#drinks smacking me from the grave after drowning right in front of them: come. we will take ibuprofen together

[thousandth-island]

Yesterday was the first time I have ever played big run. Or used a charger. Or been in a salmon run.

And I am forever grateful to @teachkidsswears and @tapidrinks for helping with that 🙏💕

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Fight - Little Sparrow Series Oneshot

A/N: I took a much looser approach with the prompt for Writer Wednesday. :) Thank you for reading, reblogging, and commenting. 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F! Reader x Ellaria Sand 

Warnings: 18 + for language, canon typical violence, mentions of depression, wanting to die, angst with a resolution. 

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“You are an absolute FOOL!” Ellaria shouts from the entrance to the training yards. Men and women scattered in all directions at the fire in her eyes. Ellaria is a fearsome woman to behold on an average day but when she is angry, beware.

Oberyn scoffs and stabs his spear into the ground, leaning on it gently. “What have I done now?” Ellaria stomps the rest of the way towards him and grabs onto his jaw harshly. 

“What have you done now?! Think, you always claim to be the smartest man in the room, the most cunning, the red viper,” her words dripping with sarcasm. 

“I truly do not know,” he pushes her hand away, but the viper is not quick enough, and her hand smacks across his face. The spear clatters the ground, and Oberyn reaches for his cheek, holding it and staring at her with wide eyes. 

“How dare you?” she growls, “I should have hit you harder! Maybe then you would remember what you have done to our Sparrow.” 

Oberyn furrows his brow for a moment before realization slowly dawns on his face. Memories of a conversation with you from the night before. His belly was still full of wine, his head a bit hazy as he spared with a newer soldier. 

**********

“Oberyn, please,” you begged, standing outside the ring used for fighters. His moves were sloppy; he was going to get himself hurt. “Please, my love, come to bed.” 

“Go!” he barks at you, narrowly missing a blow to the head from the other wooden sword of his opponent. “Is that all you got?!” he shouts, edging the other man on. His expression hardens, and his sword moves quicker, slashing left and right against Oberyn. 

You know what day it is—the reason for his drinking to excess, calling upon everyone for a fight. The children and Ellaria had been sent away for the evening, and you wished for her soft touch around your shoulders. Oberyn had begged you to stay, claiming only to need your body to suppress the grief he wishes to drown in. “Oberyn,” you call again, quieter, the tears beginning to swell in your eyes. 

He turns towards you, and that’s all the distraction his opponent needed. The other man strikes him in the chest, knocking him off balance, the spear toppling from his hand. He barrels, rolls around your prince, and picks up the spear pointing the sharp blade against his neck. “Yield,” he growls, eyes hard, and Oberyn just watches his chest panting, the steel prick of his spear against his throat. 

The red viper does not lose. 

“Yield,” he repeats, pressing the blade tighter to the prince’s throat, drawing a drop of blood, staining the golden robes. 

Oberyn lifts his head, and more blood trickles down his neck, “never,” he growls, voice dripping with venom. “Kill me,” he orders, “strike me down, live in infamy as the man who killed the Red Viper.” 

“NO!” you step forward, reaching a hand out to wrap around the spear with one hand and pushing your lover down with the other. “That is quite enough for one night.” His opponent drops the spear to the ground and stands above you, bowing his head. 

“My apologies, my Lady, my Prince,” he bows to you both before turning to leave the training yard. All others have left for the night, and it’s as silent as the grave as you turn back to Oberyn. 

You can feel his eyes burning on yours, and you avoid them, instead choosing to focus on the golden robe. “You’re covered in blood, my Prince,” you go to unbutton the cinch at the top, but his hand tightens around your own. 

“Don’t touch me,” his voice is stern, and he throws your hand aside, standing up. You remain kneeling before him, head down; he’s never used that tone with you. The anger and malice slicing through your heart like a dagger. “How dare you.” 

Your head snaps up, and you feel the strength returning as you stand, hands trembling with your anger. “How could I? Do you expect me to just stand on the sidelines and watch you die?! Hurt yourself?!” 

“I had it under control,” he takes a threatening step towards you, his finger coming up to your face, “you disgraced me.” 

You take a shuddering breath, “I disgraced you because I love you? Explain that to me, Oberyn. I love you with my entire heart, my soul.” 

He scoffs and takes a shaky step away, his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his robe, throwing it towards you. It bounces off your chest, and you catch it in your hands, the blood staining your fingers. “You’re not my wife,” he tosses over his shoulder as he reaches for the goblet of wine, filling up his cup, “why don’t you find some other cock to fuck you tonight.” 

You ball the fabric up in your hand and feel your heart shatter in two, “I don’t take other lovers beside you and Ellaria; you know that.” 

He laughs, “well, it is not my cock that will fill your cunt tonight. I’ll go to the brothel and find another woman who won’t disgrace me in battle and will keep her mouth filled with my cock instead of nagging me about what I do.” 

You watch him walk away out towards the front of the Palace, each step putting another nail in the coffin of your heart. Oberyn did not visit the brothels since you joined his little harem, Ellaria, and you being more than enough for him. Ellaria had warned this could happen tonight, on this day when the memory of his sister, Elia, and her children’s deaths are reawoken like gaping wounds.

“Daemon,” you call into the shadows knowing the Prince’s guard is never far, “follow him, please,” you whisper, and he nods. His footsteps retreating after Oberyn. 

You walk through the quiet halls of the Water Gardens and towards the washing room near the river. And there you stay until the morning light streams through. Your hands scrubbed raw with the force you used to remove the blood from the Golden robes. The fabric still scrunched between your fingers as you lay your head in a basket of blankets ready to be washed. 

“My lady,” one of the servants presses her hand gently on your arm, and you blink, sitting up suddenly, “are you alright?” 

“Where’s Oberyn?” you ask, almost frightened to know. 

“The Prince returned only a few hours ago; the Maester gave him something to make him sleep. He should be up in a few hours right as rain.” The young woman smiles at you, and you cringe at the kink in your neck. “My Lady, please beg pardon, but you don’t look so well, should we call the Maester?” 

“No,” you reply quickly, “no, please don’t. I just need to rest.” You move towards the door, planning to lock yourself in your private room for the rest of the day.

“What about the Prince’s robe?” she probes gently, and you stiffen, glancing down at the fabric still clutched between your hands. “Would you like us to wash them?” You nod, feeling hollow, memories of the night before flashing before your eyes. She gasps when you hand the robe over and looks at your hands, clutching them. “My Lady, your hands….” 

You grab them back and clutch them to your chest, “please,” you close your eyes, feeling the tears ready to flow, “please just forget about them.” When you open, she looks sad but nods. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she whispers back, and you give her a slight nod, going off to your room to rest. 

The rest of the day passes uneventful, many come with offers of food and a bath, but you ignore their calls. With the last of your strength, you’d pushed the dresser against the door so no one could enter. “Sparrow?” Ellaria’s voice chimes from the other side and you tremble at the concern in her voice, “they said you had not eaten all day; what is the matter?” She tries to turn the handle, but the door is locked, and you hear her shouting orders at someone, probably to unlock it. 

She twists the nob, and it turns, but the door doesn’t budge. “Sparrow! Come to the door, are you alright?!” she sounds frantic, and you want to get up, but your energy is gone. The Prince’s words playing over and over in your head doubts swimming over everything you’ve built with him. 

The curtains towards the balcony sway in the breeze, and you hear footsteps coming from the window. “She’s bared the door, Mother!” Nym shouts, pushing the dresser out of the way and coming back to sit beside you, putting her hand on your cheek, “mama? Are you alright?” 

“Nym, leave us,” Ellaria commands, and Nym nods, leaning down to kiss your forehead before standing and leaving quickly, pulling the door shut behind her. Ellaria lays down on the bed beside you and puts her hand to your cheek, kissing you softly. “What’s the matter, Little Sparrow?” You break down and cry, her pushing you tight to her breast and running her hand over your head as you tell her everything. 

“He told me I’m not his wife. That, it’s not his cock that will fill my cunt. He’ll go to the brothel and find another woman who won’t disgrace him in battle and will keep her mouth filled with his cock instead of nagging him about what he does.” 

Her hand stills, and her voice is tight, “he said that to you?” You nod, letting out a hiccup from your sobs. “Has he come and spoke to you today?” You shake your head no, and her voice drops lower, almost deadlier, “I’ll be back.” She disentangles herself from your arms, and you watch her straighten her spine, her hands clenched into fists at her side. 

**********

Oberyn clutches his head and looks ashamed at the ground. “Ah, now he remembers,” Ellaria taunts, “you are lucky she is even still here! I would have let you rot before I let you talk to me that way. Now, go and make this right before you make the biggest mistake of your life.” 

“I wouldn’t blame her if she never forgave me.” 

“Oh no, you do not get to feel sorry for yourself.” Ellaria waggles a finger at him as he lifts his eyes to meet the fire in her gaze. “Do you love her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you want her to stay? To warm your bed? Give you children, and take care of you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then go talk to her,” Ellaria crosses her arms over her chest and glares down at him, “or you will lose two paramours today.” 

He stands and moves past her to your chambers, where he idles outside the door. Shame filling him at the words he hurled at you, like verbal daggers. He knocks on the door, unsurprised not to hear an answer. He twists the knob and walks inside. “Little Sparrow,” he calls out to you, hating how your body tenses up turned away from him on the bed. He closes the door behind him and comes to sit behind you on the bed, reaching a hand out to your waist. 

You push his hand away, and he gasps at the rough touch of your palm. He is quickly reaching across you to pull your hands into his own. “What happened? Who did this to you?” He would kill them. 

“You did,” you whisper broken, “I tried to get the blood out of your robe you threw at me,” you raise your eyes to meet his. The warmth is missing from his brown eyes as he stares down hard at your hands. 

“You washed my robe?” 

“What else was I supposed to do? Find another cock to fill my cunt,” the words taste bitter on your tongue, and you rip your hands from his own, clutching them to your chest. “How was the brothel?” 

“I don’t know. I woke up fully clothed there this morning, Daemon guarding the door. He said I demanded whores to be brought to me, but I sent them all away.” 

“Why?” 

“Because no one is you, my love.” He reaches his hand out, and you fall to your back as he hovers over you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I begged you to stay, and then I...I didn’t mean any of it. I was angry and sad.” 

“You wanted to die, Oberyn.” Your words hanging in the air between you. 

“I always wish I had died instead of her,” he whispers, “Every day I see Elia in my head, her voice begging me to move forward. This is the first time in two years I felt that way. It used to be every day.” 

“What changed two years ago?” 

“I met you.” Your heart pounds, and he moves closer, laying some of his weight down on you, “I met a Little Sparrow that took my heart and made it soar to the heavens where she flew. You,” his voice cracks with emotion, “are the love of my life. My reason for living. I’m sorry I lost my way.” 

You cup his cheek and brush the stray tears, “have you found your way home to me?” 

“I always know which way to fly home, Little Sparrow; you light the way.” 

“I love you, Oberyn Martell. I forgive you, but please don’t leave me alone in this world.” 

“Never, my love, never.” 

[himbowelsh]

anonymous asked:   Babe be so cute in that legendary darts scene no wonder Easy took him in right away. Look at him. You take one look at that kid and you want to protect him at all costs. He looks like he could bring you luck. Imagine Easy dragging Babe everywhere because Bill's team won some game once right after Babe started playing and everyone got it into their heads that Babe is their personal rabbit's foot. His friends running up to him to like rub his shoulder or touch his head because they gotta win!

ok so i just had to fic this, and it spiralled from there

Somewhere around Babe’s fourth Easter — and he only knows that because his brother Johnny was just a baby, and his sister wasn’t around at all — the family had an Unfortunate Rabbit Incident.

To be specific: Uncle Eddie tried to surprise the kids by bringing home a tiny bunny in a basket, surrounded by fake tissue paper grass. It was a real nice gesture... but got less Alice-In-Wonderland when the family’s dog, massive, shaggy Bumble, caught sight of the thing. 

Uncle Eddie set the basket down, and Bumble went straight for the kill.

The children were screaming. Bumble was missing for hours. The bunny fled the scene, vanishing somewhere into Babe’s rough South Philly neighborhood, never to be seen again. Ma ended up burning the ham. It was a traumatic Easter.

That’s just part of the reason rabbits have always made Babe shudder a little. The root of the problem — not that he’s the introspective sort, but some things just stay with you — was the old rabbit’s foot Nanny Heffron used to wear on a chain ‘round her neck. Now, Nanny Heffron was a real character. The rabbit’s foot wasn’t close to the weirdest thing about her — that’d be the glass eye — but it sure ranked up there. It was an old, ratty thing, hanging on a rust-rotten chain. In absent moments, Nanny’s hand would drift to it, and she’d rub the little devil like she was trying to press some life back into it. “This,” she declared once, holding the nasty ornament very close to little Babe’s face, “brings me all my luck.”

That next week, Nanny Heffron was run over by a taxi cab.

She survived, to be fair, so maybe there was something to be said for the rabbit’s foot. Still, that ain’t the point.

The worst ever Easter, or Nanny Heffron’s mummified rabbit foot… take your pick. Fact of the matter is, Babe’s never loved bunnies, Easter’s no favorite holiday, and he sure doesn’t believe little superstitious things bring any sort of luck.

He’s not sure he believes in luck at all, really. When he mentioned the word in front of Bill, his friend just scoffed. “Ain’t no luck in war,” Bill declared around a mouthful of ham-and-cheese sandwich. “You can be the luckiest bastard in the world, ‘til one day you’re not. What’s it matter then? If I’m standing in one spot and a fella’s standing right next to me, and he gets blown to bits, am I lucky it wasn’t me? Or was I just standing in the right place?”

“Think they’re the same thing,” Babe pointed out, sipping his juice doubtfully. “You’re thinking of destiny. Divine what’s-it-called.”

“That too,” Bill declared, holding up a finger. “Ain’t no such thing. Maybe seems like it back home, but not here… and if it ain’t here, it’s nowhere.”

“That don’t make sense either.”

“Don’t irrigate me, Babe,” Bill scoffed, and shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

But, like most of the half-sensical thing Bill says, Babe took it as gospel. For better or worse… ear is war. There’s no luck to it — only what happens to you, and what happens to the guy standing next to you.

Maybe if he paid more attention to things like superstition and general company gossip, he’d have caught on a bit sooner.

“It’s just strange, is all,” Hashey declares. “We get invited places too.” 

After all, it wasn’t like their generation were green replacements anymore; they’d jumped into Holland, and suffered the rains of Market Garden like everybody else. Now, the Toccoa boys reached outside their circle for extra hands in games of craps and darts, and never looked sideways when older replacements joined their drinking games. They didn’t mind having Hashey or Garcia in their party… but, for some reason, the offer was always extended to Babe, and they always insisted he accept.

Which would be fine, if it were just one of two nights — but they’re going on their second week in Mourmelon now, and Babe’s been dragged out every single night.

He’s got to sleep… ideally, sleep off this constant hangover, from night after night of drinking. Just a few hours of downtime, that’s all he’s asking here. Is it really so much?

For the fellas, yes, apparently. “I tried to tell ‘em no,” he protests, looking helplessly between his two fellow former replacements. “But they wouldn’t take that for an answer. You ever gone up against Luz and Toye when they’re set on something? It ain’t pretty.”

“Why don’t they make such a big deal about us going out?”

The opportunity is there. It's too easy for Babe to summon a grin. “Maybe they don’t like yous as much as me, huh? I’m a popular guy.”

“Sure.” Garcia huffs a laugh. “That’s what it is.”

Babe pauses just to blink at him, thoroughly offended.

“Jeez, Tony, tell me how you really feel.”

“We only mean,” Hashey interjects, drowning out Garcia’s very vocal eye roll, “it’s obvious why they want you there. Think about it, Babe. Any time someone’s going up for a round of darts —“

“Lieutenant Compton started it,” Garcia declares. “Back in Aldbourne. He set the example.”

Buck Compton is a hulking quarterback with a booming voice, bigger than most guys in personality alone; he’s good at setting examples. Maybe Babe modeled his dart throwing technique after Buck, but he really didn’t pick up on anything else. As his eyes narrow, he plants his hands on his hips — an eerie imitation of his Ma — and peers at his friends. “So what are you boys implying?”

Hashey and Garcia exchange glances, almost guilty, before they look back up at him again. “They don’t want you as a drinking buddy, Babe,” Hashey finally says. “You’re their rabbit’s foot.”

And that’s the point Babe Heffron’s social life takes a turn for the bizarre and slightly unsettling.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The thing is, once he’s noticed it, there’s no unnoticing it. Everything that seemed so innocuous before has taken on a darker meaning. Now, when Luz claps him on the shoulder before starting a game of craps, or when Hoobler ruffles his hair just before going in on a bet, it doesn’t feel so friendly. Whenever he’s dragged into a game of darts or pool — inevitably to get trounced himself, but see the fella who convinced him to join come out winning — he catches the looks they shoot him, like he’s just handed them some sorta prize. 

He doesn’t like it. It leaves him feeling used, dammit.

When Perconte solicits his opinion on some bet, Babe shoots out the first answer he thinks of. A part of him probably tries to get it wrong, just to spite them all.

Perconte wins three-hundred bucks.

The worst part is, it’s clearly been knowledge to everyone but him this entire time. When Julian — Julian, outta everybody! — pats his back before stepping up to the dartboard, Babe glares daggers at him.

“You kidding me? You’re in this too?”

“It’s science, Heffron,” the kid just shrugs. “Maybe you don’t mean to do it, but whatever you’re doing, it’s working. People keep winning.”

“I’m not doing a—“ Babe’s exclamation cuts off when Julian throws the dart. A goddamn bullseye, on his first try.

Babe’s so agitated that when it’s his turn to throw, the dart buries itself into the wall. He doesn’t even hit the target.

Somewhere beyond the grave, Nanny Heffron’s gotta be just cackling.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Babe’s newfound revelation lets him beg a few excuses for nights he just doesn’t want to go out. Nine times out of ten, though, he gets dragged into something anyways, be it a craps game in the barracks or a lottery in the mess hall. Even Babe’s solitude isn’t really that, because fellas still come up to him whenever they apparently feel like it — clapping his shoulder with a “Hey, Heffron,” or “How’s it going, Babe?” before bee lining straight to their game. There’s no peace. There’s no sanity. The non-coms are in on it, the Toccoa men, the replacements… he’s just about ready to decide that nothing can surprise him when Harry Welsh comes up behind him in the pub and ruffles his hair out of nowhere.

Babe yelps, doubling over his mug of beer. When he reels around, he couldn’t be more affronted if he tried. “You too, Lieutenant?”

Harry just shrugs, flashing a gap-toothed grin. “Don’t take it personal, Heffron. Daddy needs a shinier pair of boots.”

“It’s all malarkey, you know. Like — actual malarkey,” he can’t help shouting after Harry as he heads across the room towards a game of poker. “Ain’t no such thing as luck!”

Without looking back, Harry laughs. “If you really think that, you don’t deserve to call yourself Irish.”

“Y’know, the luck of the Irish has historically been fuckin’ terrible!”

At this point, Babe’s really just shouting across the pub, and no one cares. Absolutely no-freakin’-one.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry makes his way back across the room, struggling to tuck a massive wad of cash into his pants pocket. “The luck of the Heffron has historically been absolutely incredible,” he declares, and ruffles Babe’s hair once more for good luck. “Thanks, Private.”

Babe drains his beer and orders another.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bill comes back in the second week of December, when Easy has already made themselves very comfortable in their rest period. Babe greets his friend with enthusiasm, smacking Bill on the back hard enough to rattle him. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” he crows, and means it — because Bill Guarnere don’t take any guff. If anyone’s gonna put an end to this whole “Lucky Babe” nonsense, it’s him.

The last thing Babe expects is for Bill to become the worst of them all.

“Come on, kid! Just one smooch, that’s all it’ll take.”

As Bill rattles the dice insistently in his face, Babe twists away. Biting him is too tempting, but if anyone would bite back, it’d be Wild Bill. Babe’s not taking any chances with that jaw of his. “Get the hell outta here,” he snaps instead, shoving at his best friend’s chest. “What do I look like to you, a goddamn horseshoe?”

“I’ve seen horseshoes prettier than you. Now, c’mon.” Ever persistent, Bill rounds to Babe’s other side, still shaking the dice. “Make like they’re Darlin’ Doris’s dumplings and pucker up!”

“I’m a gentleman on the first date,” Babe insists, glaring.

Bill makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and choking on his own spit. He rolls his eyes skyward… and, just because Babe’s the best damn friend any fool’s ever had, he gives the dice a reluctant blow. “There. Now get lost, will ya?”

Hooting, Bill races off to join the game. He leaves it a hundred dollars richer.

“Knew we keep you around for a reason, kid!” he crows afterwards, waving his money around the bar like he’s showing off his own child. It's around this time Babe goes from considerably annoyed to genuinely offended.

It’s not quite the idea that his friends don’t actually like him — because of course they like him, he’s a goddamn delight — but that they’re willing to use that liking to their advantage. Babe’s a buddy, and buddies shouldn’t be props; he’s not some lucky trinket you tuck into your pocket before a night out, he’s a human being. A sensitive soul! If they’re gonna use him as a prop, they may as well just tell him.

“So we know Heffron ain’t gonna win anything tonight, but he’s out to make all of us a lot richer,” Liebgott declares, clapping Babe on the back as they sit in a circle for a game of craps.

“I hope you shit bricks for a week,” Babe, the sensitive soul, declares.

It’s not like he’s their only option. Malarkey’s ginger, he’s Irish, and he loves to gamble! What’s more, he survived D-Day on top of Market Garden, and hasn’t been injured yet, so his luck is clearly going just fine for him.

When he points this out, Malarkey spits out his own drink, and Muck nearly falls off his chair laughing. “Someone’s never been gambling with Malarkey!”

“He loses money faster than they can print it,” Penkala chimes, swatting away Don’s retaliatory grab for his sandwich. “Complete opposite effect. Games break up when they see him coming.”

“People take their money and run!” Muck snickers.

Malarkey, flared up like an indignant pigeon, has to chime in. “Yeah, cause they know I’m gonna take it from them!”

It’s scary how quickly Muck sobers, turning on a dime; the smile melts from his face as he sits straight up, laughter dying off into eerie stillness. “Malark,” he says, staring his friend dead in the eyes. “You owe me over three hundred dollars.”

Penkala’s eyes bulge. Babe takes a large step back, suddenly terrified for the safety of his own wallet.

“That’s not — hey, come on! If Babe would just blow on my cards a little, or something — Babe! Hey, Babe, are you playing cards tonight? Where are you going?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last person he expects to be pouring his heart out to, somewhere around midnight, after an evening of questionable French beer and avoiding his friends’ efforts to leech off his karma, is Doc Roe.

The Doc makes a habit of not fraternizing with any of the men, which Babe can almost understand… but even saints have gotta drink sometimes, and tonight happens to be Roe’s night. He’s probably have gladly passed the evening alone, sitting in the back of the bar with a book open in front of him, if Babe hadn’t retreated to the shadows to hide from Bill’s dice.

“It just ain’t fair!” he declares, swirling the amber liquid in his half-empty glass. Fifth? Sixth? Who knows anymore? “‘Parently I’m a lightning rod of luck for everybody else. Everybody else… and I don’t even get any of it myself? Not a lick.” His mug clatters back down on the table, as Babe tilts his head back to glare at the pub’s wooden ceiling. “Somebody’s playing games up there, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Roe would be completely justified not engaging with this conversation at all. For some reason, he humors Babe. “Look at it this way, Heffron,” he says slowly, dragging each word out in that honey-sweet drawl ‘til Babe wishes he could drink that up too. “You ever been hit?”

Babe snorts. “No, Doc. I think I’d remember.”

“So would I.” Roe arches an eyebrow. He almost looks amused. “You ever been blown up?”

Babe double-checks to see if his arms and legs are intact. “Hmm. Not that I know of.”

“A lot of guys can’t say the same. Seems like your luck is working just fine.”

“But —“ He fumbles for words, startled. Now Roe is smirking, a quiet, half-shadowed thing. For some reason, it leaves Babe feeling dumb. Which could be all the drink, sure, but he’s no lightweight, and liquor’s never made him feel like this. Nothing about Roe’s smile is mocking, yet Babe somehow feels like the butt of the joke anyways. Dissatisfied, he finally slumps forward, leaning over the tabletop with a sigh. “It ain’t the same.”

Roe considers this for a long moment. His white fingers play over the pages of his book, contemplating turning it, but he ultimately just ends up leaving creases in the white canvas. When Roe leans forward too — until his chest is pressed against the tabletop, leaving them nearly nose-to-nose — it takes Babe aback.

“Remember when you fell through that stair rail in Neunen and nearly split your head open like a melon?” Roe asks, eyes black and serene.

“But I didn’t!” Babe exclaims, eager to defend his honor. It’d hurt a lot, sure, but he’s made it through worse accidents unscathed. Broken a lot of things, sure, but never himself.

Roe’s lips twitch up in a smirk. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, so close that Babe can hear them, can see every individual impact register in the Doc’s shoulder. When Gene Roe smiles, he looks younger, lighter.

“Your luck’s working just the way it should be, Heffron.”

Babe’s family has another popular saying — “knock on wood”, when someone says something a bit too good to be true. It’s no rabbit’s foot, maybe… but as a kid, Babe took the saying literally, and got bloody knuckles for his trouble.

For the first time, though… he feels like he’s actually won something. Doc Roe’s little smile is all for him, and Babe doesn’t have to share it with anyone at all.

“Hey, Doc,” he says after a moment, voice deceptively light. “You up for a game of darts?”

[dearmadalice]

#6. “I need a place to stay.” - says Yoshitane to Shigezane

Hello. Yes. This turned out to be super long. Also super scattered. Also just an excuse to be like. “Here’s Harumi. She and Yoshitane should interact. Here is an attempt.” Also Kotori because she’s an adorable child.

“I need a place to stay.” Shigezane was too distracted atYoshitane’s appearance to really comprehend what he was asking. Yoshitane wasdrenched from head to toe. Poor dude had gotten caught out in a suddenthunderstorm. It was a nice respite from the heat, but being that wet was boundto be uncomfortable. The roads through Oushu would be dangerous and muddy. Eventheir stallions had trouble maneuvering through the terrain. Yoshitane was allthe wiser for it seeking shelter.Yoshitane’s face contorted as Shigezane just stood there staring at him. AsYoshitane huffed impatiently, Shigezane shook his head quickly. “Oh, oh yeah.Sure, no problem! Our house is your house!” Shigezane grabbed Yoshitane’s armand yanked him over the threshold. “Yo, Yoshinao! Can you take care of thehorse? Make sure he gets dried off!”Yoshinao saluted quickly before hescampered to the task, wheezing loudly as he got hold of Yoshitane’s feisty,unhappily damp horse.Next was to deal with the unhappily damp man. Shigezane dragged Yoshitaneinwards, still holding onto the man’s arm as Yoshitane struggled to remove hisdirty shoes. “Oh yes, you better line those up or Harumi will throw a fit.”Shigezane laughed, and then hummed thoughtfully. “Last time I just threw themaround, she smacked me right on the head with my sandal. She’s actually got apretty firm arm.”Yoshitane squinted a little, but removed his shoes and put them aside like agood, appreciative guest would. “I do not think I’ve met Harumi before,” hesaid. Yoshitane’s face contorted a little. Then he frowned at the floor. Thepoor man was leaving drips and mud prints as Shigezane started dragging himinwards. “She’s delightful!” Shigezane proclaimed. Then he gave Yoshitane a good shovetowards the bath. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and when we’re goneshe looks after Kotori for me.” Then he grinned. “I’ll go fetch you somethingdry to change into. Scrub behind your ears and all that.” Yoshitane then, was left to his own devices to scrub the mud off his feet whileShigezane went to try and find him something to wear.  Shigezane thought the best course would tojust let Yoshitane borrow one of his own kimono. Masamune’s were probably tooflashy and . . . Masamune was just too flashy. Yoshitane would look just fineand dandy!He started heading towards the bath and found Harumi, staring at mud puddlesand looking absolutely distressed by it. He looped his arm across hershoulders, and started steering her away. “I just cleaned that this morning!”Harumi pouted and scowled at him. “Are you responsible? I was about to blameMaster Katakura but you look like you are up to no good.” “Me? Up to no good? Haru, what in the heaven’s has given you that idea?” Thenhe laughed. “My friend got stuck out in the bad weather. Look, I’ll scrub thefloor okay. Will you just uh . . . tea? I think tea would be nice. That wouldbe a good welcome right?” Shigezane patted her shoulders, very gravely. “Harumi,you are the Lady of this house. We are depending on you to provide hospitalityto save us from looking like assholes.”“I can’t save you from yourself, Shigezane.” Haru tried to return the graveexpression but ended up giggling and cracking a smile anyway. “Alright. I’llbring you and your friend tea to your room then.” Haru bowed her head politelybefore she went to the task. The muddy floor was forgotten, the young womanmuch more pleased to have had someone ask such a grand favor from her.Shigezane dropped the fresh change of clothes to Yoshitane, informed him wherehe would be, and then went to check and make sure that his room was in decentorder for company. He finished picked up his stray writing equipment just intime for his guest to arrive, looking squeaky clean and no worse for wear aftergetting stuck in the storm.Despite the horrible weather outside, the inside of the castle was warm andinviting. Not only that, but Shigezane’s spirits were lifted. It had been toolong since he’d seen his most honorable rival, and having a new drinkingpartner around would break up the monotony of the Date routine. “I do not think I thank you properly,” Yoshitane said. He sat comfortably onthe floor, bowing his head as Shigezane scooted to take a seat alongside him. “Iknow my appearance tonight has been sudden, but I cannot express my gratitudeenough. This was the only place I could think to come.” Yoshitane startedscratching the side of his jaw, looking bashful all the while.Shigezane grinned. “I wouldn’t leave you to drown in a ditch. You’re really toomuch fun, Yoshi.”“You foolish centipede, how many times have I told you not to-“The door slid open again, Kotori bouncing forward before launching herself atYoshitane. “It’s Yoshi! I knew it was you!” She grabbed his sleeve, shaking itwildly before she broke out in a string of delightful greetings and cheers. “Ihelped Auntie make the tea!” she proclaimed. “She says I’m too small to pourit, but I can pass out all the cups!” Kotori put her hands against her hips,and grinned broadly. “Yoshi, did I get taller? Uncle Tsuna says I’m growinglike a weed!” Yoshitane was completely caught off guard by Kotori’s entrance. He watched herintently, nodding and smiling along with her. If he had any guard before, ithad come down completely. It was the man’s one weakness – sick an adorablechild on him and he would crumble like old stone. Shigezane just watched andgrinned. Yoshitane was completely enthralled. “Well. Now that I look at you, I do think you’ve grown a little bittaller Miss Kotori.”Haru was settling the tea tray, and gentle nudged Kotori. “You want to help meagain?”“Yes, of course!” Kotori managed to pry herself away from Yoshitane in order tocarefully examine the tea cups. “This one looks the best,” Kotori proclaimedsoftly. She placed the cup she had chosen carefully in front of Yoshitane,leaving Harumi to fill it while she went back to looking at the cups. Shigezane pouted a little, and then all the more as Kotori proclaimed thesecond best cup went to Harumi. Then the last one for her poor, poor Papa. “Kotori,I thought I was your favorite.” She thought for a moment. “You are, Papa. I promise. But Haru says you have to treat guests extra nice so theylike being in your house.” Kotori beamed with even more pride, before sheplopped into Shigezane’s lap. “You’re right, Kotori.” Harumi smiled warmly then at Yoshitane, who seemed tolean back a little from her and took to staring at his tea. Then the wall. Theneven helplessly at Shigezane with his nose looking like a bright red beacon inthe middle of his face. Shigezane just shrugged at him, and Yoshitane huffed. “Ihope you enjoy yourself, Lord Soma. It is a great honor to make youracquaintance at last. I’ve heard such a great deal about you.”Yoshitane cleared his throat and added quickly back. “Yes.” Then he took todistracting himself with tea by tapping his fingers against the cup and then practicallydowning the thing all at once.The rest of the rainy afternoon was spent in blissful company. Shigezaneregaled Kotori and Harumi with tails of his numerous battles with Yoshitane. Itwas enough to pull him out of his shell, a little, the vibrant warrior bringingup loud protests when Shigezane purposefully muddled facts before going off ontangents to correct him, and also complain about his lackluster attempts atfollowing the Samurai code. It was quite delightful.