty excited for it."

"No, I mean, I'm happy for you," Kuroo says hurriedly, frantic at the thought of making Sawamura upset. "It's just that, that..."

"That?" Sawamura asks curiously.

"I thought you were going to be here with me all the time," Kuroo mumbles, his face flushing. "I don't know why I thought that."

"Tetsurou-kun," Sawamura says gently, "you're old enough that you don't need an adult figure to guide you in life."

"It's not that!" Kuroo blurts out.

Sawamura blinks at Kuroo's sudden outburst. "Then what is it?"

There are moments in Kuroo's life that Kuroo registers as now or never moments. He has had them before, plenty of times during volleyball matches and other times during infrequent moments of his life when Kuroo thinks what he does next will decide the course of his future. Now, he registers at the back of his head, is one of those moments. It isn't that he isn't going to see Sawamura ever again or that Sawamura is going to move out immediately after dinner, but Kuroo just thinks, in vague panic, that if he never comes clean about his feelings for Sawamura now, he may never be able to say them out loud.

"I like having you around, Sawamura-san," Kuroo says, fumbling through his words, his heart racing away in his chest. "And having dinner with you. And talking to you and seeing you in the mornings when you're out on the balcony." He swallows hard, seizing the moment with both hands as he looks Sawamura straight in the eye and confesses, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I like you, Sawamura-san."

Sawamura's cheeks pink and Kuroo stares because that is a good look on him. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"You said something like that the other day when you were drunk but I thought it was because you were, you know, drunk," Sawamura coughs.

"I was drunk," Kuroo admits, still embarrassed about that day. "But that doesn't change how I feel about you."

Sawamura shakes his head and Kuroo's heart drops. "I'm much older than you, Tetsurou-kun."

"So what? You're still" —Kuroo blushes— "handsome. And kind. And a really great cook."

"I'm turning twenty-nine this year. That's ten years older than you," Sawamura tells him.

"I don't care," Kuroo says honestly because he doesn't. "I thought you were thirty, remember?"

"You weren't too far off," Sawamura mutters. "I'm an old man compared to you."

"But do you like me?" Kuroo asks, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels when it seems like Sawamura is slipping out of his reach. "Or do you think you could give me a chance? Please?"

Sawamura is leaning away from the table, their dinner forgotten and growing cold by the moment, and he hesitates, his eyes flicking to Kuroo and away. For a moment, it seems like Sawamura is going to say no and shut him down here and now. But then Sawamura sighs and drags his hand down his face, muttering, "It's hard not to like you, Tetsurou-kun."

Kuroo straightens up, hope blooming in his heart. "Does that mean—"

"I'm still moving to Miyagi in September," Sawamura reminds him. "You just started attending university here in Tokyo."

"Long distance relationships are a thing now. And think about it, when I graduate from Todai, I'll be much older then." Kuroo grins.

"It doesn't work that way," Sawamura points out, although Kuroo can see a corner of his mouth quirking up in a suppressed smile. "What will your mother say?"

Kuroo stops to think about it for a second and finds that he knows the answer to that. "She said that you're a good person. I think she would be happy for me."

Sawamura doesn't say anything but he has stopped moving away from the table and when Kuroo reaches out to touch his hand, Sawamura doesn't pull back. His hand is warm, strong, and steady just like Kuroo remembers and Kuroo squeezes it. His palm is clammy but Kuroo can't tell if it is Sawamura or him. They are as nervous as each other and Kuroo thinks that this is the first time he has ever seen Sawamura look this uncertain, his face open and vulnerable as he looks back at Kuroo.

He wants to see so much more of Sawamura, wants to know so much more about him, wants to be there for him if Sawamura is willing to let him. He may only be eighteen, which is nothing compared to the extra ten years Sawamura has on him, but Kuroo has always been a great learner.

---

It is scorching hot right out of the train station and Kuroo twitches the front of his shirt, trying to conjure up a slight breeze against his skin. It isn't as hot here in Miyagi as it is in Tokyo, but it is still summer and Kuroo feels it pounding down on him as he walks from the train station to the apartment building. By the time he reaches the front door, he has sweat pouring down his face and sticking his shirt to his back.

Even from outside, Kuroo can hear the tinkling of a wind chime and the soft buzz of the television through the door. It is lunch time and the faint smell of curry wafts through the air, right on time. Kuroo had said he would be here at noon and he didn't even have to mention lunch to know that he would be getting fed. Two years of this and he is still getting spoiled, despite Kuroo's best efforts to turn the tide.

Kuroo rings the doorbell and footsteps head in his direction, the lock turning and the door swinging inwards.

"Hey, Sawamura-san," Kuroo says, smiling at Sawamura in the doorway.

"Hey yourself, Tetsurou," Sawamura says back to him, his face warming with a smile as Kuroo steps into his apartment and reaches for him.

#kurodai #kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #haikyuu!!#my writing

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andimpink · 7 years

Text

Junkyard Jam

A/N: Prepare yourselves for this wonderful Racing AU I came up with for the beloved Junkers. I can just see them being a kick-butt racing team and had to write a fan fiction with them doing just that. Hope someone else besides me enjoys this -.-

Screams and shouts filled the air, muffling the speedway's advertisements and boisterous music. The stands were packed to the max and people were still filing in from the admission booths. It was the hottest day of the summer but that hadn't stopped people from coming down to see the races. Who would want to miss the biggest race of the year, the 15th Annual Junkyard Jam? While that may be one reason, there was another one that was more likely. Team Junker was in town for the race and I could tell by the number of attendees wearing their merchandise that they were the reason for people braving the unforgiving sun.

Team Junker was a two-man team that had won so many races people who weren't hardcore fans had stopped counting. They were a fearless duo who didn't let anyone get the jump on them. In their sidecar motorcycle, they took the competition to a completely new level. When Mako Rutledge and Jamison Fawkes were in town to race, everyone showed up to compete. No racer in history had gotten the amount of fame they had earned themselves, which is why racers were so eager to beat them. The driver that beat them would forever be known as the racer that beat Team Junker.

Pulling my hat down over my face, I made my way down to the gate to the garage where the races waited. Flashing my badge at the guards posted outside, I entered the crowded room. It was air conditioned in here and I breathed in the cool air that smelled of gasoline, oil, and rubber. It was just as loud in here as it was outside. Drivers and their teams looked over their cars one last time before the first race began. Some had already finished and were blasting music from their home cooked rides. Every driver's anticipation to get out on the course was palpable. It was ten minutes until it was time to leave the garage and line up at the start line.

I walked past everyone to where my baby waited for me. The electric green Hoverscooter was where I had left it. I had come across the hunk of junk in my grandpa's scrap shop. He had stolen a couple parts from it and left the rest of it to rust in a corner. I was shocked when I realized it was a Model 1, the very first of its kind. They were a rare thing and I couldn't let my grandpa use the rest of it for his projects, so I asked him if I could have it. He gave it to me and I started to fix it up. Finding all the parts I needed took about a year and a half. Most of my credits went into buying those parts and I was thankful my grandpa gave me the use of his workshop.

"Oi! That is one sweet ride you got!" Looking up from the gravity modules, I found one-half of the Junker team standing there. Jamison Fawkes walked over with his authentic peg-leg swagger and squatted down next to me. "Mind if I take a look?" Before I could answer, the man was poking his nose into the gravity module compartment.

"Hey!" I barked. "I didn't say..."

"You got this piece of scrap fixed up good." Shutting the panel, he turned to me with an ear-to-ear grin. "Not every day that you see a Model 1 Hoverscooter in better than tip-top condition, sheila. Where's your hot-shot boyfriend driving it?" Clenching my fists, I glared at the Aussie. "I don't have a boyfriend. I'm..."

"Where's the driver then?" he interrupted and glanced around the room. Pointing at some rugged-looking racer with his bionic hand, he looked to me. "Is it him?"

Grabbing his hand, feeling the cold metal on my palm, I pulled it until he was pointing at me. "I am the driver. Now, if you'd kindly leave me alone.”

"Wait just a second, sheila." he said, letting out a short chuckle. "They're letting a pretty little thing like you race?"

"Yep." I said, putting my hands on my hips. "And I am going to win."

Jamison laughed the longest and most obnoxious laugh I had ever heard in my life. He sounded crazy and looked just as much. "You... hahaha... racing..." Clutching at his stomach, he keeled over and kept laughing. Anger boiled up inside me and I clenched my fists at my side. I wanted to pick up the nearest tool and knock him over the head with it, but didn't get the chance. His teammate showed up at just the right time and pushed his counterpart to the side with ease.

Mako Rutledge was not a person you wanted to mess with. He was the most intimidating driver in the room despite being the quietest. Very few had heard him speak, but he was capable of speaking his mind when he wished to. Those who had heard the man's voice said they had walked away with at least two broken bones, not to mention countless bruises and missing teeth. His silence wasn't even the most unnerving thing about him. The guy's appearance was the most intimidating thing about him. His large size combined with his iconic gas mask and rugged fashion made him the scariest person in the room.

"Hog, this sheila..." Jamison giggled, leaning against his partner. "She thinks she's got a chance to beat us." The beanpole of a man continued to lose it while Mako looked down at me, or so I thought. I tried not to look at him, but did just that when he motioned to my scooter then pointed at me.

"Uh, yeah. It's mine." I said, hoping that I had guessed what his non-verbal question was. Mako grunted in acknowledgement, but I hadn't the faintest idea what he meant by it. I noticed that the other racers were starting to be directed to leave the garage to go to the starting line. "Well, I better get going. It was nice... uh, talking to the two of you."

"Thanks, haha, for the laugh." Jamison wheezed, finally ending his bout of laughter. He returned to his upright, yet hunched, position and wiped an invisible tear from his eye. Mako had already started for their ride and Jamison followed, tossing a few last words over his shoulder. "Hope to see you at the end of the race after we've won, sheila. Maybe I will buy your Mod. 1 off of you with my winnings."

Anger boiled in my veins. I’d show that good for nothing Aussie that I meant business. He would learn quite quickly that he underestimated my abilities. The many months I spent preparing for this race would not be all for naught. When I had decided to race, I promised myself I would do everything in my ability to win. I was not going to let these big time racers be the reason for losing. I would win or my name wasn't Daisy Dawson. I grabbed my helmet and put it on, pulling the visor down. After I hopped onto my Mod 1., I made my way out to the track with the other racers.

The crowd was as rowdy as ever at the sight of the racers lining up. Not to mention the wickedness of the racecourse. This wasn't called the Junkyard Jam for no reason. The course was covered with obstacles, from mud pits to flaming oil puddles. Rusted vehicles that had been crushed lined the course. Any one of these hazards could mean the end of the race for its victim. If the course wasn't ruthless enough, then the rules sure were. There were no rules. The only real rule was that the first racer to complete all 150 laps or be the last one standing was the winner. The race's motto was 'Anything Goes' because that's how it was. Anything was allowed, no matter how devious or illegal. I could tell just by looking at some of the other contestant's vehicles that it would be a brutal race.

Everyone was finishing lining up and I looked around, feeling the anticipation build. My heart hammered in my chest and I was so much aware of everything around me. Exhaust filled the air with its acrid scent, a scent that only fueled my heightened senses. I wanted nothing more than for the race to start so I would really get a good dose of adrenaline. Team Junker was lined up not very far from where I was and I eyed the two of them. Jamison 'Junkrat' Fawkes eyed the other racers around them, that somewhat insane grin on his face. While his partner, Mako 'Roadhog' Rutledge, remained stoic and focused. The two were polar opposites and I wondered how it was they had become partners.

It wasn't too much later that the announcer's voice echoed out over the sound system. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the 15th Annual Junkyard Jam!" The crowd roared with excitement. "We are so glad you could make it out here for the biggest event of the summer. The racers have lined up and here in a moment, they'll be starting. We have a great variety of racers, from experts to newbies. I hope you all enjoy the excitement we've got for you this year." The announcer continued to speak, but the blood rushing in my ears drowned out the sound. My eyes focused on the starting lights and I revved my scooter, feeling it rumble harder beneath me. Any moment now, I told myself. Before I knew it, the first light came on and I could feel the energy of every other racer and vehicle roar to life. Here we go. The lights lit up one by one and seemed to take forever. When they all turned bright green, I smirked under my helmet and turned the throttle. Shooting forward, the race had begun and I was determined to do my best to win.

I was passed by an Omnic on a wicked fast dirt bike before the first mud pit hazard, but managed to pass two racers who had gotten stuck in the mud. I briefly heard the announcer say that someone other than Team Junker was in the lead, but not for long. A sharp turn in the course was coming up and I prepared myself for it. Just before reaching it, I turned and drifted right around the inside of it and drifted. I laughed as I passed another opponent that was caught off guard by me and almost ran off the course. This was only the first lap, but I could easily see myself making it to the head of the pack by the last lap.

"We have newbie Daisy Dawson creeping up on the top 10 slowly but surely." the announcer commented. "That Mod. One Hoverscooter is something we have never seen before. It will be interesting to see how she handles what the competition throws her way."

As I came around another corner, an explosion a ways ahead of me startled me. Startled by the commotion, I slowed and allowed two people to pass me. I knew that there were no rules in this race, but using explosives? Was killing the contestants something racers were actually willing to do? I gulped nervously and sped back up, hoping to get back to where I was. The announcer provided explanation for the explosion. "It was just confirmed that the explosion on the course was caused by Team Junker. It seems their clever trick has knocked two racers out, dropping the number of racers to eighteen."

Of course, those two caused the explosion. I knew I had to buckle down and push forwards. Lap by lap, I made ground and lost it. About halfway through the race, I had to make a pit stop to change the battery in the Hoverscooter. It was something I had practiced so many times that I could do it in less than thirty seconds. It was blistering hot and sweat drenched my body. I took a quick drink of water from one of the bottles provided to all the racers. With the battery changed and some water in my body, I made my way quickly back onto the course. I was only a few places behind where I had been and knew I could get back with ease.

The Omnic on the zippy dirt bike had taken my place, but I caught up to him after two more laps. Just as I started to pass him, he veered towards me, forcing me close to a burning puddle of oil. I slowed down to avoid it and growled under my breath. Speeding up, I moved closer so that I could try to pass again. This time I was ready for the move he pulled. I sped up suddenly and he went off the course, missing a burning puddle of oil but hitting the edge of the course. He flew off his bike and landed a little ways in front of a stand of spectators. It wasn't like me to play a dirty move like that, but at least he was out of my way now. "Daisy Dawson, ladies and gentlemen! She has just run Zion Prince right out of the race, putting her at the number ten spot." the announcer called out.

Before I knew it, there were only ten laps left. I had made it all the way to the third spot and was catching up to the racer in second and the Junkers. The two-man team had set off about a dozen other explosions. Last I had heard, there were only 14 racers left. Being this close to those two made me a little nervous, but I could only hope that they were out of their explosives. The end was coming up and I wanted to finish this race regardless of whether I came in first or not. An explosion ahead of the Junkers went off and the crowd roared.

"What's this? Team Junker seems to have set of an explosion in front of themselves and stopped completely." Boos could be heard from a great number of the spectators. "No. It seems Cal Maverick had some explosives as well. He very well may have been responsible for some of the other explosions. His hidden trick has placed him in the top position."

This was my chance to pass Team Junker. I sped my way towards them as they struggled to catch back up to Cal Maverick. Jamison looked back over his shoulder at me, his wild looking eyes widening. He turned back and said something inaudible to Mako. More and more, I gained ground on them until I was going to make a pass. I turned the throttle and sped up, coming up next to them. We were neck and neck when something unexpected happened. I was grabbed by Mako and pulled off my Hoverscooter. A scream pushed itself past my lips and I was surprised to hear the cackling laughter of Jamison. Mako had set me in the sidecar onto of his partner, focusing once again on the course ahead. “What the heck?!" I shouted. "What is going on?!"

"We need your help, sheila". Jamison answered, letting out a short giggle. "Can't win otherwise."

"You just ruined my chance of winning, you stupid man!" I seethed, wanting nothing more than to punch his lights out. "Not to mention what may have happened to my Mod. 1!"

"She'll be right." Mako said, catching me off guard. His voice was gruff and was a definite reflection of his character. "We'll pay for any damages."

"Exactly! We'll... Oi!" Jamison smacked his partner. "What do you mean 'We'll pay for damages' mate? Are you saying we're going to give a share of our winnings to her?" Mako shrugged and Jamison groaned in annoyance. "Whatever. Thing is, we're needing your help.”

“Why should I help you?” I snapped. “You’ve done nothing to convince me I should. Any chance I had at winning is shot thanks to the two of you.” Jamison was moving around beneath me and it made me want to turn around and hit him. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop moving around and something pressed against my back at the exact moment. "Stop... What is pressing into my back, rat?"

"Just some C4." Jamison said with such nonchalance that you would think it wasn't dangerous. I was relieved that it wasn't something else, but still found it just as frightening. Maybe even more frightened. The stupid man chuckled, probably noticing how tense I had become. "You're going to need to drive for Roadie when we get close enough to this guy. We gotta blow this guy right out of the race."

"Uh... Okay." I said, not really sure I could do as he asked. "What exactly are you two going to do?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Jamison responded. He patted the nasty looking hook at Mako's hip. "Roadie here is going to hook this Maverick guy and I'm going to leave a little present once he's behind us. You're going to drive until Hog here can take back over. Got it?"

"I think so."

"Good." Jamison chuckled. "It looks like we're catching up. Soon, Roadie?"

"Soon." he grunted back. He seemed to glance down at me and I gulped nervously. Was I really willing to help them with this plan? It wouldn't matter in the end. I wasn't going to accomplish what I had come here for. They had promised me part of their winnings, but I hadn't wanted the money in the first place. I suppose I would have had a hard time making it past this Maverick guy with his explosives. Not to mention these two.

BOOM!

I yelped as dirt flew into the air and I was flung to one side of the sidecar violently as Mako swerved to dodge the blast. Jamison cackled then shouted excitedly. "This guy knows his stuff!" I wasn't sure that was something to laugh about. "He doesn't know what we've got in store for him though."

We made another lap before we were close enough to pull off the plan. There was about fifteen to twenty feet between us when Jamison nodded to his partner. "Here we go, sheila. Let's do this!" Mako picked me up once again and plopped me down in front of him, allowing me to replace his hands on the bike's handles where his once were. Focusing on driving now, I allowed the announcer to tell me all that was going on.

"Daisy Dawson has taken over driving for Team Junker while the two-man team seems to be doing something else." I gained some more ground on Maverick and hoped it would help these two with their plan. I heard the clanking of metal as well as the whoosh as something went around over the top of all three of us. "What is this? Mako 'Roadhog' Rutledge is wielding a hook. It looks like he's going to try and..." Before the announcer could say what was happening, the hook shot over the top of me and flew towards Cal Maverick. It curled around the guy and was pulled taught, yanking him clean off his bulky quad. The hulk slipped away from him and he tumbled on the ground. "They've pulled Cal Maverick right off his quad, folks!"

"Get as close to his ride, sheila!" Jamison yelled. "We're going to make sure he can't recover."

I dodged out of the way of the vehicle-less Maverick and turned the throttle to catch up with his runaway quad. It had crashed into the siding at the one sharp turn in the course. The bike was different from my scooter, but I was going to try my best to get Jamison as close to Maverick's ride as I could. We were approaching the turn fast and I readied myself to turn.

"They're going pretty fast, ladies and gentlemen." the announcer commented. "Let's see if Daisy Dawson can make this turn like she did on her own ride."

"Here we go!" I shouted as we came up on the turn. My hands directed the vehicle into a drift, swinging us around towards Maverick's vehicle and into the turn. The world seemed to slow around us and I glanced back for the few seconds it took for Jamison to toss the C4 at the quad. As it flew through the air towards its target, I pushed the Junkers' bike to the limits and sped away from where the blast would go off. A sudden wave of intense heat hit my back and my ears rang from the loud explosion.

"They've blown Maverick's quad to bits!" the announcer shouted, his voice almost inaudible because of the audiences reaction. Jamison was also celebrating the victory by hollering at the top of his lungs. "He is out of the race!"

Mako settled back into place behind me and I moved my hands so he could take over. "Good job." he said, with a hint of cockiness in his voice. Maybe he is more alike to Jamison than I thought he was.

"Thanks." I responded, smiling unbeknownst to the other two. I would not admit it to them, but I had thoroughly enjoyed being a part of their plan. It made me understand why they were a team instead of going solo. The way they worked so well together and enjoyed what they did made me wish I could have a partner of my own. "Not so bad yourselves. Not bad at all."

Finishing first was a given after knocking Cal Maverick out of the race. The crowd went crazy as we crossed the finish line and the announcer blasted off about our victory. Jamison cheered for both him and his racing partner. As they pulled into the winner's circle and parked, I hopped off the bike and started for where my scooter had been abandoned. Before I knew what was happening, I was picked up off the ground and hoisted onto the broad shoulder of Mako. On his other sat Jamison, beaming over at me. "Thought you could sneak away, eh Sheila?" Jamison laughed. "We weren't going to take all the glory, ya know."

"But..." I started, only to be cut off.

"Pish-posh!" Jamison flicked his hand back and forth. "We wouldn't have been able to win without you. Besides, Roadie here thought you'd make a great addition to the team."

"Really?" I asked, glancing down at the masked man. He nodded and I smiled down at him. "Thank you?"

Jamison chuckled and punched my shoulder. "Welcome to the team, sheila."

A/N: And that’s that! Hope you enjoyed it!

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