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mooswords · 3 years

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Pairing: kuroo tetsuro x reader

Word count: 3k

Tags: red string of fate au, historical au

Ramblings: part of the lost collab, all based on the prompt ‘only when you are lost does the red string of fate appear’ organised by the lovely @yacoka who is a wonderful writer and an even better friend 😚 also a big thank you to remy for beta-ing <3

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You stare in exasperation as the red string fades into sight, the familiar warmth wrapping back into existence around your finger. It was only visible when one of you was feeling lost, and you certainly knew where you were. Tetsuro was only meant to be coming home from town - how did he get lost?

You pluck at the string.

Seriously?

An answering pull against your pinky.

Shut up.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the horse in front of you.

“That man, eh?” You scrub the brush along a thick-boned leg, scrunching your face away from the cloud of dust that puffs out. “Probably one of the smartest people this side of the island, knows the stars like the back of his hand, but can’t even find his way across his own fields.” You huff, watching as the string disappears again. “The cows know their way home better than he does, honestly…”

Bess rattles her head, mane flying, and you sigh. “Ahh, you’re right, I guess we love him anyway.”

“You guess?”

You start, twisting at his sudden presence.

“Stop! Doing that!” You huck the brush at him and he ducks, grinning.

“Hear that Bess?” he sings, sidling up to the horse and scratching her forehead as she noses at his pockets. “She loves me.”

“And I married him too,” you lament. “What was I thinking?”

“Something I ask myself every day,” he says softly, eyes alight. You mellow, as you always do for him, and wonder if you will ever get sick of that look.

“How’s town?” You ask instead, snagging a new brush.

“Good. Got offered a job.”

“Oh, who with?”

“Nekomata.”

You hum. “Down at the docks?”

“Not... exactly." You flick a look up when he doesn't elaborate, only to find him determinedly pulling Bess' forelock into a crude braid.

"And?" you prompt.

"He wants me as the navigator." He swallows, fingers still twisting in the coarse hair. "For an expedition.”

“Really?” You scrub at a particularly stubborn splatter of dried mud. "I thought he had given up on all that. What’s he planning?”

He doesn’t reply for another long moment.

"Depends on how quick the ice melts."

You tear your eyes away from your work; he looks wary. "But with what he mentioned to me, we’d be away… a year? Maybe longer?"

“Oh,” you breathe. Really, for a sailing expedition, that’s short. But it’s still a year. You're thinking of money, and supplies, and who will take over teaching his students while he’s gone, and he’ll definitely need a new coat, and oh that's such a long time-

“I don’t have to decide immediately.” You pull your gaze back into focus. He still looks nervous, but you know him - he might not always be the most expressive person, but he wears his passions with pride. And there are few things your Tetsuro loves more than the stars.

“You should go."

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You bite your tongue and start sweeping the brush along Bess’ broad back again. It’s not till he gently pulls your hands to a stop you notice how they shake.

“I don’t have to go,” he offers softly.

You sigh, not quite able to focus any higher than the hollow of his neck. “No. You should.”

His fingers are light under your chin, and you reluctantly let him draw your gaze up.

“Are you sure?”

And you are. Despite your reticence, you are; because at heart, he’s always longed to explore the world. You remember sitting with him in the summer, feet dangling in the creek and listening to his rambling dreams of travelling to the far corners of the world. He loves teaching - weaving stories from geography homework, gently coaching the younger kids through their sums - but you’ve caught him many a time just staring out at the sea, eyes unfocused and longing.

"I’m sure," you tell him with a genuine smile. "It just means I'm going to have to do all your chores while you're away."

He tsks, but there's already excitement building under the mock-glare. Giving Bess a final pat, he meanders back to the house. You listen to his cheery whistling and tell the pang in your heart he'll be fine.

He always comes home.

“Have fun. Don’t kick Yaku overboard, OK?”

“What’s this, huh?” The string hums as he twirls a finger through it, his voice low and amused. He twists it into a bow around a lock of your hair, an achingly familiar action that has the string glowing brighter against your skin. “You can’t be lost without me if I haven’t left yet, sweetheart."

He frowns, and you etch the image into your memory - it will be months till you see that pout again.

“Oh, hush you.”

Eyes bright and fond, he grins down and pulls you into his chest. For once, you stop thinking about tomorrow and just enjoy this final moment with him; the gulls’ cries tearing across the sky, the winter sun across your back and stiff breeze sweeping through your skirts. He is constant and unshakable, heartbeat steady in your ear, his chin pressed against your hair.

You draw back and poke him in the cheek.

“You come home, you hear me?”

The string continues to flutter between you, dancing in the seaward breeze as he presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Always.”

The second plate stares back at you.

Right. Of course.

You press your lips together and return the other plate to the shelf for the third time this week. Your lonely plate looks pitifully small on the uneven table, and the red string that sinks down to drape across it only adds to the ache in your heart.

You grip the string tight and try not to cry.

The drumming rain is muffled as you duck under the barn’s eaves. Shaking the water from your eyes, you peel off your now sodden coat. In the flickering lantern light, you can see how the heifer is huffing, swollen belly already heaving.

Crooning to her, you run a tired hand over the heifer’s rough hide and crouch down.

You shove wet hair off your face and sigh. The late nights and bad weather were only exacerbating an already stressful time of year, and of course this had to be the year your entire herd was calving. You wearily draw a pail of water and tsk as you grab the last towel off the side of the stall - it seems tomorrow will have to be a washing day too.

There’s a wet nose. There’s also a tail.

“That’s… not right.” you mutter, stumped.

It hits you a moment later - twins. She’s having twins.

“Ohh… uhh…” You know you can’t panic, but your thoughts just continue to speed up, desperately flicking through your memories because you know how to deal with a breech birth, but twins? Where do you even begin? There are two calves in there, and that's twice the number of things that could go wrong. Think. It’s only a few minutes over the hill to the Kagayama’s, maybe they-

The gentle tug at your hand startles you. The string is there, looped around one of the cow’s ears and floating out into the pouring night. Another tug comes, a little firmer this time.

You suck in a breath.

You send him a grateful tug back and get to work.

It’s messy and stressful, and the deep ache in your arms will definitely be worse tomorrow, but there's a pile of knobby legs and liquid eyes in your lap that more than makes up for the pain. You snag the old towel off the straw and gently wipe the nose of the first calf before helping it struggle to its feet. The cow blinks around and lowes softly. You grin and quickly swipe at the other calf, blowing gently on its nose till it snorts.

Your eyes are heavy, and you are already compiling a list of the thousands of things to do tomorrow. But with pride singing through your tired bones, you are content to sit, half-wishing he was here with you to listen to the rain beat down on the tin roof and proudly watch the calves take their first, wobbling steps.

“Endeavor."

“E-N-D...” Natsu scrunches her nose and you nod encouragingly, “E…”

The string appears. It’s sudden; not the usual fade-in of realization, but a tidal wave of colour that has it crashing into existence all at once.

“-A-V-O-R. Endeavor.”

You clear your throat, pushing past the lump. “Correct. Let’s have an early lunch everyone.”

The clatter of chairs is immediate, and you wait for all the kids to race out the door before sinking shakily back against the desk. You rub the string between your fingers - it’s hot and trembling, swaying drunkenly as if buffeted about by the wind.

You pull at it, questioning.

You pull at it again.

Again.

There is no reply but it stays, curling in the corners of your vision for the rest of the day.

The next morning it is still there. You bite your lip and bundle his old coat around you to go collect more firewood.

Day four. You stare into reflected, apprehensive eyes for too long before shakily wrapping the everpresent string into a bow around your hair. For some reason, it doesn’t feel the same as when he does it.

Yachi reads you off your total and you freeze, hand clutched around the small bag of flour. She looks at you oddly as your hair falls free around your shoulders.

There is a soft tug against your finger, faded by distance and ringing with reassurance, as the string finally, finally disappears from sight after the longest eight days of your life.

“Is everything OK?” she asks, mystified.

You dash the tears and drop the coins into her hand with a smile.

“Everything is perfect.”

The string fades in for the third time today and you snort. You’d like to imagine you can feel his annoyance even halfway across the world.

You give it a sharp tug for good measure.

Lost again, huh?

He pulls grumpily back, and you bite back a giggle.

“How’s that pain-in-the-ass husband of yours doing?” Ukai Jr. asks from behind the bar.

The string bleeds away.

You think of a ship navigating the perilous ice, of unknowable depths and old sailor's tales, of the maps you watched him plot that stretch into expanses of blank parchment.

You think of jokes thrown across candle stubs and empty plates, of a crew that have become more of a family than either of you have ever had.

You think of the furrow he gets between his brows when he’s puzzling something over, his poorly hidden glee at the sight of the open sea.

The string fades in again, and there’s a pull from his end before you can do anything.

Don’t.

You grin. “He’s doing just fine.”

You wake to birdsongs. The sun is just peeking over the hills, the red string curled quietly on his pillow. You send three tugs, watch the string ripple out the window and imagine it stretching out, out, out across the seas to him.

Today was usually a day just for the two of you; no chores, no work. Just sunshine and bad jokes and the simple enjoyment of being together. One time he had pulled you along to the neighbouring town's county fair. Last year, you had taken him to the waterfall for lunch.

It was meant to be his choice this year.

You twine the string around your fingers as you wait. It glows softly in the morning light, a physical manifestation of how deeply lost you feel on this special day. He's not gone; he's still here in the scuffed shoes tucked under the bed, in his notes piled high on the desk, but they're not quite the same as hearing his hisses from the kitchen, or being able to sink into warm arms at the end of a rough day.

His returning tugs are delayed, aching and soft - one, two, three.

Sighing, you force yourself out of bed - the cows aren’t going to feed themselves.

Happy anniversary, love.

Most days the string isn't visible at all. And that's fine. Really, it is. It means he's not lost, and no news is good news, right?

Anyway, you’ve become quite content in your own company. He’s been gone long enough that you’ve found your solo rhythm and it's by no means easy, but you manage to keep busy enough.

And yet, the string is a double-edged sword - a reassuring and tangible connection between the two of you, but one that fills you with longing heartache all the same. There are days when you so keenly feel his absence; days of no special importance, but days where his company would just make the monotony more interesting. The mundane days, where you find yourself wanting a hug and instead having to settle for imagining the blur of red in your periphery.

You can lose minutes simply staring at your hand, trying to will the string back into colour. Wishful thinking isn’t something you can afford to indulge too often, but some days, if you focus hard enough, you think you can feel the invisible string pressing around your finger.

Some days, wishful thinking is all that keeps you going.

“Hello, sorry.” You ignore the cheeky pull of the red string. He knows how you hate admitting you need help. “I’m a bit lost. Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

The man points up the road, explaining you need to go up past the post office and take a - twitch goes the string - and then follow the path that - another pull - and you should be there. Oh, but don’t - tug - because that will take you out of town.

You bite your tongue and thank the man, fond exasperation simmering in your chest. You might desperately miss him and his stupid antics, but you had almost forgotten how relentless his needling could be.

As you lead Bess away, you pull sharply on the string. Much to your dismay, it doesn’t deter him in the slightest - an incessant barrage of tugs pull against your pinky, singing with his amusement from half a world away. Huffing out a sigh, you carefully flip the string around your hand. It’s smooth in your grip as you wind it around your palm and close your fingers over it-

And yank the string sideways.

Silence.

A single, pouting yank back.

Pushing down the smile tugging at your lips, you stop infront of the woman sweeping the front step of the post office.

“Hello, sorry. I’m a bit lost. Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

A laugh is pulled from you, glee ringing through the air. Hinata’s hand is sweaty in yours, and you grip it tighter as you swing round and round to the music echoing across the field. The wedding party is still holding strong, even this late into the night, and the chatter and music is rvight at home in tonight’s warm summer breeze.

The song ends to cheers and you yell with them, high, unfiltered joy singing through your body. You drop into a chair, watching Hinata pull a giggling Natsu off the sidelines and head back out as the band striking up another well-loved tune.

The ever-present twinge of sea salt mixes with the sweet scent of the apple blossoms floating over from the orchard and you are content. The food was fresh and plentiful, Kiyoko looked gorgeous. And, you think smugly, Suga had cried before Tanaka did, so now Kinoshita owed you a beer.

The music slows, and your finger aches at the sight of everyone else partnering up. You had promised yourself you weren’t going to let memories overshadow your fun tonight. There’s too much love around for you to fully feel his absence anyway, but you still catch yourself missing him above the crowd, searching for the wink he’d send across the room before returning to his own conversations.

Someone clears their throat. The string curls and sways between bodies as Takeda smiles down at you, eyes crinkled in understanding.

“May I have this dance?”

You push hurriedly through the crowd, ducking between market stalls and wagons. There’s no string to follow, but you don’t need it to find him today. Asahi scrambles for the bolts of cloth you knock into and Suga yells something that gets stolen by the wind as you continue to run heedlessly towards the docks.

Lev is on the dock already, only just visible through the small crowd gathering. Yaku yells directions from the ship, and you can see Shibayama sitting up on the boom, Kai pulling the jib down, so where is-

There.

He’s talking with Nekomata, gesturing up at the mast. You know it’s probably important, that there are things to be done on the ship before the crew can leave, but he’s been gone 402 days and you’re calling his name before you can stop yourself.

He twists around, and for the first time in over a year you watch his face split wide. The crowd parts for you as you’re darting forward and he vaults over the side of the ship.

There are yells and whistles behind him but you couldn’t care less as you are swept into a tight spin, stumbling with him as you laugh. His salt-crusted shirt is coarse under your fingers, and when he kisses you he tastes like the sea; like salt-spray and dry rations and freedom.

As soon as your hands find his cheeks you pull back sharply. There's a scar, a puckered pink line that cuts across his cheek and up into his hairline. He watches you carefully as you trace it with a feather-light touch.

“I thought I told you to have fun,” you admonish gently.

“Who said I didn’t?”

You tsk. “What am I going to do with you?”

He grins, wilder than you remember, twisted a little by the scar, but full of familiar trouble. “Kiss me again, hopefully.”

(How you’ve missed that grin.)

“Can’t imagine why I’d do a silly thing like that,” you say, even as you press your own grin to his.

Maybe he’s still a little wobbly on his feet, and he’s definitely thinner than when he left, but when he twines your hands together - no string in sight - your heart settles.

He’s home, and you can’t really ask for anything more.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #this is queued btw

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teethhunter · 3 years

Text

Better than a Dream

Rosegarden Secret Santa Gift for @jealouscartoonist based of their Cinderella AU

The kingdom was absolutely bustling with news of the Grand Ball.

Rumor had it that this event was to find a proper suitor for the Crown Prince, Oscar.

It was to be the largest event of the decade, more open to the public than many events but also with many important and influential people planning to come. There was much talk of the preparations happening at the palace in the weeks leading up to the event as even those with no plans or no means to attend enjoyed participating in the excitement.

Many were sent into a tizzy of daydreams of meeting the love of their life at the ball. With all that talk about the prince those daydreams tended to prominently feature him. For some the daydreams morphed into full on scheming and for others they remained fun fantasies that filled the streets with quiet whispers and giggles of just how romantic it would be to get a moment alone with such a charming and handsome prince.

The rumors, however fun, were patently false.

Yes this was to be an event of massive proportions and King Ozpin certainly hoped that a few people might find a spark of romance for themselves that night but he wasn’t doing this to marry off his adoptive son to the first or most enthusiastic party-goer who made a move.

“Just because that wasn’t what you meant to do, doesn’t mean they won’t try.” Oscar pointed out, voicing his anxieties as the day of the ball grew closer.

“Ah but that’s just part of the fun!” Ozpin replied, a far too pleased look on his face.

“Fun for you maybe…”

“And fun for everyone else too. They are making their own fairytales that prominently feature themselves. The human imagination is a wonderful thing.”

Oscar sighed, he should have known that a chat with Ozpin wouldn’t exactly quell his fears in a normal way but it did sort of help even so, just a little bit. “You’re sure I have to go?”

“You’ve never had a miserable time at a party thus far. You can see your friends, maybe meet someone new… Just try to celebrate with everyone.”

In this kingdom still bustling about a ball lived a beautiful girl named Ruby Rose.

Ruby had never been to a ball. In fact Ruby couldn’t at all recall attending a party where she didn’t have to do all the prep work and clean up, only getting scraps of the food that was served.

She lived in a lovely house with her stepmother Salem, and her two stepsisters, Cinder and Neo. Despite the high status of the family and the fact that they could more than afford to hire servants, Salem treated Ruby as nothing but a scullery maid herself. She made Ruby do all the work around the house while Cinder and Neo did seemingly everything they could to make it more difficult. Cinder was more direct in her ways of showing disdain, she would make huge messes right when Ruby had something important to do,or she would burn Ruby’s possessions for fun. Neo was more subtle, waiting until no one was looking to set up situations that would frame Ruby as having messed up. Putting bleach into the wash with the dark clothing Ruby was cleaning, or slipping an ingredient someone in the family was mildly allergic to into a meal Ruby was preparing.

Ruby had grown rather numb to all their antics after dealing with them for so long.

The step family was of course planning on going to the ball and all the talk of the prince looking to find a suitor had certainly gotten back to them. For the last month Salem had been coaching Cinder in this elaborate scheme to catch the prince’s attention, ensuring that they had planned down to the last little detail.

Ruby thought it all a little silly because no matter how much they planned there was always a change that Cinder wouldn’t run into the prince at all, or he wouldn’t like her if he did meet her, maybe even see through that thin veneer of faked kindness to how cruel Cinder could actually be.

None of that was Ruby’s problem though and she had the sense to not voice any of these opinions. She had other things on her mind.

For the first time in her life she was going to go to a ball. Salem had given permission (however offhandedly, it was still a yes!).

For years, during her limited free time she would work at Pietro’s mechanic shop in town to earn money. She had a certain talent for weapon repairs which were nearly always a necessity for anyone traveling outside the city limits where beasts and bandits lurked.

Most of the money she earned at this job was tucked away to someday move far away from her stepfamily but for the last few months she had saved up the money and bought herself a lovely dress. The style of it might have been a bit unconventional- particularly when in combination with the boots she was planning to wear with it- but the fabric was silky to the touch and a deep red color and trimmed with an intricate lace at the hem. She was incredibly proud to have this tangible proof of the work she had put in to get to this point.

The morning before the ball, Ruby woke up early to go to the market to do the grocery shopping. She knew if she wanted time to get ready she would have to get all of her chores done as quickly as possible because here was always a chance Salem would add new tasks to the list.

The excitement in the air was palpable everywhere she went. It was the only thing anyone around was talking about it seemed. Normally Ruby was happy to talk idly with the owners of the various food stalls but today she just nodded along politely as she filled her basket, not lingering for the chit-chat.

Ruby arrived home, basket heavy with produce heavy on her arm, with plenty of time to complete the rest of her chores. She put away all the food and went immediately to cleaning. She took extra care to avoid her step family as Salem was already getting the girls dressed up and ready meaning they would all probably be looking to take their anxiety out on her.

By early afternoon Ruby has finished up and finally can retire to her room to rest and get ready. Her room was in the cellar, not much larger than a closet. It could get cold and damp in there during the winter and after downpours of rain though right now it was pleasantly cool compared to the hot summer weather.

She had done a lot to make it cozy and comfortable. Every inch of wall was decorated, her bed piled up with blankets, and her shelf lined with books she bought over the years from a thrift store in town.

When Ruby opened the door to her room she saw something that made her blood run cold. Cinder, perfectly dressed up and ready for the ball, perching on the end of her bed, holding Ruby’s dress.

Cinder smirked with an awful twist to her lips when she saw Ruby, like she was laying in wait for this moment, a lit candle held in one hand.

The dress had been hidden at the back of her closet so there was no way Cinder just tumbled on it.

“I thought you were joking about going to the ball. You can’t be serious.” Cinder said with a mock laugh.

“No… I wasn’t joking.” Ruby’s voice already held a hint of defeat, already knowing where this was going to go.

“Do you seriously think anyone there would be interested in /you/?” Disgust radiated from Cinder in those words.

“That’s not why I-” Ruby was cut off before she could finish her sentence.

“And this dress. You’ll be turned away at the door for wearing something so low class.” Cinder held the dress up as if appraising it for it’s every flaw, as if it was too hideous to look at for too long.

“I…” That hurt more than it should for how many insulting things Cinder had said to her over the years. She had grown a rather thick skin about it but this dress was really important to her.

“Really, dear sister, I should save you from the embarrassment. You could tarnish our family name.” Cinder brought the candle up until the flame of it licked the lace trim, making it curl, then crisp, then catch fire.

“Please stop.” Ruby whispers, knowing it was useless, she knew what was about to happen the moment she saw Cinder in here.

It didn’t completely catch fire, put a few flames eat at the edges and creep up the bottom of the skirt, leaving it a mess of holes and ash. Cinder says nothing else to her, simply unceremoniously dropping the dress in a pile on the ground, stepping on it as if to put out a still burning ember on her way out.

~~~~~

Ruby waited until the last of the burning embers died down before picking the dress up and bundling it in her lap as she sat on her bed. She sat frozen like that in silence, her ears ringing as she tried to bite back tears. There was no way she could mend this in time for the ball. She couldn’t afford to get new fabric even if she had the time.

All she had wanted was to share this one special night with everyone who was so excited about it but that was ruined.

“I wish I didn’t live with these awful people.” She muttered to herself. “I wish they would just disappear.” She took a breath and all at once any anger she held just deflated into grief as tears finally spilled. “No… I just wish I could go to this ball.”

In her mind she had held this event as a moment of defiant freedom, that if she could never escape Salem and she lived the rest of her life like this then at least she got this one wonderful moment.

“You called?” A voice broke the silence, startling Ruby so badly she nearly fell off the bed.

In front of her was a familiar man- er Fairy, technically. He stood in proper Fairy Godmother attire, a clearly enchanted black dress with translucent red fairy wings fluttering behind him. In contrast with the traditional look was his much less conventional scythe-style magic wand at his side and the full martini glass held precariously in his hand.

“Oh! …. You.” Ruby sighed in relief as she got her bearings after being so startled.

“Well don’t go sounding too thrilled about seeing your Fairy Godmother kiddo. You summoned me, remember?” He put on the airs of being dramatically offended though his smile told a different story.

Ruby wiped the lingering tears from her eyes before she spoke. “No it’s… sorry, it’s good to see you actually Qrow.”

In all honesty she had almost forgotten that wishing for things summoned him. She didn’t exactly even know why that happened. When she asked before all she got was a shrug from Qrow and some half-excuses about the ��mysterious ways of magic’.

It had been a long time since she’d wished for anything actually. Her memories of her childhood were blurry at best but she could vaguely recall how she’d make all sorts of silly wishes just to have him come visit. He was odd and always a little tipsy but he was also so much nicer than her step-family that it made her earlier years with them much more tolerable.

“I didn’t actually mean to call you, it was sort of an accident.” She admitted after a moment.

“Hmm, well even if it was an accident, I’m here now so why don’t you tell an ‘ol Qrow your woes. Looks like you’ve had a rough time of it.” He walked with a strut in his step over the small distance to her bed, sitting down next to her. He took a long drink from his seemingly never emptying glass as he waited for her to talk.

Ruby started and stopped her attempts to explain several times before she got all the words out, still stumbling over herself. She gave more detail than could possibly ever be needed but this was the first time in a long time she ever let all these emotions out. She had friends in town but she never ever let any of them know the cruelty of her ‘family’. Her Fairy Godmother already knew of these things so for once it was safe.

She began to cry again as her words flowed. Qrow was content to listen in his somewhat drunkenly glazed over state.

“-and now I can’t go because my dress is ruined and it’s not like I have anything else I could wear and the ball is in just a few hours and I’m never going to get a chance like this again.”

Ruby finally took a pause and Qrow chuckled.

“Well if it’s only an outfit you need then I can fix you up fine.”

“Wait, really?” It hadn’t actually crossed her mind that he could help with that..

“Yeah that’s what I’m here for. Mmm, but there’s limits to it, I think you remember that.” Qrow said, fiddling with is scythe-wand as he got ready to do some magic.

Yes Ruby remembered there were limits, there were always strange caveats to any wish she made but right now she could barely bother to care. “Okay! That’s fine, I don’t mind as long as I get to go. Wait um what are the limits?” “It’ll wear off at the stroke of midnight. Indefinite magic gives the worst sort of headache to do.”

“Are you sure that’s not just a hangover?” Ruby mumbed, being immediately met with a shove and grumble from Qrow.

“Shush you. No sassing your godmother. Magic works in mysterious ways.

Speaking of which, magicking you up might make you a little harder to recognize. Not that you’ll look different, just a side effect of illusionary magic.”

Ruby nodded along, none of those terms sounded awful and now she was just in a rush to make it happen. “Okay goes away at midnight and I’m sorta in disguise, I can handle that.”

“Great, go put that dress on then and I’ll get you all set. Best to work from a base product to build onto y’know.”

“Get out of my room then please?” Ruby started ushering him out of her room so she could have space to change.

“M’kay, I’ll wait outside.” He swayed as he walked out of the room, leaning against the wall in the hall as she got ready.

Ruby carefully slipped the dress on, as if trying to prevent it from crumbling more than it already had. Dark ash smeared her skin as the burnt bits brushed against her. She put her boots and accessories on to finish the look. One glance at her small, cracked mirror had her frowning. She looked absolutely ridiculous. It took her longer than it should have to build back up the confidence to call Qrow back in but eventually she did.

“Oh good, you’re all ready.” Qrow came to stand beside her. “Time for the magic words, you know the drill.” He lazily waved his scythe-wand over her head while in a dramatic and slurred fashion exclaiming “Bippity boppity boo!”

Ruby could feel the hum of magic before she could see it. The dress seemingly mended itself all at once, fitting even better than before. She was so captivated by how well it worked that she did notice the other alterations until she took a step and immediately lost her balance, sticking her arms out to keep herself from falling. Her nice practical knee high boots were now sparkling ruby red heeled shoes.

“Why did you give me stilts to walk on?” She asked, still trying to keep herself upright.

“Isn’t that just what people wear to these things?” Qrow shrugged, completely unbothered.

“I’m going to trip and die before I get there.” Ruby commented half to herself, but she didn’t want to be ungrateful and he had done something wonderful for her.

“Thank you for this.” She eventually added.

“Yeah yeah, any time. I’d love to stick around but I do have things to do, places to be. So go enjoy that ball, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He said, seemingly uncomfortable with the appreciation and in a rush to escape it, he disappeared in a blink.

Ruby walks the length of her room several times, trying to get a hang of walking in these shoes.

She didn’t dare leave her room until she was certain her step family had already left for the ball because she dreadd what Cinder might do if she saw Ruby all dressed up- or worse what Salem might do.

~~~~

When finally she is sure it is safe to leave, she heads out immediately to the palace.

The ball was in full motion when she arrived. It’s the most beautiful thing she has ever seen with people laughing, drinking, and dancing the night away to beautiful music performed by a live orchestra. There were tables filled with the most luxurious snacks and servants going around to cater to guests as well. There were of course guards posted around but even they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ruby was a bit out of sort, unsure what to do with herself but more than content to just take it all in.

She has been seated in a quieter corner, enjoying some snacks when a man sidles up next to her to start a conversation which leads into asking her to dance. She politely declined but this repeated itself once again with an entirety different and more persistent lad who was determined to dance with her. She wouldn’t be able to dance in these silly shoes even if she knew how to or wanted to so she less than politely bid him farewell and walked away, trying to find somewhere she won’t be pestered.

She weaved through the crowds, paying little attention to who was there. It was during this escape that she stumbled terribly, instinctually grabbing at something to keep herself from falling on her face. The tearing sound of fabric was audible as she realized she grabbed the sleeve of some woman’s dress. The horrified screech from that woman was what made her realize the person she had grabbed was none other than Cinder.

Ruby stole a glance at the scene, Cinder having clearly been mid-conversation, now with a torn sleeve and wine covering her whole front from a glass that had been jostled.

Ruby quickly ducked her head, hiding her face, planning how to escape, praying that Cinder hadn’t noticed who she was. As it turned out, an escape plan was unnecessary as Cinder stormed off and away from all the prying eyes watching this scene play out.

Ruby stayed knelt there, stewing in her own mortification, wishing in her head to just disappear.

“Hey, are you okay?” Someone asked, bending down and offering her a hand up.

“I’m… fi- fine?” Her voice cracked mid word as she took his offered hand and finally got a proper look at him. Her gaze sliding from his face to the circlet on his head. Without that, she would have no clue who he was, she had never seen the prince before after all.

She had made no move to stand yet but Prince Oscar had also made no move to help her up either. They were frozen like this, hand held, staring at each other.

For Ruby it was the shock of meeting the prince and him kindly trying to help her (and he was as pleasant looking as everyone said).

For Oscar it was because when his eyes met her he was utterly and inexplicably captivated. His heart skipped a long beat and he couldn’t seem to look away.

In the same instant they both snapped out of it. Oscar helped her up in one swift motion, completely red in the face as he processed just how long he’d been staring at her.

“I’m-” Ruby was instantly interrupted.

“No I’m-” Oscar tried to say.

“Sorry” “Sorry.”

They said in the same moment, looking down and away from each other.

They fumbled over each other’s apologies for another moment and finally got the courage to look at each other again. Another pause, just for a breath and they both laugh.

“It’s not a big deal. If I’m being honest you sort of saved me there? I had been trying to get out of that conversation for a while and that definitely took care of it.” Oscar explained, rubbing the back of his neck as he confessed that.

Ruby held in another laugh, it would be very difficult to explain just how funny this situation was to her personally. “Well I’m happy to be a help?”

She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as she was quickly becoming acutely aware of just how many people were still watching them. “I should probably go do- do something else, something ball related, you know.”

She turned away and tried to disappear into the crowd, headed outside to get some fresh air. “Wait!” Oscar called but she didn’t seem to hear him. There wasn’t a thought in his head as he followed right after her out to one of the balconies. It was quiet out there and a major relief for him to have a break from people constantly wanting something from him.

When she noticed him approaching he flustered again, he had no reasonable explanation for why he followed her other than this undercurrent need to get to know her.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” He asked, internally cursing himself for such a bland introduction.

Ruby was more at ease without so many people around. Even if it was a little nerve racking to be speaking to someone so important, she was somehow less on edge than when anyone else at the ball had approached her. “I don’t really have anything to compare it with but it’s sort of amazing?” It was true, it was all so grand and amazing, even if she did have to dodge a couple of people it was still one the most incredible things she’d ever been a part of.

“Oh, so it’s your first time attending a ball then? I’m glad it’s been good.”

“Yeah I mean, all the books I loved when I was little had castles and grand balls in them and I never thought it would actually be like those stories. Turns out yeah it really is.” Ruby took a seat on the bench to finally get off her feet.

“I loved those sorts of stories growing up too. I guess it’s weird now to think about how people dream of becoming royalty, being a prince or princess. I went from living on a farm to being adopted into this and then those stories were less fun to read.” He hadn’t really read any books like that since he moved into the palace, now that he thought about it. They all lost their charm.

“I always wanted to be a knight in those stories actually.” Ruby admitted.

“Oh really?” Somehow that didn’t seem surprising at all, he had known her for no more than a few minutes but there was a certain spark to her that made that so believable.

“Yeah I just loved the idea of protecting people that can’t protect themselves, y’know?”

“Remind me to introduce you to the castle guards sometime, I really think you’d like them.” Oscar noted. “But that’s a really nice dream you have though. I think sometimes imagining things is more fun than the reality of it? I’m very lucky to be in this position but living it made dreams of it more dull...I’m sorry I’m rambling!”

Ruby covered her mouth to conceal a grin. “No, it’s fine. I know what you mean but I want to believe that sometimes reality can be even better than dreams if it’s the right reality for you.”

“That’s- hm I think I’d like to believe that too.” Oscar mumbled, leaving them sitting in comfortable silence side by side for a long moment.

“Would you like to go back inside and dance?” He eventually asked, worried she might grow bored with him otherwise.

Ruby shook her head immediately “Oh please no! I mean I’d love to but… erm you saw me trip back there, I don’t really want to have a repeat performance.”

“Okay then do you want to go on a walk?” Oscar just didn’t want to leave her side, not yet.

“That would be nice actually.” Ruby didn’t particularly want to end their conversation either.

Like a proper gentleman, Oscar offered her his arm to link together which abated any of her lingering anxiety about tripping again.

Oscar led her through a quieter path out of the castle and out along a cobble pathway that snaked around the rear courtyards and into the gardens. Lit only by the moonlight it was gorgeous, overflowing with different flowers and vines covering every surface other than the path itself. Their evening was filled with conversation, once past the initial awkwardness they slipped into comfortably chatting about all sorts of meaningless things.

Time had melted away for the both of them.

That was, until the gonging sound of the clock tower atop the castle interrupted Ruby mid sentence.

She went pale.

“I have to go.” She said, pulling away from him. She could already feel the magic beginning to fade as she hurried away.

“Wait come back!” Oscar held a hand out like he wanted to stop her, like he hoped she would listen and turn around for even a moment.

Just before she was out of Oscar’s view she stumbled once more, the heel of one of the slippers getting caught between two stones in the path.

Oscar flinched, taking one step forward. “Oh, are you okay?”

She didn’t have time to waste and she hated these stupid shoes anyways so she just slid her foot out of it and kept on running.

Ruby was well on her way out when Oscar stooped down to pick up her shoe. The clock had struck midnight and that slipper had reverted back to its old form as a boot. “You left your...boot?” He muttered to himself in complete confusion as he stared at it.

Ruby’s dress was back to it’s charred state by the time she had left the palace property. She hobbled her way home with one boot and one foot with nothing more than a sock on it.

Sneaking back inside her home went better than she was expecting. She was able to get to her room and change out of the ruined dress without anyone seeing her. None of that stopped Cinder from being in a foul mood and barging demanding Ruby draw her a bath. This time Ruby couldn’t even claim that Cinder’s mood wasn’t her fault, even if Cinder wasn’t aware that it was Ruby who had interrupted her plans.

~~~

The morning after the ball Oscar sulked through breakfast. He just couldn’t get his mind off the girl he had spoken with at the ball.

Four of his guards who were more just friends of his than anything else often joined him for meals when there was no formal gathering in place. Today was no different but there was a certain tension in the air.

“Soooo, how was the ball?” One of his guards, Nora asked, breaking the silence with a smile that told him she was already perfectly aware of how it went. “It was fine. It was a ball.” Oscar answered blandly, still staring at his food that he pushed around on his plate.

“Just fine? Hmm well I heard you disappeared with some pretty girl and didn’t show back up all night.” Nora pressed more, leaning in with an intense expression like she was rearing for a full interrogation. Ren put a hand on her shoulder to try and rein her in.

“Oh you met someone?” Jaune asked and Oscar genuinely couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he was completely out of the loop. “What’s her name?”

Oscar shrunk in on himself with a quiet sigh.“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

“Wait wait wait, you spend all night with this girl and you don’t even ask her name? How are you going to find her again?” Pure horror present in Nora’s voice as she asked that.

“I guess I probably won’t.” Oscar said like he was trying to come to terms with that himself.

“If you are meant to meet again, I think your paths will cross.” Pyrrha chimed in right as Oscar was getting ready to leave the table.

The entire day following Oscar felt like he was in a daze. He couldn’t concentrate for any of his lessons, which got him scolded by one of his etiquette teacher, Glynda, and told to leave early since he clearly ‘had his head in the clouds’.

Even King Ozpin commenced on it in passing with that odd smile on his face that always irked Oscar just a little bit.

When he finally had enough of all the ‘knowing’ comments and teasing he dug out his commoner clothes from his closet and slipped them on. He used to sneak out much more often because sometimes he missed being looked at like a normal person. He hadn’t done this in a while and the clothes didn’t quite fit anymore but he really needed some space.

Oscar wandered aimlessly through the maze of streets in the city surrounding the palace. For the first time all day he felt relaxed as he blended into the crowd with on stares or comments. There was always the slightest bit of tension he held from always having to perform in a princely manner, but here no one expected anything of him.

He was window shopping at an antique store when someone passing by catches his eye.

Maybe Pyrrha’s comment about paths crossing if they were meant to wasn’t so silly because he sees this girl and his brain goes completely fuzzy like it was trying to piece things together while his heart skips in a way that’s becoming very familiar to him.

“Hey wait!” He called out, jogging to catch up with her, not paying mind to how odd this might seem to bystanders.

Ruby doesn’t immediately realize it’s her that’s being called out to. Not until he catches up to her. She started, stopping mid-stride to look at him. Despite his change of clothes she recognized him immediately. She was nervous and happy and confused all at the same time. She never thought she’d see him again and didn’t think he would care to talk to her again either.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you. I guess that was pretty weird to do.” Oscar said apologetically, realizing this was the second time in a row they had an awkward greeting.

“No, no it’s okay I just wasn’t expecting to see you again!” Ruby explained, unsure what to say or do now. “Do you come around here often?” She asked, just to fill the silence.

“Sometimes it’s just nice to be able to take a walk without people staring, you know?” Oscar answered, genuinely thrilled to talk to her about literally anything right now.

“Won’t people recognize you?” Ruby thought he was fairly recognizable, but then again she also had a whole night to take in the details about him.

“Well no one has so far, I think when people aren’t expecting to see me I sort of blend into the background.” The only person to recognize him thus far was her, but that was because he came running up to her so obviously.

“You weren’t expecting to see me but I didn’t blend into the background for you.”

“Oh it’s your eyes…” Oscar tapered off quickly, not wanting to admit that he’d been subconsciously scanning the crowd every moment he was out, hoping to run into her again.

“Hey, have you eaten lunch yet?” He changed the subject abruptly.

“I haven’t but-”

“Well, would you care to join me? There’s this little bakery I love around here.”

Ruby was anxious both because the longer the less chores she was getting done but also because she didn’t have the money on her to pay for lunch. But he looked so bright eyed and hopeful and that smile was killing her.

“I can’t be out for too long, but okay.” She answered finally.

“Really? Great!” Oscar was nearly bouncing on his feet as he offered her his arm reflexively, an overly formal gesture but sweet nonetheless.

Ruby laughed quietly but took his arm, ignoring the couple odd glances they earned.

Oscar led the way to this small corner shop filled to the brim with various baked goods. The sweet scent made her mouth water. She looked at all the different offerings as Oscar chatted with the old lady running the place, listing off the pastries he wanted to get.

He turned to Ruby after a moment and asked “What would you like?”

It hadn’t occurred to her that he was offering to pay for her until then, she didn’t have the money on her to actually buy anything so she was planning on just quietly not ordering anything.

She paused, internally scrambling to make a decision. “One of these?” She pointed to a flaky chocolate croissant that had caught her eye earlier. He picked up on her hesitance quickly and ordered both that and a couple of his personal favorites for her to try.

Once they gather up all their pastries they sit at the one small round table next to the window, settling down.

“ Okay, weird question but it’s been killing me ever since I last saw you.” Oscar asked.

Ruby nodded, giving permission for him to go ahead and ask.

“How do I phrase this,,,,When you left, you dropped your boot? But you definitely weren’t wearing a boot before that?”

Ruby blinked at him then laughed. “Yeah I get why you’d be thinking about htat for so long. It’s well, it was magic? And no I’m not joking! I really mean it.”

At first Oscar gave a slightly doubtful look but she seemed so genuine and there was no other good explanation either. “You know someone that can use magic then? Wow that’s pretty rare nowadays.”

There were traces of magic, some people were born with minor magical abilities and there were healers that cultivated that particular skill but it was rare to have someone perform magic for something like this.

“Yeah I’ve known him for my whole life I guess. Kinda an odd guy but also he’s always been there or me so I guess I can’t complain.”

With that they fell into easy conversation once again and once again time slipped away.

Until she was abruptly brought back to reality from a comment by the old lady running the shop.

“Are you two planning to just honeymoon it here or what? We’re losing daylight!” She asked, halfway between amused and annoyed at the two lovebirds.

Ruby froze, glancing out the window to note that indeed the sun was going down.

“Oh no, I have to go.” She should’ve already been working on dinner and none of her other chores were done yet, scrubbing the floors always was so time consuming.

She was out the door before he could even call out to her, almost impossibly quickly.

“I didn’t even ask you your name. Oscar grumbles as he buries his face against the cafe table.

~~~~

Quite predictably Ruby was immediately scolded when she arrived home. She hadn’t washed Neo’s clothes in time and all her other chores were left to do too. She had to work far into the night without dinner to get it all done, though she wasn’t too bothered after having a lovely lunch with Oscar. She figured that would be the last time she saw him, that fate decided to give her that nice little bit of closure with him, one nice happy moment she could think about as her knees ached from crawling on them scrubbing floors.

~~~~

Oscar however wasn’t at all satisfied in that being the last time they met. In fact had been skipping out on his lessons and duties, sneaking out in commoner’s clothes constantly. It was not like him at all, normally he was highly responsible and took his role seriously.

After several days of this, King Ozpin interrupted one of his escape attempts. “If you needed a break, you could always just ask for one.”

Oscar, very much having not expected Ozpin to be lurking by the exit he always snuck through to get to town, startled. “I’m- it’s not that- it’s-”

Ozpin just nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You met someone.” He answered for Oscar.

Oscar just sighed and nodded.

“Well, a little birdy was telling me about this girl who works at a mechanic’s shop. Pietro’s I believe? Interesting thing about her is she’s got bright silver eyes, a pretty rare trait.” Ozpin explained casually.

“I… didn’t tell you she has silver eyes?” As odd as it was, Oscar had grown somewhat accustomed to Ozpin’s odd ability to know things he really shouldn’t be able to and knew that the half shrug and smirk he was given at that comment was all he would receive.

Ozpin stepped aside, clearing the way to the exit and gesturing for Oscar to go on.

Oscar began lingering around that shop whenever he could. He didn’t see the girl that day, or the day after that. In fact it took almost a whole week and he was beginning to feel rather creepy for doing this.

He just wanted to know her name. If it turned out that she wanted nothing to do with him after that, then so be it.

But finally his determination paid off and she was there that day. He didn’t approach her while she worked, not wanting to interrupt and be incredibly rude.

Instead he waited until she was off shift and out of the store, making himself very visible as he approached her. He had a whole thing to say planned out but it all left his brain the moment she saw him and looked happy to see him.

“Sorry to ah- ambush you here but I- someone told me where to find you and-” He just couldn’t string a sentence together. “What’s your name?” He finally blurted out.

Ruby was surprised to see him but already grinning at his awkward entrance. “Ruby, it’s Ruby.”

“Ruby.” He repeated back to her with a look of wonder on his face that made her stomach flip. He said it like it was the most beautiful word he had ever heard.

“So Ruby, you work at a mechanic shop?” Oscar asked, as if he was looking for an excuse to say her name again.

“Yeah, I work on weapons mostly, it’s fun.”

“Weapons huh? How come?” He wanted to know everything about her, he realized.

“Well… same reason I dreamed of being a knight as a kid I think? It helps protect people, in any way I can manage. That and the way weapons are put together is sort of like a puzzle? I find it calming I think and- oh, I do have to get going soon though.” She interrupted her self, knowing full well that they could talk for hours again.

“Come visit sometime!” Oscar said in a rush, not wanting to lose the chance to see her again.

“I can show you around, show you what it looks like when it’s not crowded with people for a big party.”

“If you’re sure that’s okay…” Ruby wanted to see him again too and seeing the rest of the palace sounded really interesting too.

“Absolutely! It won’t be a problem, no one around will mind.There’s always a guard up at the front gate, just tell them who you are and they’ll let you in.”

Ruby felt warm at the implication he'd mentioned her to enough people that the guards would know who she was. She nodded. “I’ll stop by as soon as I can, I promise.”

She left for home feeling light and with every intention of visiting him.

~~~~~

Bogged down by chores, it’s nearly two weeks later when she first gets a chance to visit. At the entrance to the castle stood a tall red haired woman in armor standing guard.

Ruby opens her mouth to introduce herself but doesn’t even have to as the guard is already opening the door. “It is very good to meet you.” she says. Ruby guessed Oscar really wasn’t exaggerating about the guards knowing who she was.

“Wait here and the Prince will be right down.” The guard assured.

Ruby stood in the main hall, looking at all the tapestries and portraits lining the walls as she waited.

Oscar showed up only minutes later, looking ecstatic and slightly out of breath as if he’d been running to get to her.

He reached out to her then hesitated. Like he wants to hug her or some show of affection but his etiquette training kicked in.

He held his hand out, palm up.

Ruby wasn’t entirely sure what to do but took a guess and put her hand very lightly on top of it.

His fingers curled around hers as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

This was by noble standards a very appropriate greeting for a woman he highly respected- if not a little strange because of their status difference. Yet it felt more intimate than just about anything else he could have done. She stood there,red faced and dizzy as he lowered their hands but still held hers in his. “I’m glad you actually came.”

“I promised I would, didn’t I?”

“Well I’m very glad you keep your promises then… I missed you.” He mumbled the last part before clearing his throat.”May I give you a tour?”

“Of course, lead the way your majesty.”

Oscar walked with her hand-in-hand through all the major parts of the castle. Quickly his tour got off track to them discussing other things with him briefly stating what room they were in but otherwise not bothering to give details about it, much more interested in the conversation at hand.

The sun is setting once again when they part ways, Oscar inviting her back any time she wants.

~~~~

Rumor has it that the Prince is seriously courting a girl. She is over many times a week and several servants whisper of the fact they have seen the two snuggled up together when they thought no one was looking. Even without that damning evidence, the bright mood the Prince was constantly in told the story plainly enough.

Ruby had taken to visiting the palace rather than working at the shop. She knew Pietro would welcome her back no matter how long it had been since she last worked. Still, it made her a bit anxious to not be working on her savings currently but for once in her life she was so very happy.

~~~~

Oscar had been serious about properly introducing Ruby to his guard friends. She got along with them easily, so easily in fact that they had begun teaching her the basics of fighting out in the training yard.

Whenever Oscar knew that was going to happen, he tried to get out of his duties early to go watch, it was always worth it to see.

This time around he got there just in time to watch Nora flip Ruby, pinning her to the ground.

“Nora… please try not to kill her, I think Oscar might actually get mad at us then.” Jaune pointed out as Ruby stood up and brushed herself off. “Oh come on, I’m not that breakable.” Ruby laughed. “You next then.” She grabbed one of the wooden training swords and stood at the ready for him.

A few parries from either side before Ruby went on the offensive, half accidentally Jaune over the head with it.

“Ow okay please don’t kill me either.” Jaune whined cradling his head.

Ruby snorted in an attempt to hide a laugh, completely unable to feign concern. “Hm but if I kill you do I get to take your place and be a guard?”

“What! No! Now I’m afraid you’re actually going to kill me.”

“You don’t need to kill Jaune to have a place here. You are more than welcome to stay” Pyrrha said while sympathetically rubbing Jaune’s shoulder, the only one willing to comfort him in his dramatics.

“I think there’s another role you’d prefer over being a guard though.” Ren noted, backed by Nora wagging her eyebrow to punctuate it with implication.

Ruby was less embarrassed now by this than she used to be. This teasing was commonplace now. There was no way it wasn’t glaringly obvious to everyone that the prince was courting her. Honestly she hadn’t put a whole lot of thought into it, it sort of just had been washing over her. Shows of affection are basically constant and they weren’t exactly secret about it even if they weren’t exactly clear about what they were to each other either.

~~~

It became a regular thing for Ruby to join Oscar for lunch or dinner on days when she visited. It was during one of these meals that she first met the King who apparently had the time to join them that particular day. King Ozpin was quite kind and welcoming to her, that dinner actually wasn’t nearly as awkward as she was expecting it to be. The only thing was that he kept saying things that made it sound like he’d met her before. It was odd but also hard to put her finger on exactly. When the meal was over and they parted ways Oscar assured that he was just like that but that the King really did seem to approve of her.

~~~

Some days she and Oscar would go spend their time in the palace library together. Usually they would just quietly enjoy having the other around, leaning gently against each other as they read. Sometimes they would talk about the books they were reading and get completely sidetracked. On this particular day they were going through the shelves of storybooks, quick and simple to read but filled with nostalgia. One particular set of books caught Ruby’s eye, pages faded to yellow with age and a gold trim around the edges. She grabbed for them before she noticed what she was doing, thumbing through the pages looking at the print and little illustrations. She hadn’t noticed how long she had been standing there when Oscar snuck up behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What’d you have there?” He whispered.

“These books, I just, I remember them from when I was little but I think you’re missing one?” There were three books she found on the shelf from this series but there should be a fourth one, the one she remembered best. “My mom- my birth mom used to read these too but my favorite was this one that had these warriors who could turn all the beasts in the forest to stone with their eyes? And well, they had silver eyes which I thought was so cool because both me and her had them too.” Ruby explained, she couldn’t even recall how the stories went, just like she couldn’t really recall her mother. Sometimes she’s sure she just dreamed it all up.

~~~

Oscar wasn’t too keen on giving gifts. It felt odd to do when he had so much wealth, like he was trying to buy affection. Today though was different. It was Ruby’s birthday and he’d been looking for this particular perfect gift all month long. Once she arrived he could hardly wait to give it to her.

“You’ve had that silly grin on since I’ve gotten here, it’s making me nervous..” Ruby said, eyeing him carefully.

“Okay, okay, I was going to wait until later but, well- hold on.” He turned tail, running up to his room and back to go grab the unwrapped present, returning soon after. “Here you go.”

In her hands he placed a book with those yellowed pages and gold trim. She stared at the title ‘The Warriors of the Woods ’, her fingers tracing the letters in awe. Her cheeks ached from the grin stuck on her face as dragged Oscar into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much!”

“Happy birthday.” Oscar said as he hugged her in return.

~~~

Ruby’s step-family was growing ever more suspicious as she kept returning home happy and grinning, humming songs to herself. Nothing seemed to manage to sour her mood whatsoever and every happy moment she showed only earned her more disdain and chores from Salem. Ruby did them all without complaint.

~~~

With Ruby around so often, Oscar began constantly skipping his lessons. All of his tutors eventually came up with a way to circumvent this by simply pulling Ruby into his lessons as well. Oobleck more or less ambushed them in the garden and gave them no room to politely escape as he handed them textbooks, paper, and pencils, diving right into a history lesson of the internal politics of the Kingdom of Vale.

One thing Oscar had learned about Ruby early on was that she hated being forced to sit still if it wasn’t her choice. She began to fidget, then doodle, then as all this information droned on made her head buzz she began to drift off into a nap.

Oscar nudged her awake a couple times before taking his paper and writing her a little note.

‘Think you’ll survive?’ He slid that over to her just before she began to doze again.

‘I don’t know! Is he always like this?’ Her writing was scrawls that took Oscar a moment to decipher but once he did he quietly laughed.

‘Pretty much, why do you think I skip out on this and spend time with you instead?’ He replied.

‘Saying I’m better than this isn’t a compliment :( ‘

This was the first, but definitely not the last time Ruby was brought into his lessons. Any time they could get away with it they passed notes and laughed like little school kids to pass the time.

~~~

When Oscar was having a bad day, he liked to go climb up into the rafters of the stables. The palace had a large stable where they kept the horses and a few chickens roamed freely. It felt familiar and safe to him. It wasn’t often that he had a truly bad day but today he was feeling very off. Ruby had come to visit that day and while it cheered him up in the way it always did, it didn’t exactly fix everything. That day Oscar decided to show Ruby his hiding spot in the rafters. He led her to the stable and showed her how he climbed up there, sitting comfortably on one of the beams.

“You don’t have to tell me but, is something wrong?” She asked, he had been so quiet today and they had never gone to spend time out here like this before.

“It’s nothing… nothing in particular, just a bad day, I guess.” Oscar admitted. “It’s silly, I mean it’s hard not to feel guilty about having a bad day when I have so much going or me.”

Ruby scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I don’t really think it’s silly, if you want to talk about it, I’m right here.” She rests her head against his.

Oscar took a moment to try to put it into words. “I’m thankful, for everything Ozpin has done for me. I’m a prince now, and he doesn’t even push all these outdated royal rules on me or anything. But… I didn’t exactly grow up this way? I grew up on a farm, and sometimes I just miss how simple everything was there and I miss my aunt and everything else.”

Ruby understood then why he would want to go hide out here and in a way she could imagine how overwhelming this must be for him since what she’s experienced of palace life was awfully overwhelming to her too.

She didn’t think about it for even a moment before she turned her head to press her lips to his in a sweet reassuring kiss.

Now, affection was shown quite freely between them in private, nearly constantly touching. Kisses, on the cheek, forehead, back of the hand, those were all commonplace for them nowadays. Yet this right here was their first proper kiss.

They were both a bit red in the face at the realization but it felt like it hardly needed addressing, like it was inevitable.

“Hey when you said Ozpin doesn’t push outdated rules on you? I mean he’s not going to have a problem with…” Ruby gestured between the two of them.

Oscar laughed, kissing her in return finally before answering. “I think he’s all for this. He approves of you and he wants me to be happy, and well, you make me happy.”

~~~

Ruby shouldn’t have been surprised when one night she came home to find that book Oscar had gifted her a charred pile of illegible paper in the middle of her room. Cinder had always had a knack for knowing just which of Ruby’s possessions would hurt the most to lose. That, and the whole family had been completely furious with Ruby being so upbeat lately that of course Cinder would do something like that.

Somehow it is so much worse than the dress being burnt. She re-read this book every night before she went to bed to remember what she could of the family she once had and to remember that someone cared enough about her to go through all the effort to find it for her.

She cleaned up the pile, feeling cold and empty and like she was entirely trapped here. Maybe it was just because she’d summoned him last time Cinder burnt something of hers, or maybe she just desperately needed someone to talk to in general but once she is calm she whispers “I wish I could see my Fairy Godmother.”

Once again Qrow appears in front of her in a blink. “Y’know, you can call me when you aren’t crying.” He sighs. “What’s it about this time? I thought the last gig went well. Heard you even snagged yourself a prince.”

“Where did you hear that?! I- never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“Am I wrong?” Qrow raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“That’s not the point. But even if I did you shouldn’t pat yourself on the back about it. You nearly killed me with those heels.” Ruby was trying to sound serious but having something meaningless to argue over was such a relief it was difficult to keep that tone of voice.

“Oh I’m definitely patting myself on the back. When you two get hitched that makes me royalty by extension.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Ruby mumbled, hiding a smile by ducking her head.

“Well, enough of that. You never answered my question, what’d you need?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. I think I’m just tired of this place.”

It was nothing he could fix anyways, not permanently at least probably. “Could you stay for a while? We could play games like when I was little?” She asked, of all things she thinks that might cheer her up right now.

Qrow seemed a bit confused and maybe even a touch startled at that statement but hid it quickly. “Didn’t think you remembered any of that.”

“You were always around, it’d be a little hard to forget!”

“Hmm…” For a moment he looked to be deep in thought before he shook his head. “I guess I can spare a little time.”

~~~

It was a few days before Ruby visited the palace again, longer than she had gone without visiting in quite a while.

When finally she does come by, Oscar is visibly worried.

He greets her with a kiss but lingers close. “Did something happen?”

“No, no I was just really busy.” Ruby said blandly.

Oscar had an expression that said he knew that wasn’t the whole story but he wouldn’t press her on it either.

“Just some family trouble, talk about it later okay?” Ruby added to try to quell his concerns.

Before they could continue their conversation they were interrupted.

“Ah, you’re here, excellent!” Said Ozpin as he approached the couple who took a respectful step away from each other. “See, I wanted to formally invite you to our next upcoming ball.” He handed Ruby a sturdy envelope embossed with her name in silver print on the front.

“We’re having another ball?” Oscar asked.

“Yes, it’s been a few months since the last one so I thought it’s time for another celebration.” Didn’t I tell you?”

“It must have slipped your mind.” Oscar muttered, half sure that Ozpin came up with this on a whim just today.

“This one is by invitation only. Hence why I wanted to personally ensure that Miss Rose received hers.” Ozpin shot a meaningful look Oscar’s way as he said that before turning to direct his next statement to Ruby “Mm, anyways, don’t worry about attire, we can have you fitted for a dress, one properly suited for a night of dancing.”

He left no time for either of them to respond before heading off elsewhere. They both are left standing there, confused about what just happened.

“Hey Oscar?”

“Mhm?”

“So, I don’t actually know how to dance?” She was embarrassed to admit it, since it seemed like something everyone around knew how to do but her.

“Oh, well there’s some excellent tutors around here, you don’t have to worry about that!” Oscar reassured.

“Okay but what if I’m afraid of embarrassing myself in front of the tutors?”

“Are you afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of me?” He asked and she considered the question.

“Somehow a lot less afraid.” Ruby answered, there was a level of comfort she’d reached in being that vulnerable around him.

“Then how about I teach you?”

~~~

That started what would become the weeks of dance lessons leading up to this next ball.

“It’s easier than it looks. I was nervous the first time around too.” Oscar said, standing in the large empty ballroom with Ruby as he started the record player on some basic waltz music.

He demonstrated the base steps alone, explaining them as he went.

“Okay, want to give it a try?” He asked.

“I guess, sorry if I step on your toes.” Ruby was still pretty apprehensive even after watching him demonstrate.

Oscar chuckled, putting one hand on her waist. “I’ve seen you practicing sparring with the guards, you’re actually really graceful.”

“When I’m sparring I’m supposed to be aiming to hurt people, and here not so much.” She retorted.

That was only met with a fond kiss and Oscar’s other hand finding hers. “Come on, giving it a try?”

She began to follow his steps but it was clear how uneasy she felt no matter how long they tried it for.

“Here, let’s try something different. You lead.” Oscar offered.

“Won’t that make it worse?” Ruby thought that would just give her more opportunity to step on his feet.

“No, I think it’s pretty awkward to learn to do these all backwards, it’s easier to learn if you’re in the lead role.”

“Okay…” Ruby reversed their position, putting her hand on his waist to mirror the way he had been holding her before. They were nearly the same height so it worked perfectly in that sense.

It’s awkward at first still but Ruby was much less nervous, actually it was Oscar that was stumbling more now because he wasn’t used to this role.

By the time they had made their way around the room once, she was grinning.

When the music ended she hugged him.

“Thank you, that was way less awful than I was expecting.” She mumbled against his shoulder.

“Ha, glad it was better than awful?” His arms wrap around her in turn.

“But you aren’t done quite yet. That’s just the very basics, and you still need to practice this more too.”

Ruby feigned a pout with a grin hidden behind it. “What? There’s more?”

Until the day of the ball they continued to practice. Oscar had been made to take dance classes since he’d been adopted so he was more than happy to show off some of the more intricate steps and dances. Ruby’s personal favorite was dips mainly for that cute dazed expression Oscar got on his face when she could easily dip him and pull him back up for a kiss.

Rumor had it that the Prince will be engaged to miss Ruby Rose by the time this exclusive ball is over with.

This rumor may or may not have been started singlehandedly by one royal guard by the name of Nora Valkyrie. Regardless of how it started, word spread far and wide.

Word spread so far and wide in fact that it reached Salem. She was fuming, oh how could that wretched girl catch the prince’s attention so easily?

As much as she wanted to lock Ruby away and have done with her, Salem knew that if the prince truly cared for the girl then he might very well go looking for her. So she bided her time and came up with a plan, forging an invitation for Cinder to go to this new ball.

Ruby didn’t know any of this. Maybe Salem was a bit more cold and cruel than usual, but Ruby had already grown to expect the worst so she couldn’t even tell the difference.

~~~

The night of the ball arrived rapidly and Ruby had snuck out without finishing her impossibly long list of chores knowing full well she would pay for it tomorrow.

She wore a lovely floor length dress in a similar red color as her previous one, this time with her comfy boots underneath rather than those awful stilts.

Ruby was happy with how she looked, and so much more relaxed without the constant fear that her step mother or sisters would somehow ruin this for her.

Her confidence only grew when she met Oscar at the entrance and he offered her his arm. “You look beautiful.” He said, sounding so genuinely awestruck.

She really had to hold herself back from kissing him or even hugging him since there still was etiquette to follow for an event like this.

“Thank you, you don’t look bad yourself.” She replied as she took his arm.

Oscar didn’t leave her side all night. As he was Prince, they did have to make the rounds of talking with anyone particularly important but everyone was quite polite and seemingly excited to meet her too.

Once all the niceties were out of the way, they joined everyone else on the dance floor.

Ruby wasn’t nervous anymore, though she put her hand on Oscar’s waist to immediately take the leading role in this dance. Oscar just laughed and tried to stealthily kiss her on the cheek, an action many caught sight of regardless, because of course people were keeping their eyes on the prince and his girl.

For the whole night they only dance with each other which no one seemed to take issue with.

Well, no one took issue with until one particular unwelcome guest mader appearance. A song had just ended when Ruby felt a harsh tap on her shoulder, a fingernail basically gouging into her arm. When she looked up at who was trying to get her attention, she tensed, staring wide eyed. Cinder stood here, a fake overly polite smile plastered on her face as if she didn’t know exactly who Ruby was. “May I have this next dance with him?” She asked, putting Ruby in a position to look very rude and possessive if she were to say no.

Ruby couldn’t find her words at all, even if there was little Cinder could directly do to her here she still couldn’t help but be afraid.

Oscar picked up on something being wrong immediately, he’d never seen Ruby look so vacant and afraid, and this woman who had approached looked vaguely familiar. He frowned slightly before looking at the guest. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

Cinder, seeing how this wasn’t going her way and so incredibly angry with Ruby getting her way, did not in fact excuse them for a minute. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you heard me, I said may I have this dance?” Her grip on Ruby’s shoulder now bruising as she tried to rip her away from the Prince.

Oscar immediately got in between the two of them, and the guards were there almost immediately. Cinder did not go easily or quietly, in fact it made for a rather impressive wrestling match to watch in the middle of the dance floor before she was actually dragged off.

Everyone was quiet, shocked, and confused but slowly the party came back to life with people chancing quiet conversation and then returning to their dance.

“I’m sorry- about that.” Ruby mumbled, voice trembling slightly.

“That wasn’t your fault… at all. But, you seemed to know her?” Oscar spoke carefully, not wanting her to feel obligated to answer.

“She’s my stepsister.” She answered shortly

Suddenly something clicked for Oscar about the ‘family issues’ Ruby had alluded to before and it left a bitter feeling in his stomach. “Hey, you’re safe now.” He said, pulling her close.

“Yeah, for now.” Ruby sighed, she would still have to go home to.. To whatever was going to happen now.

“No, for always. You could stay here, stay with me.” Oscar blurted out, more than anything just wanting to make sure she was safe and happy. It took him longer than it should have to realize just how that sounded. “Okay, uh to be clear that was not a proposal. I promise that will be much better thought out and not asked when you’re dealing with a lot of stress-” His explanation was interrupted with a kiss.

“You do realize you just implied you’re going to propose, right?” Ruby asked once she pulled away.

Oscar laughed, giving her one more peck on the lips. “I thought that was obvious.”

#rosegarden #rosepine #ruby rose #Oscar Pine #secret santa #my fic #rwby

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neostriatum · 3 years

Text

In Disguise of a Sport

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

Cards are war, in disguise of a sport

- Charles Lamb

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” General Kenobi grinned, “Three days, in and out. Practically a vacation.”

Fox wasn’t sure whether to stare or to sigh. He settled for clicking off the screen of his datapad and wondering whether it was too late to ask for a reassignment.

It’s not that the general wasn’t right - the assignment was handed down from on high, and they both were the best equipped to wrangle information out of the smuggling ring one of Kenobi’s informants had mentioned to him.

It was just… did he really need to wear those?

As if picking up on his thoughts - or more likely the dour look directed to the gaudy clothing piled in the general’s arms - Obi-Wan Kenobi patted the garishly patterned robes and smiled consolingly at him. The sentiment wasn’t as reassuring as the Jedi seemed to think, and the man sighed.

“I suppose we should get something more suited to your demeanour, then?”

“Please.”

Cody was laughing at him. Cody had to be laughing at him, even if Fox made certain there wasn’t a camera in sight that could record him wearing the appropriately sober clothes the Temple apparently had on hand.

For the love of all things Jango-spawned, he practically looked like a Sith. Kenobi patted his arm, “Your scowl is perfectly charming, dear!”

This time he did sigh, as the general led him to the bar with a merry step to his gait. The ostentatious robes that were originally assigned to him were belted and folded into something that looked - according to General Windu - “suitably leisurely”.

He gratefully accepted the drink Kenobi pushed into his hand, if only to erase the pink and green monstrosity from his memory. “Shall I find a table?”

“You read my mind, darling.” Kenobi drawled, raising his own umbrella-decorated drink with a cheerful wink.

For the general’s sake, he mustered up a smile with the hoisting of his own glass.

Fox managed to find a suitably private sabacc table from which to watch the crowds, the view of the bar and nearby wall of dartboards in relatively easy view. Kenobi seemed to keep this in mind, loitering by a dusty lamp in his line of sight as the general tossed darts in a haphazard manner.

He squinted, wondering if the aurebesh on the dartboard was his imagination or not. From the way Kenobi slung satisfied slurps of his ludicrously neon drink, decorative umbrella tilting madly around the rim, the quietly gregarious stumbling seemed more choreographed than literal. Perhaps the message slowly being etched and erased with each round was the same.

The dealer at his table clicked in annoyance at Fox’s drifting attention, and he gestured back, tapping the table for another card. He nodded when the Lowen flicked a card toward him, the game resuming with scattered murmurs and taps from the other players.

It was an absorbing game, and despite both of them coming in with dossiers for preparation, the obscured identity of their contact was making him restless. Across from them, one of the other sabacc tables was having an increasingly furious argument, with clattering chips being slid across the table and overtaking the tinny pop hits from the old speakers scattered around the club.

“The blue chips are a hundred credits, not fifty!” An Ebranite protested, dappled skin rouging into starker spots with his temper.

The opponent in question, a stocky Selonian whose garb held close similarities to Fox’s own, arched a finely-shaped brow over their fringed eye coverings. “Perhaps I merely misread which was blue and which was green.”

Fox nearly missed his dealer’s next card in the river when a familiar hand clapped on both players’ shoulders. “An understandable interpretation, I believe,” Kenobi interrupted, all smiles to the table across from him. He waved a hand loquaciously, the multitude of convincingly fake rings glittering despite the grimy yellow lights. “Dealer, perhaps they could correct the chips they added to the pot? I think this is a simple misunderstanding, no?”

The Bimm was already nodding, removing the disputed chips the Selonian player had added. Fox raised a brow at his own cards, discarding a couple when he received a Commander card that worked towards the same-suited set he was eyeing. It had the unintended side effect of a Khommite three players down running finger along their temple and raising the pot.

He sipped from his drink, letting the burn encourage him against a smile. The funds for this excursion were from the senatorial wallet, and Fox had few qualms about the expenditures racking up this evening. Kenobi seemed to agree from the way he nearly glided over, settling into a seat that had been evacuated a few rounds ago.

The Jedi observed the round quietly, not acknowledging him as he waited for a polite time to be added to the game. It took a while, a nonsensical pattern to the cards dealt, but the polite attentiveness of Kenobi was making him wonder otherwise.

By the time his drink was nearly empty, the Khommite bowed out, sliding over the last of their money to the dealer with a disgruntled grumble. The Lowen dealer glanced at the general while they shuffled, looking pointedly at the table.

Kenobi smiled, genial demeanour in place as he leaned against the table. It seemed signal enough, and a hand was smoothly dealt to the Jedi as a new round restarted. Fox watched him make a quizzical hum at the cards in his hand, squinting at them in what looked to be curiosity.

The action incited a flutter of movement across the other players, including a cloaked individual that slid smoothly into the Khommite’s former seat. Fox arched a brow at the river being dealt onto the table, the corner of his eye registering the newcomer extend a pair of slim hands politely folded onto the table’s edge.

Kenobi seemed to think the action meant something, for his face smoothed into disinterest as he tapped the table for another card, a relaxed set to his shoulders as he incorporated the newest card to his hand.

For his part, Fox sensed a gentle pressure against his mind, precisely the way he and the general had practiced when they received their assignment. It was a signal that their contact had been found, and he resisted the urge to grumble - this phase in their plan meant for him to lose the game, and being a scant few points away from winning was a sullen realization.

As if in reply - and it likely was - Kenobi smiled, a quick glance directed at him that was accompanied by another push to his mind. It didn’t make throwing the game any more satisfying, but he shook his head at the way Kenobi raised a glass when he departed. The Jedi certainly had a sense of humor.

He ambled over to the bar, picking up something with less alcohol than what his companion had cheerfully pushed into his hands earlier. The bemused smile on his face was more difficult to swap out, but the raucous laughter from the other side of the bar let him pass it off as symptom of unintentional eavesdropping.

It distracted the droid, at least, and he let the carbonated drink capture his attention as he waited for Kenobi and the informant, removing the citrus slice affixed to the rim of his glass and savouring the blend of tart bubbles and bitter-sweet rum.

With the indisputably lurid wardrobe of his case partner easily visible through the fog of smoke from death sticks and other recreational combustibles even from the corner of his eye, Fox decided it was acceptable to lounge on his bar seat, whiling away the time people-watching until he was contacted. Admittedly, it was almost like a vacation, and he wrinkled his nose at the amused, smug tilt to his mind that was distinctly Kenobi.

Imagining a particularly creative invective, he almost missed the foreign brush across his senses, so uniquely unlike the Jedi he worked around that his hand clasped tighter on his glass.

Oh, none of that. His mind thought quite clearly, which was bewildering mostly due to the fact that his internal voice was decidedly more like Fett’s than a woman’s.

Fox blinks, casting his eyes around him. His gaze catches on the same cloaked sabacc player as before, their head tilted just enough to expose two eyes glittering from underneath their hood. Taking a bracing drink, he attempts the response-thought Kenobi coached him through before the mission began, and nods in the direction of the erstwhile sabacc player.

Indeed. The… flavour? Of amusement was quite similar to the general’s, and for a moment he wondered if there were more Jedi lurking around the room. Hmm. No, but I understand the confusion. If you would care to step outside?

He set his glass down slowly, chancing a glance at the only Jedi firmly accounted for.

Kenobi was still at the sabacc table, but with the way he was gesticulating, Fox guessed that he and the informant would be joined by the man soon. Sighing a mental shrug, he gestured to the bartending droid to pick up his drink, sliding a chit over as thanks.

The air outside the bar wasn’t too much better, with how many levels below the surface they were, but it was infinitely more secluded. He enjoyed the meandering route to the rendevous point, wondering at how many places there were in Coruscant left to be explored.

It was… not quite an alley with a dumpster that they met at, but neither was it an unnervingly empty spot with poorly-disguised bloodstains. For a twenty minute walk, it was likely one of the better spots.

And possibly also the scene of his death, with the way General Kenobi stepped out from an alcove with a dark cloak Fox knew the man didn’t have when he left the bar. He glared at the other, thumping the Jedi on his shoulder with a clattering heartbeat as he muttered, “Fuck’s sake.”

“Language,” Kenobi chided with a grin that was altogether too big for his scolding tone. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite.”

He settled for a rude gesture, wishing he had his blaster if only to pat it reassuringly. Kenobi had the nerve to chuckle, and Fox wondered how Cody got on with it all. Though, judging by the usual yarns his vod spun, possibly only with outside aid. It would certainly explain all the droid-punching.

They had only just settled down - admittedly with several rounds of poking fun at each other and some mild gossip about the Senate - that their contact fairly ghosted into the rendezvous point. Kenobi straightened from where he was lounging against the wall, a polite nod to the newcomer.

“Hello.” The general said amiably, as if lounging in not-alleys and making faces at a commander in order to wait quietly was a daily occurrence. Fox raised a brow at him, shaking his head when the Jedi only flicked his fingers at him with a huff.

Hello there. Their contact said, and, oh, that was familiar now. He pointedly refused to stop his smug grin when Kenobi glanced at him in mystified shock, knowing an advantage when he saw one.

Making sure he didn’t bite his lip as he concentrated, Fox wound his return thought to the contact up like he had practiced, assembling all the pertinent information for confirming their contact into the mental equivalent of a sentence.

It seemed to have worked, given the approving nod from their erstwhile sabacc partner and Kenobi’s proud look. Very good, their contact said, I see there are many misconceptions about the soldiers from Kamino.

The wording was… politely put, and a refreshing change of pace. Fox decided he liked them, because the effort was more than what he saw on a regular basis from civilians.

Kenobi chose to conduct his part of the negotiations out loud, possibly to spare him from the taxing effort that was mental communication. Given the building headache behind his eyes, Fox was inclined to agree.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” The Jedi said, his voice in an undertone out of respect for the setting.

The contact nodded slowly, withdrawing a small pouch from beneath their cloak. It was rather plain, but at Kenobi’s all-clear nod, he reached out to grab it. Whatever was in the bag was thin, pointed edges that reminded him heavily of a data chip.

Regardless, he signalled all-clear to Kenobi, arching a brow at their contact in question. They tilted their head to the side, It is a solution to a problem. One, I think, will impact you personally, Commander Fox.

He twitched, shoulders falling back at the unexpected use of his rank and name. Likewise, General Kenobi shifted, stance falling into a battle-ready casualness.

The other raised their hand, slowly lowering it in a recognizable stand-down gesture. He exchanged glances with Kenobi, frowning at the contact.

“We did not come here for personal business,” Kenobi stated, the tension making his tone clipped.

What is personal is also public, was their calm retort. They nodded, cloak obscuring what little features they had revealed during the conversation. Fox frowned some more, not sure how to parse the statement, and by Kenobi’s posture, the Jedi was likewise uncertain.

Eventually, the stand-off dissolved when Kenobi sighed, gesturing for him to remove the second set of rendezvous coordinates. This time when a voice unlike his own reverberated in his mind, the distinct lilt of the general was overlaying his own thoughts, Go here, your payment awaits there.

Fox, not quite one to give up a suspicion without a fight, tensely out-waited the shallow bow made to them, the slip of flimsi delicately taken as their contact disappeared into the outer streets of the quarter.

“You’re writing this half of the report,” He said, pointing at Kenobi as he secured the package in one of his belt’s pockets.

Kenobi chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m sure the Chancellor will find it entertaining to read.”

The Chancellor never did get to read either half of the report, partly because it was never written. Fox didn’t think it was much of a priority when Kenobi found out that the package was indeed a data chip, with some rather pertinent information about the clone manufacturing process.

He sure did receive the blaster bolt, though, and frankly he would forever appreciate Kenobi’s enthusiastic permission to deliver the verbal report with a full clip.

#star wars #commander fox #obi-wan kenobi #my story

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vivilove-jonsa · 4 years

Note

Spooky prompt: We're going to have to stay here tonight 🎃

Thank you for the prompt, honey! This isn’t really spooky at all but it’s inspired by Katrina and Ichabod’s first meeting in Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow with a slight twist. I hope you like it :)

“We’re going to have to stay here tonight.”

The announcement had been greeted with no surprise. Even without tales of headless horsemen, witches or evil spirits in the forest, autumn in Northern New England carries its own hazards. The weather can turn unexpectedly.

The blizzard had kept anyone of sense from attempting the journey home and their host had gallantly offered refuge for his guests beyond the harvest feast.

“Stay as long as necessary,” Eddard Stark had told them.

Some had chosen not to stay. The Umbers had set off that first night regardless saying they did not fear a bit of snow or any ghost stories. Jon wonders how their coach and horses fared along the indifferent roads in such conditions and if they Umbers reached their hearth. Or are they now headless victims of a malicious spirit? More likely, they might be frozen corpses, their eyes unseeing and their spirits wandering through the woods railing at their own folly.

Most had stayed, like the Tarlys. Samwell is his age, a likeable though bookish boy who often winds up the butt of jests which hardly seems fair since Sam’s twice as smart as most any man here. Jon is glad to call him his good friend. He is also secretly protective of him when it comes to settings such as this where Sam might not be shown due respect by some. His brother Dickon is here as well. Though he’s a few years younger than Sam, he does not need Jon’s protection.

There are some who Jon wishes hadn’t stayed as well, particularly Harrold Hardyng. A puffed up jackanape who charms the ladies with his compliments and looks down his nose as Jon’s old waistcoat, the only one he possesses decent enough for the Starks’ house, while cruelly poking fun at Sam’s fondness for sweets when the ladies aren’t present.

Jon almost wishes he had attempted the journey back to his own modest homestead himself. He knows Tormund won’t let his livestock starve or freeze but he feels his responsibilities as a newer landowner keenly and thinks he should be there, too.

But Mister Stark looks upon his former ward quite fondly and Jon could not refuse his entry to remain. “It’s four miles to home for you which may as well be ten leagues in these conditions. Pray, stay a little longer, Jon.”

And why shouldn’t Jon wish to remain at Winterfell during a blizzard? He spent most of his boyhood here after all.

Because of Mister Stark’s daughter Sansa, that’s why.

From gawky and somewhat missish at thirteen, she has blossomed into a beauty, willowy, graceful and sweet at seventeen. Jon had liked her well enough as a girl but they’d had little occasion to converse one on one. But now? Oh, he’d enjoy sitting by her side at the hearth for hours upon end if he could.

She’d been standing by her father’s side to greet their guests upon arrival when they’d met again for the first time in years. She’d shook hands with him, giving him a friendly smile and saying how much she’d missed him here. Jon had been enchanted and his enchantment has only grown since then as one night of her company had stretched into several.

Therefore, Jon cannot bear watching Harrold Hardyng’s obvious attempts to court her right under the nose of their elders. What does Mister Stark think of Hardyng? More importantly, what does Sansa think? For her part, Sansa only smiles politely at his oafish gallantry like the gracious young lady she is but is there any attachment blooming?

Jon hopes not though he is likely a fool to hope. He’s quite proud of his homestead but knows it wouldn’t have been unlikely for him without Mister Stark’s help and it is not a scratch on a grand house like Winterfell. If he thought an offer of marriage between him and Sansa might be accepted though…oh, he is a fool to hope.

On the seventh night of his unexpectedly extended visit, the young people are growing restless. There is only so much gossip to share, only so many stories to tell. Days and nights kept indoors with mixed company relaxes some of the usual decorum and makes them bolder.

“A game! Let’s play a game!” Sansa declares after supper while Tom Sevenstrings and his friends pluck out a tune.

“The Pickety Witch!” someone suggests and several more agree.

Sansa laughs as her friend Jeyne Poole covers her eyes with a length of fine silk. What a sight she is in her pretty blue gown with her red hair shining brightly, curled and coiffed just so. Her rosy lips and that bit of black silk upon her porcelain skin, she presents an image that Jon knows will revisit him in the night. Honor will have him attempting to banish the thoughts it will spur. Carnal desire will encourage him in them.

They twirl her around three times, the children, young ladies and gentlemen chuckling and edging about the limited allotted space for the game as their elders watch from nearby smiling with nostalgia for their own youths perhaps.

“The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?” Sansa asks with her hands stretched out before her, eager to snare a victim and guess who it is she’s caught.

All around the little area, she takes a step and then another, grasping at thin air. She’s hemmed in by her would-be captures but the space is enough to leave her uncertain of anyone’s exact whereabouts.

Beth Cassel screeches and scurries when Sansa nears her. Samwell squeaks and dodges her at one point, making his brother Dickon laugh heartily and barely elude capture himself. Little Rickon stomps on his brother Bran’s foot in his eagerness to escape his sister the Pickety Witch. She’s by far the prettiest Pickety Witch that ever was in Jon’s opinion.

Jon grins as she nears him and stands his ground. He hates to see her stuck in the middle indefinitely. And he’ll gladly let her capture him especially if it means she might choose to give her victim a kiss (even if it means he’ll be the blind man next.)

But a sound from the left draws her attention before she gets close enough to touch him and she turns.

Jon scowls, seeing that Harry has knocked the fireplace poker from its place. From his smug grin as Sansa moves towards him, Jon knows he did that on purpose.

His heart clenches, waiting for her to reach him. Like Jon, Harry isn’t moving.

She’s nearly to him, no more than a foot away. At any second, she’ll put her hands on his chest, his shoulders, touch his face and Jon will have to watch it all with a feigned smile as the sickening feeling in his stomach increases.

But when she’s right in front of Harry, Sansa does something unexpected. She darts to the right and nabs another victim.

Sam yelps. Yes, it’s a bit undignified but Sam does startle easily. Jon sees her lips twitching with suppressed laughter as his own are doing the same.

Sansa gently rubs his broad shoulders and then touches his round face. She wears an expression of puzzlement though, surely, she knows who she’s caught.

Or perhaps she doesn’t?

“Is it Loras?” she asks sweetly.

“N-no, Mm-Miss Sansa,” Sam stammers while Loras Tyrell across the room looks positively aghast at being mistaken for Samwell Tarly.

His voice will have given it away, Jon is sure.

Or maybe not.

“Ah, it must be Dickon then!”

Dickon Tarly may be younger but he is a head taller than his brother and far less rotund. Sansa doesn’t know the Tarlys all that well but she has spent the past week in their company and Jon has never heard her call them by anything but their correct names during that time.

Unkind laughter from some of the other lads breaks out. Some of the girls present titter cruelly, the girls who look at Dickon with moony eyes and give Sam dismissive looks. Jon glares at them all as does Dickon.

“No, I’m not Dickon, Miss Sansa,” Sam says, apologetically. Jon feels sorry for him.

“You must be a stranger to me then but clearly you are a noble gentleman, sir,” Sansa declares before kissing Samwell Tarly softly on the cheek. Sam’s eyes are wide as saucers as she removes her blindfold. “Oh ho, my mistake! He is no stranger at all but I was right to name him a noble gentleman,” she tells the others in a firm but merry tone.

The unkind laughter and cruel titters from a moment ago dry up in an instant. Jon can hear pleased laughter from the true friends present and everyone’s spirits are jolly again as Sansa helps blindfold and spin Sam for his turn.

Everyone’s spirits are jolly except for Jon’s, that is.

He’d never thought to be jealous of Sam in this manner but now, there is no denying that he is. Sansa kissed Sam on the cheek. Sansa has named Sam noble, which he is, and Jon has never felt less noble in his life. Sam carries an old, respectable family name and is the heir to more money than Jon will ever know. Sam would make her a finer match than most of these fools would ever acknowledge if they had any inclination for one another in that manner.

Feeling depressed and ridiculous, Jon decides to leave the circle of players and goes to fetch himself some cider. Once he has it, he retreats to the Starks’ deserted library.

He entirely misses Samwell catching Gilly, one of the serving girls, naming her correctly at once even with his blindfold in place and chastely pressing a kiss to her hand, making the girl blush with pleasure.

It is there where he broods alone in the library with his hard cider that he’s discovered. She has caught him after all. Tis only fitting. She has held him captive from the moment he arrived here.

“Why did you leave the game?”

“I was feeling…” Jealous. “Tired.”

“I hope you’re not unwell.”

“Not at all, Miss Sansa.”

“‘Miss Sansa,’ is it? That’s terribly formal. We’ve known each other since we were children, Jon.”

“Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Sansa. You knew you’d caught Sam, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Why’d you pretend otherwise?”

“I don’t like the way some of our guests treat him.”

“Nor I.”

“I know. I know he’s your friend and quite dear to you.”

“He is. He’s a very good man.”

“Yes, everyone should open their eyes and see it.”

It’s true. Why are his spirits are in such turmoil? He agrees with her but envy is twisting it, turning it into snake in his guts that would eat his heart if it could.

“I have a confession to make,” she says softly next.

“A confession?”

She bats her full eyelashes. It seems to make those impossibly blue eyes look even bluer. “I knew I was right in front of Harry. I could see just a bit beneath the blindfold. I recognized his boots. I reached for the person next to him because I didn’t wish to capture him.”

That snake in his guts is withering away as something else swells. “Oh? You do not care for him, do you?”

“No, I do not. I was actually hoping to capture someone else. I was looking for a certain set of feet but never got close enough to see them.”

“Not Sam’s?”

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing as her cheeks flood with color.

His heart may eat that snake. There is no room for jealousy here tonight. “Oh? Whose boots were you hoping to find, may I ask?”

She smiles as their eyes meet. “Who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch, Jon?”

He licks his lips and grins back at her before cupping her satiny cheek. “I do.”

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #vivilove-jonsa fic

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shutupandshipit · 3 years

Text

Sharpen your blades - Ch.2

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 2/20

Previously <- Chapter 1: Pairs

Chapter 3: Training -> Next

Chapter 2: Refusal

Katsuki laughed as he spun faster and faster, holding Izuku’s hands so that when his feet left the ice, he stayed in the air. The Death Spiral was their favorite trick to modify, and as they got older, they got bolder. They hadn’t been allowed to include this particular modification in competition, but Katsuki knew they’d get to one day.

That wouldn’t be for another couple of years, but that just meant they had time to improve together and individually.

Their coach, a tall spindly beta man, called from the rink entrance. “Alright, everyone! Come gather over here for a moment. I’ve got some announcements to make!”

Izuku’s blades bit back into the ice as they slowed, still laughing. “Are you excited, Kacchan? You put in for the single skate events this year, right?” he asked, grinning as they meanered away from center ice. They weren’t the only ones taking their time, but they were the furthest from the entrance.

Nodding, Katsuki’s eyes found the dusty yet still colorful ribbons and trophies that lined the ledge of the announcer’s booth. “Yeah, wanted to try it out. Can’t get better if I’m never alone, and I want my name to be up there! Right where all those first place trophies are. I’m going to be better than anyone else! You too, right?”

Izuku nodded enthusiastically, cheeks flushed pink. “We’ve never gotten to skate on our own before. I think it’ll be fun. But I want to skate as a pair in the December preliminaries before we go to seniors.”

“Don’t worry about that, dumbass, that’s years away! We’ll still skate pairs before then. Just not this year.”

Izuku nodded, but didn’t reply as they finally slid up to the forming group of skaters. They were all ages from the youngest being 3-years-old to the oldest being 17-years-old, but even at ten, Izuku still looked tiny compared to everyone else. Taking his hand, Katsuki pulled him around to an opening between bodies, and shoved him through so they could both see what was going on.

Their hands never left each other.

“Good, good, everyone is here,” Coach said, eyes scanning over them, “So, we all know that the April showcase in Yuuei is coming up. Is everyone excited?” The group cheered. “Fantastic! I have the skating assignments right here! Is everyone ready to hear them?” The group cheered again, deafening in the echoing space of the rink. “Great! I’ll start with our pairs. I’m happy to officially welcome Midoriya and Bakugou as our Alpha/Omega pair! They presented just two weeks ago, and I’m sure you can guess who presented as what.” He chuckled, but the sentiment wasn’t echoed by the group.

Katsuki’s ears burned.

The other skaters were dead silent, all eyes finding them as the scent of burning charcoal slowly filled the air. Even at ten, Katsuki’s temper was volatile, only made worse by Izuku’s sickly sweet embarrassed scent. Like rotting fruit.

Sure, everyone could smell that they’d had first rut and heat, but it just wasn’t something people commented on. Going through puberty was embarrassing enough without everyone also knowing when they presented. Everyone just knew, and that was that.

Someone cleared their throat. One of the older skaters, an alpha woman with long white hair and brown skin, spoke up, “Um, Coach, I might be mistaken, but both Deku and Kacchan put in for single skate this year. We all thought it would be a good idea for them to get experience on their own.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Coach said flippantly, “but I decided otherwise. Why fix something that isn’t broken. It looks better for us as a team to have an Alpha/Omega pair, and it’ll be easier for them to win since same-sex pairs are unconventional.”

The rest of the older skaters shifted uncomfortably, expressions morphing as the alpha spoke up again. “That’s really not the point here. The point is for them to have fun and experience new things. There’s others of us who pair skate.”

Katsuki was burning from the inside out, anger stealing the words from his throat. He didn’t think he’d ever been so angry before.

“The point,” Coach said with emphasis, “is to make our team look good. Looking good equals more attention which equals more money. Which is important to keeping this rink up and running. Skating isn’t about having fun, it’s about winning. They’re better together than either of them ever would be alone. So if Bakugou and Midoriya want to continue to skate with our team, then they’ll skate pairs. That’s that. End of discussion. Anyone who has an issue with that can take their chances finding a different team.” With a wave of his hand, he continued down the list of pairs as if there had never been an interruption.

Grinding his teeth, Katsuki ripped his hand from Izuku’s. He ignored the hurt whine that came from the other boy.

The alpha that had tried to defend them shouldered passed the coach with a hissed, “Fuck you,” just loud enough for the entire team to hear over his talking. She grabbed her guards and her gear, and they never saw her at practice again. When the coach got fired two years later though, they knew she was behind it. Too bad it was too little, too late.

…..

Rage roared through Katsuki, and suddenly, the burning charcoal scent of his anger crowded out Izuku’s acidic anxiety scent from his nose. Blood thrummed loudly in his ears as his temperature rose with each beat of his heart, much like the first time he’d been required to partner with Izuku. It had always been their choice until it hadn’t been, and that pissed him off more than anything.

He couldn’t even hear Aizawa’s next words.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he exploded, forcing himself not to look at Izuku when he heard the little unconscious whine the omega made. A sound that had his alpha screaming at him to ‘ calm, scent, protect, calm, help, protect .’ He hated it, hated the instinctual need, wished he could rip his alpha right from his chest. “This is a fucking joke, right? You expect me to fucking skate with him ?”

Aizawa slowly lifted his eyes from his clipboard, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, I do. You two are the best for this despite the fact you can barely speak civilly to each other for more than a moment.”

A manic laugh spilled from Katsuki’s mouth, and the teammates near him took careful steps back. “That’s a joke! That has to be a goddamn joke!”

Yaoyorozu’s hand shot into the air, worry etched into her features. Katsuki wanted to rip it from her arm. “I also don’t understand, Coach. Surely it’d be more beneficial to pair myself with Shouto or Midoriya, wouldn’t it?”

‘ Yes, agree. Switch Izuku’s goddamn partner. I can’t- ’ he thought desperately, but knew Aizawa wouldn’t.

“No. The program I’ve selected for the top rank is going to be difficult. Even if it weren’t, I can’t have someone who has never skated pairs trying to master it in just three months. We just don’t have the time to get you up to that skill level. On top of that, I’m not going to move two of my top three over to pairs when Bakugou and Midoriya have skated pairs previously. They are also the bottom of my top five. They’re the best option to make partners,” Aizawa explained, voice growing monotone the longer he spoke.

Katsuki couldn’t and wouldn’t skate with Izuku again! It just wasn’t going to fucking happen! This felt like the last time they were paired up for their dynamics, and he hated the sick black feeling that bloomed in his chest. Every rank dropped, every point lost, every mistake made flashed through his mind as if they’d happened yesterday.

He could still remember the sound of Izuku hitting the ground, the failed catch, the other skaters’ gasps even as no one moved. The smell of blood thick in his nose, his hands trembling, the anguish on Izuku’s face.

He hadn’t been the one to throw him, but he was still at fault in the end.

“I’m not skating with Deku!”

Aizawa’s eyes returned to Katsuki along with the rest of his teammates, stony and set. “Yes, you will. If you don’t, I’ll drop you from the team and you can find another to skate with. With your legendary attitude, I can’t imagine many would want you. Your choice.”

He was being forced into a corner again, given an ultimatum that wasn’t really a choice at all. If it was between skating and never skating again, there wasn’t a decision to be made. The blackness in his chest only expanded, spreading through his chest and up into his throat, choking him.

He ground his teeth together savagely, an ache sprouting in his jaw. “What the fuck ever, but I’m not practicing with him. Fuck that.” It was stupid, he knew it was. Eventually, he would have to practice with Izuku. Eventually, he’d have to eat his own words. There was no way around it, not if they wanted to have any chance of actually placing. That didn’t mean he couldn’t master his part of the skate to the most minor of hand placements before attempting the larger tricks with him.

He wasn’t going to be the one to let Izuku get hurt again.

Rolling his eyes, Aizawa seemed to be done with the argument. For now. “As long as you don’t make us look like a group of fools at the charity event, I don’t care how you figure it out. No deaths, no injuries and no stupid mistakes. Now, back to what I was saying. If anyone else wants to waste my time today, just leave.”

No one left the rink, but Katsuki shoved away from the wall with a snarl and found his way to Kirishima and Ashido’s sides. The pair were grinning at him, Kirishima placatingly and Ashido goadingly. He didn’t wait for them to say anything. “Pinky, I’m going to need to borrow you for practice.”

Her smile was sharp as she ruffled her pink spikes. “Not even going to ask first?”

“Are you going to say no?”

She shrugged her pink clad shoulders. “No, as long as you help me with my program. I’m competing too, and I’m going to need time to practice.”

“Sure, whatever. Just need you for the stuff I can’t do on my own. Lifts, death spiral, that shit.”

“I can help, but why not just practice with your partner? Hm? I’ve seen the videos, Bakubro, you two were really good. You used to tear up the ice,” she needled, and Kirishima shot her a reproachful glance.

He sighed and smiled at Katsuki. “Listen, man, I don’t want to like pry or anything, but I think you should just practice with him too. Maybe if you talk?”

“Shut it. None of that is either of your business. Just fucking leave it,” Katsuki snapped.

They shrugged, and let the topic drop even if it wasn’t for good.

…..

Izuku hadn’t been able to pay attention to Aizawa after that, his mind racing in circles to figure out what he could do. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and he was sure that no matter who Katsuki practiced with, he’d be able to perform with Izuku when the time came no matter what. It was Izuku himself that he was worried about.

There were a lot of things he could practice alone. Foot work and jumps synced to the milli-second with whatever track Aizawa chose for them. His costume and hair. Hand placement. Endurance. There were also a lot of things that he couldn’t do by himself that were, in retrospect, the most important aspects of their performance.

Those included, but were not limited to, lifts and throws. To put it simply, he couldn’t perform any of the tricks alone.

Pair skating required an astounding amount of trust and understanding between partners, just like anything else where two people were working together. The only person he truly and completely trusted on the ice anymore was himself. That was no one’s issue, but his own. Now, he didn’t have a choice. While he knew he could trust Katsuki and his caliber, was sure that Katsuki would never drop or fail to catch him, he didn’t know if he could let himself be that vulnerable again. He didn’t want to disappoint Katsuki when he couldn’t bring himself to do a trick, and he didn’t know if Katsuki could understand why he couldn’t.

They hadn’t been able to understand each other for a long time.

Aizawa had made a terrible mistake.

With each beat of Izuku’s heart, phantom pain flared from his hip to his ankle, from elbow to wrist. It had been eight years since he got hurt, but the fear that it might happen again followed him every time he stepped out onto the ice.

“Midoriya.” Todoroki snapped Izuku out of his own thoughts with a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced up to find the others dispersing. Most pushed back out onto the ice, some sat down to put their heads together, others stuck around to ask Aizawa questions. His friends were still standing close though; Iida, Uraraka, Asui, and Tokoyami. “Most of my pair work has been as lead, so I can help you practice until Bakugou pulls his head out of his ass.”

Izuku wanted to protest, to say that it wasn’t all Katsuki’s fault, but he couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t make his lips move to form the ones he did have.

“Is that really wise?” Iida asked seriously as he leaned down to remove his guards and step out onto the ice. He remained at the wall, face tense. “Pair skating is already difficult enough, but practicing without your intended partner…”

“I have to wonder the same thing,” Tokoyami sighed, glancing over his shoulder towards where Katsuki was briskly correcting Kirishima’s clumsy pick placement, “Wouldn’t that cause more problems than it solves?”

Asui placed a considering finger against her lips. “It seems odd that he’s so against it too. I know he’s smarter than he’s acting right now, so I’m surprised he’d take the risk.”

“Not only that, but you’ll have to practice too, Todoroki! Wouldn’t it just be better to practice with him from the beginning?” Uraraka asked earnestly, “Why is he so against it anyway? I know you two haven’t gotten along in a long time, but this seems excessive. Coach Aizawa isn’t asking you to be friends, he’s just asking you to skate. I thought Bakugou knew how to compartmentalize better than this.”

‘ Then you don’t know, Kacchan .’ Izuku didn’t say that out loud, even if he wanted to. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. After a moment, he smiled. “Kacchan isn’t the only one with reservations. It’s just… there’s a lot that we haven’t worked through.” Read: that he hasn’t worked through. Nothing that happened when they were younger was Katsuki’s fault, at least Izuku didn’t see it that way.

His friends rolled their eyes. “You don’t have to make excuses for him,” Todoroki said, leaning forward to check his laces before standing.

Except that he wasn’t. His friends and teammates knew that Izuku and Katsuki had both skated pairs for most of their childhood and knew each other through their mothers. What no one knew was that Katsuki had been his partner most of that time. His friends didn’t know everything that they went through after they presented. They didn’t know why they had decided to go singles after skating pairs for so long. They didn’t know exactly how Izuku had gotten hurt. Maybe one day he’d be able to tell them, but every time he remembered that he spent an entire year thinking he’d never skate again, it just made his breath grow short and his heart beat fast.

They didn’t even know that Toshinori and Aizawa were the only reason he was still skating now.

Swallowing thickly, Izuku forced a smile as he allowed Todoroki to help him to his feet. “I’m not.”

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #decchan #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #alpha!katsuki #omega!izuku #figure skater au #no quirks au #my writing #sharpen your blades

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wovenstarlight · 3 years

Text

YWBK update: chapter 26 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 26 here, or start from the beginning here

as always, commentary below the cut

Yoojin🐉😊

watch this space....

In preparation for it, Han Hyunjae temporarily requisitions Yoojin’s laptop and combs through the internet looking for photos of the Hunters that he thinks his family should know about in advance. He goes down one too many internet rabbit-holes, takes way too many screenshots, transcribes a summary of the notes in his future diary, then painstakingly puts everything together into a neat little presentation for them.

picture HHJ reading his fifth article wondering where the sung family heir has disappeared to and being like 👁️👁️👁️👁️

had a little giggle to myself about “future diary” that phrasing was definitely on purpose. will exclusively be referring to it as this now

“Right,” he starts, clapping his hands together, after Yerim’s been sent off to play with Hohyoung.

LHH is so much of a background figure.... i want to see more of himself but he likes his privacy.... he’s got his girlfriend and his baby sister and yoojin who’s wormed his way into his good graces by way of Living In Same House but that’s kinda it....... he’s always lurking in the background instead of showing up on screen. come here hohyoung oppa i just wanna talk

Even if Yoojin’s right, Han Hyunjae still has to protest. [...] But he can’t keep it up when Jiyeon looks at him like that.

KJY has the world’s best Stern Mom Voice and Disappointed Mom Glare and to her great delight they work even on fellow adult HHJ. she will use this power For Evil

The other S-ranks are Moon Hyuna, leader of Breaker Guild, and Bak Mingyu of Hanshin Guild.

OK FOR THIS PART I STRAIGHT FORGOT ABOUT HANSHIN GUILD AND I WAS COUNTING UP ON MY FINGERS LIKE WAIT... IF YERIM WAS THE EIGHTH KOREAN S-RANK WHO WERE THE SEVEN BEFORE HER.... (for those curious they were 1. sung hyunjae, 2. han yoohyun, 3. moon hyuna, 4. song taewon, 5. bak mingyu of hanshin, 6. choi sukwon of MKC, and 7. yoon kyeongsoo of soodam. but. i forgot about the last three altogether.)

“Oh, blond guy,” Yoojin says, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’ve seen him on the news and stuff.”

Top 10 Funny Yoojin Moments (I JUST THINK IT’D BE REALLY FUNNY IF HAN “HAVE I MENTIONED IN THE LAST 5 MINUTES HOW HANDSOME SUNG HYUNJAE IS” YOOJIN DID NOT GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT HIM IN THIS TIMELINE....)

Han Hyunjae takes a moment to double-check that he really doesn’t have Noise Resistance (L), and looks back in time to see Yoojin rubbing at his eyes and glaring at the screen.

HEHEHE...... A SECRET TOOL THAT WILL HELP US LATER

“Hyunjae-yah,” Jiyeon says, looking at the photo of Sung Hyunjae on screen, “this man looks—” “LIKE A PIECE OF WHITE BREAD,” Yoojin bellows. [...] “HYUNG THINKS HE LOOKS GOOD? [...] Oh, god, he kinda does, [...] but like, in a trashy romance novel cover way.” [... Jiyeon] gives the computer screen an assessing once-over. “He looks like the models in cologne advertisements.”

this part of the chapter was planned waaaay back in august 2020 and i actually crowdfunded these descriptions from the s-class server dshblksjdfkblsdfb. the original suggestions (thanks to server members for these):

“bland whitie potato with a slap-on seme personality”

“tacky valentine’s day/mom’s cologne advertisement”

“the face of the dude on the cover of all my mom’s trashy romance novels”

and tbh HYJ does think he genuinely looks good but like, disgustingly good, you know... also Hyung Likes Him so [19 gun emojis]

also me handwaving moment of mild homophobia because like. jiyeon doesn’t know yet AND homophobia is a thing in this world BUT i don’t really wanna do, All That (we already did it with HYJ once), so.

“Do S-ranks get rich?” Yerim asks as she enters, because apparently everyone’s coming for his life today. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes and lies down on the bed while Yoohyun calls out an affirmation over his head. “Then I think— oh! He looks nice!” He cracks open an eye just in time to see her nod. “I think ahjussi should marry him for the eye candy and the money.” She beams very wide. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes again and tunes out the loud conversation going on around him. And wishes, not for the first time, that he’d picked literally any other name when he first got here.

yerim says gay rights cuz she’s like 12 rn and she straight up does not really care. but says it in, like, the most frustrating way possible.

sometimes you just need to lie down even as the world keeps throwing shit at you. just lie down and nap for a little bit. especially when the shit in question is the alias regret you had literally back in chapter one of your 25+ chapter story. this is gonna come back to bite you in the ass Very Fucking Soon babe!!!!

You Oh this is like the 17th one I got wrong I swear this course is trying to kill me

me, flicking on that EPSON brand projector,

(i have. been having a Time of it.)

[Yoojin🐉😊 called you (21:35)]

that’s minutes and seconds babey... you can pretty much guess the content of call from context :(

well, uh. most of call. some internal plot and Realizations happening right at the end of those 21 minutes, 35 seconds. namely:

Yoojin🐉❤️

:-)

or i dunno you can be my roommate and we can both leech off my rich and prosperous baby brother!

[extremely sad voice] heehoo... they... care each other....

YMW’s parents are kinda shit ngl. they care about him, but unfortunately, that does not show through in their care for him, ykwim? if they just paid attention to what he was actually talented at and encouraged him in his efforts.................

well, he wouldn’t have met HYJ in canon. but he would also have been a lot happier!! and YMW deserves to be happy!!!!!!!! YMW fucking rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You When you came with me to drop off Jihui’s standee.

they finally remembered her name sjfbklsjdfbl

Yoojin🐉❤️ OH right i was talking to one of my new commissioners about their piece realized they were an old friend of hyung’s

HEEHOO.... HONKS MY LITTLE CLOWN NOSE yoojin forgot to ask about pronouns but that’s okay they’re figuring that stuff out still

Yoojin🐉❤️ it’s getting late the kids are going to bed i have to turn off the lights

you can take the caregiver out the role of caregiving but he will still think of his baby siblings as his kids

Part of that is changing his behaviour. Hyunjae and Yoojin sit side by side and watch as Suk Simyeong gently coaches Yoohyun on how to interact with others and present a neutral, if not friendly, exterior.

[same voice as ingredience] neurodivergence.....

try and look them in the eye, or at least look somewhere on or near their face, if eye contact is too much

yoohyun, who’s the type to look people in the eye without blinking until they inevitably look away because then they don’t try that eye contact shit again later:

tbh i kinda made up shit for the Training In Formality section i don’t know shit about being Formal and Polite. hope i got it right :pensive:

“He’s not good with touch,” Hyunjae cuts in. [...] “Sorry,” [Yoojin] says apologetically to Suk Simyeong, crossing the room and gently pressing a hand against Yoohyun’s back. The kid slowly stops rocking and leans into the touch as he talks.

he’s not good with touch, Usually..... there are exceptions :-) every time i think about this being canon i go insane. wow. love and trust and faith.

Suk Simyeong nods understandingly, giving the closed door a considering look. “If that’s the case, perhaps he can take over part of the preparations,” he offers.

SSM who’s frothing at the mouth wanting to know more about this dude who apparently did some killer business deal with the head of Dungeon Task Force who all the dungeon people are gossiping about on their phone calls while they cart around unassuming A-rank businessmen: PLEEAAASEE fucking involve him PLEEEEASE make him involve himself in business with me

Still, Yoojin’s work is fairly repetitive and boring, so Hyunjae and the women pull out a pack of UNO cards from somewhere and start playing while he works, not paying much attention to either of the boys.

plugging my Han/Bak family playing UNO art here, please reblog like and subscribe,

He stares down at Yoohyun’s hair. Yoohyun’s wavy hair sits there judgmentally. Yoojin bemoans his budding career as a stylist and admits, “This… isn’t working.”

i’m sorry sweetie... hair isn’t your forte :( you can still do fashion if you try really hard

(fun fact about this whole scene, yoohyun not being able to straighten his hair until he could control flame resistance is Certified Canon!)

“No, shit, don’t get up.” Yoojin flaps his free hand at him distractedly. Hyunjae and his need to do everything himself, jeez. “I mean, like. The iron is not. Straightening.”

“hyunjae and his need to do everything” says the man who a few paragraphs ago wanted to be hair makeup clothing and management all in one

“Okay, but why is it not working, though? Is the iron not turned on?” Wow. Wow! Yoojin wonders suddenly if Yoohyun ever felt as homicidal towards him as Yoojin’s currently feeling towards his big brother. If he ever had, then it’s frankly stunning Yoojin’s survived as long as he did. “Do you think I’m stupid,” he snaps. “It’s plugged in.” “Yeah, but did you turn it on.” “You know what, why don’t you touch it and see?” Yoojin unplugs the straightening iron for a minute so that he can take it over to Hyunjae, presenting it to him with a flourish. The heat will hold on for the few seconds this takes. “Come on, touch it right now. I dare you.”

zmur put this into words better than i can, she described this part as “the feeling when elder siblings doubt your intelligence”--

“What if you used a regular iron. Like for clothes,” Hyunjae says, completely ignoring Yoohyun. Yoojin hums thoughtfully.

--and this part as “THEY ARE RIGHT TO DOUBT IT !”

“Killjoy,” Hyunjae mutters so only he and Yoojin can hear.

(should doubt your elder sibling’s intelligence too, once in a while. keep them on their toes.)

“HAN YOOHYUN YOU TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THAT RIGHT NOW,” Yoojin and Hyunjae and Jiyeon holler in perfect unison.

parental instinct for particular phrasings of commands

“Flame Resistance,” Yoohyun reads out. “S-rank.” It’s not heat resistance, but it’s pretty close, so it probably still applies.

hum hum the flame skill works on heat as well, huh

Yoojin’s watching Hyunjae idly when the flickers start up at the edge of his vision again. He blinks, rubbing his eyes idly, and looks back up in time to see, just for a split second—

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE VISION PROBLEMS WAS IT? RUBBING HIS EYES WAS IT??

“Eh? It didn’t? I’ll… I’ll try it again, one second.” Nothing, for a second— but no, there is, pale flashes here and there. Yoojin shakes his head and blinks. They die down, then start up again. Fainter, this time. Why?

gonna say this here because i accidentally set it up as a Thing there’s. there’s no reason. whether the message shows up or not is pretty much random error.

“Ahjussi has an L-rank skill?” Yerim demands. “That’s so cool!” Jiyeon and Yoohyun and Yoojin stare at Hyunjae in silence as he returns Yerim’s eager high-five. He cowers when he notices them.

these three are already so mad and they don’t know that between S and L there’s SS and SSS. they’re gonna be SOOOOO mad. anyway yerim remains the chillest in the room

“So, say you needed to cauterize a wound in an emergency, and you didn’t have access to healing items or Hunters. You could drop the Resistance there, set it on fire, and just… sear it shut.” Yoohyun blinks, an intrigued look coming into his eyes, and looks down at his own forearm. “That’s true, I could probably…” “Yeah, food for thought, I suppose.” “What the hell?!” Yerim yelps. “Though it’s up to you if you want to try it. I still think your hair is fine as is, we don’t have to—” “That’s horrifying,” Yoojin blurts. “No, I should know how. In case something happens like you said. How do I do it?” “Now hold on a second,” Jiyeon says, voice rapidly rising in pitch.

sometimes i think about how dungeon stuff made yoojin significantly more chill with violence and murder and self mutilation in some cases. and how he comments specifically (i think this might be in a slightly later chapter, possibly unreleased) that people like myeongwoo who don’t have those extra years of immersion in the dungeon culture still reject and avoid violence and killing whenever possible. really makes you think

anyway! i saved some extra commentary for those okay with spoilers. continue reading at your own risk. extra large warning in case you’re skilling

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BELOW CONTENT!!!! IT DRAWS ON INFO FROM UNTRANSLATED CHAPTERS, POST-170S AT LEAST!

“How many of these people did you personally know?” “Not many!” “So one, then,” Yoojin concludes. “You don’t know that!”

HE DIDN’T SAY THAT YOOJIN WAS RIGHT, THOUGH..............

“Why did you pick his name out of everyone’s! I thought you weren’t in touch with S-ranks. I thought you picked a friend’s name!”

they wanted some kind of bedroom decoration for a family member, counting sheep or something, i forget

a sheep, for a family member of one of han hyunjae’s old acquaintances, is it

#star.txt #work: yesterday will be kinder #writing commentary #my writing #some family antics to make up for what's next #more and more i feel like i need to write a timeskip. i'm so tired of early guild and dungeon management.#i need to write insanity. murder. kidnapping. classic s-class stuff #AND OF COURSE SUPERPOWERED FAMILY ANTICS WHICH IS SO CLASSIC S-CLASS STUFF IT'S BCE

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grubbyduck · 4 years

Text

No Man’s Land - an essay on feminism and forgiveness

I have always proudly named myself a feminist, since I was a little girl and heard my mum proudly announcing herself as a feminist to anyone who would listen.

But I believe the word 'feminist' takes on a false identity in our collective imagination - it is seen as hard, as baked, severe, steadfast, stubborn and rooted. From a male perspective, it possibly means abrasive, or too loud, or intimidatingly intolerant of men. From a female perspective, though, these traits become revered by young feminists; the power of knowing what you think and never rolling over! My experience of being a feminist throughout my life has been anything but - it has been a strange and nebulous aspect of my identity; it has sparked the familiar fires of bravery, ambition, rage, sadness and choking inarticulacy at times, sure, but at other times it has inspired apathy, reactionary attitudes, bravado and dismissivness. And at other, transitive times, it caused me to rethink my entire outlook on the world. And then again. And then again.

In primary school, I read and re-read Sandi Toksvig’s book GIRLS ARE BEST, which takes the reader through the forgotten women of history. I didn’t feel angry - I felt awed that there were female pirates, women on the front line in the world wars, women at the forefront of invention, science and literature. I still remember one line, where it is revealed that NASA’s excuse for only hiring six women astronauts compared to hundreds of men was that they didn’t stock suits small enough.

When I was 13, I tried to start a girl's rugby team at my school. I got together 15 girls who also wanted to form a team. We asked the coaches if they would coach us - their responses varied from 'maybes' to straight up 'no's. The boys in our year laughed at us publicly. We would find an old ball, look up the rules online, and practise ourselves in free periods - but the boys would always come over, make fun of us and take over the game until we all felt too insecure to carry on. I shouted at a lot of boys during that time, and got a reputation among them as someone who was habitually angry and a bit of a buzzkill. Couldn't take a joke - that kind of thing.

When I was around 16, I got my first boyfriend. He was two years older (in his last year of sixth form) and seemed ever so clever to me. He laughed about angry feminists, and I laughed too. He knew I classified myself as a feminist, but, you know, a cool one - who doesn't get annoyed, and doesn't correct their boyfriends' bulging intellects. And in any case, whenever I did argue with him about anything political or philosophical, he would just chant books at me, list off articles he'd read, mention Kant and say 'they teach that wrong at GCSE level'. So I put more effort into researching my opinions (My opinions being things like - Trump is a terrible person who should not be elected as President - oh yeah, it was 2016), but every time I cited an article, he would tell me why that article was wrong or unreliable. I couldn't win. He was a Trump supporter (semi-ironically, but that made it even worse somehow) and he voted Leave in the Brexit referendum. He also wouldn't let me get an IUD even though I had terrible anxiety about getting pregnant, because of his parents' Catholicism. He sulked if he ever got aroused and then I didn’t feel like having sex, because apparently it ‘hurts’ men physically. One time I refused sex and he sulked the whole way through the night, refusing to sleep. I was incensed, and felt sure that my moral and political instincts were right, but I had been slowly worn down into doubting the validity of my own opinions, and into cushioning his ego at every turn - especially when he wasn't accepted into Oxford.

When I was 17/18, I broke up with him, and got on with my A Levels. One of them was English Literature. I remember having essay questions drilled into us, all of which were fairly standard and uninspired, but there was one that I habitually avoided:

'Discuss the presentation of women in this extract'

It irritated me beyond belief to hear the way that our class were parroting phrases like 'commodification and dehumanisation of women' in order to get a good grade. It felt so phony, so oversimplified, and frankly quite insulting. I couldn't bear reading classic books with the intent of finding every instance that the author compares a woman to an animal. It made me so sad! I couldn't understand how the others could happily write about such things and be pleased with their A*. As a keen contributor to lessons, my teacher would often call on me to comment in class - and to her surprise, I think, my responses about 'women's issues' were always sullen and could be characterised by a shrug. I wanted to talk about macro psychology, about Machievellian villains, about Shakespreare's subversion of comic convention in the English Renaissance. I absolutely did not want to talk about womb imagery, about men’s fixation and sexualisation of their mothers or about docile wives. In my application for Cambridge, I wrote about landscape and the psyche in pastoral literature, and got an offer to study English there. I applied to a mixed college - me and my friends agreed that we’d rather not go if we got put into an all female college.

When I was 19, I got a job as an actor in a touring show in my year out before starting at Cambridge. I was the youngest by a few years. One company member - a tall, handsome and very talented man in his mid-twenties - had the exact same job title as me, only he was being paid £100 more than me PER WEEK. I was the only company member who didn’t have an agent, so I called the producers myself to complain. They told me they sympathised, that there just wasn’t enough money in the budget to pay me more - and in the end, I managed to negotiate myself an extra £75 per week by taking on the job of sewing up/fixing any broken costumes and puppets. So I had more work, and was still being paid 25% less. The man in question was a feminist, and complained to his agent (although he fell through on his promise to demand that he lose £50 a week and divide it evenly between us). He was a feminist - and yet he commented on how me and the other woman in the company dressed, and told us what to wear. He was a feminist, only he slept with both of us on tour, and lied to us both about it. He was a feminist, only he pitted me against and isolated me from the only other woman in the company, the only person who may have been a mentor or a confidante. He was a feminist, only he put me down daily about my skills as a performer and made me doubt my intelligence, my talent and my worth.

When I was 20, I started at Cambridge University, studying English Literature. Over the summer, I read Lundy Bancroft’s book ‘Why Does He Do That’ which is a study of abusers and ‘angry and controlling men’. It made me realise that I had not been given the tools to recognise coercive and controlling behaviour - I finally stopped blaming myself for attracting controlling men into my life. I also read ‘Equal’ by Carrie Gracie, about her fight to secure equal pay for equal work at the BBC in 2017-2019. It was reading that book that I fully appreciated that I had already experienced illegal pay discrimination in the workplace. Both made me cry in places, and it felt as though something had thawed in me. I realised that I was not the exception. That ‘women’s issues’ do apply to me. In my first term at Cambridge, I wrote some unorthodox essays. I wrote one on Virginia Woolf named ‘The Dogs Are Dancing’ which began with a page long ‘disclaimer for my womanly emotions’ that attempted to explain to my male supervisor how difficult it is for women to write dispassionately and objectively, as they start to see themselves as unfairly separate, excluded and outlined from the male literary consciousness. He didn’t really understand it, though he enjoyed the passion behind my prose.

The ‘woman questions’ at undergraduate level suddenly didn’t seem as easy, as boring or as depressing as those I had encountered at A Level. I had to reconcile with the fact that I had only been exposed to a whitewashed version of feminism throughout my life. At University, I learned the word Intersectionality - and it made immediate and ferocious sense to me. I wrote an essay on Aphra Behn’s novella ‘Oroonoko’, which is about a Black prince and his pursuit of Imoinda, a Black princess. I had to get to grips with how a feminist author from the Renaissance period tackled issues of race. I had to examine how she dehumanised and sexualised Imionda in the same way that white women were used to being treated by men. I had to really question to what extent Aphra Behn was on Imionda’s side - examine the violent punishment of Oroonoko for mistreating her. I found myself really wanting to believe that Behn had done this purposefully as social commentary. I mentioned in my essay that I was aware of my own white female critical ingenuity. For the first time, I was writing about something I didn’t have any personal authority over in my life - I had to educate myself meticulously in order to speak boldly about race.

As I found myself surrounded by more women who were actively and unashamedly feminist, I realised just how many opinions exist within that bracket. I realised that I didn’t agree with a lot of other feminists about aspects of the movement. I started to only turn up to lectures by women. I started to only read literary criticism written by women - not even consciously; I just realised that I trusted their voices more intrinsically. I started to wish I had applied to an all female college. I realised that all female spaces weren’t uncool - that is an image that I had learned from men, and from trying to impress men. The idea that Black people, trans people, that non binary people could be excluded from feminism seemed completely absurd to me. I ended up in a mindset that was constructed to instinctively mistrust men. Not hate - just mistrust. I started to get fatigued by explaining basic feminist principles to sceptical men.

I watched the TV show Mrs America. It made my heart speed up with longing, with awe, with nerves, sorrow, anger - again, it showed me how diverse the word Feminism is. The longing I felt was for a time where feminist issues seemed by comparison clear-cut, and unifying. A time where it was good to be angry, where anger got stuff done. I am definitely angry. The problem is, the times that feminism has benefitted me and others the most in my life is when I use it forgivingly and patiently. When I sit in my anger, meditate on it, control it, and talk to those I don’t agree with on subjects relating to feminism with the active intent to understand their point of view. Listening to opinions that seemed so clearly wrong to me was the most difficult thing in the world - but it changed my life, and once again, it changed my definition of feminism.

Feminism is listening to Black women berating white feminists, and rather than feeling defensive or exempt, asking questions about how I have contributed to a movement that excludes women of colour. Feminism is listening to my mother’s anxieties about trans women being included in all-female spaces, and asking her where those anxieties stem from. Feminism is understanding that listening to others who disagree with you doesn’t endanger your principles - you can walk away from that conversation and know what you know. Feminism is checking yourself when you undermine or universalise male emotion surrounding the subject. Feminism is allowing your mind to change, to evolve, to include those that you once didn’t consider - it is celebrating quotas, remembering important women, giving thanks for the fact that feminism is so complex, so diverse, so fraught and fought over.

Feminism is common ground. It is no man’s land. It is the space between a Christian housewife and a liberated single trans woman. It is understanding women of other races, other cultures, other religions. It is disabled women, it is autistic women, it is trans men who have biologically female medical needs that are being ignored. It is forgiveness for our selfishness. It feels impossible.

The road to feminism is the road to enlightenment. It is the road to Intersectional equity. It is hard. It is a journey. No one does it perfectly. It is like the female orgasm - culturally ignored, not seen as necessary, a mystery even to a lot of women, many-layered, multitudinous, taboo, comes in waves. It is pleasure, and it is disappointment.

All I know is that the hard-faced, warrior version of feminism that was my understanding only a few years ago reduced my allies and comrades in arms to a small group of people who were almost exaclty like me and so agreed with me on almost everything. Flexible, forgiving and inquisitive feminism has resulted in me loving all women, and fighting for all women consciously. And by fighting for all women, I also must fight for Black civil rights, for disabled rights, for Trans rights, for immigrant rights, for homeless rights, for gay rights, and for all human rights because women intersect every one of these minorities. My scoffing, know-it-all self doing my A Levels could never have felt this kind of love. My ironic jokes about feminists with my first boyfriend could never have made any woman feel loved. My frustration that my SPECIFIC experience of misogyny as a white, middle-class bisexual woman didn’t feel related to the other million female experiences could never have facilitated unity, common ground, or learning to understand women that existed completely out of my experience as a woman.

My feminism has lead me to becoming friends with some of those boys who mocked me for wanting to play rugby, and with the woman that was vying with me over that man in the acting company for 8 months. It is slowly melting my resentment towards all men - it is even allowing me to feel sorry for the men who have mistreated me in the past.

I guess I want to express in this mammoth essay post that so far my feminist journey has lead me to the realisation that if your feminism isn’t growing you, you aren’t doing it right. Perhaps it will morph again in the future. But for now, Feminism is a love of humanity, rather than a hatred of it. That is all.

#Feminism #yooo i have written a thesis lol #didn’t mean to do that it all kind of flowed out #intersectional feminism #forgiveness #carrie gracie #mrs america #why does he do that #lundy bancroft #equal pay #equal rights #literature #university #school #oroonoko #aphra behn

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anari3l · 4 years

Text

stirrings

WORDS: 2249 /// PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Reader (Harlow as surname) /// Part of ongoing fic, Humors of Whiskey /// also posted on AO3

Humors of Whiskey [1] [2] [3] /// Wildflowers [1] [2]

“Barnaby.”

The dappled grey Norfolk Roadster whickered, bobbing his head up and down as you said the name, a large smile on your face.

“Barnaby.” Arthur’s voice held a hint of amusement, almost a laugh, as he repeated the name. The stablehand smiled brightly, leading the horse towards the center of the stable.

“I like it,” you hummed, taking the reins from the stable hand and leading your brand new horse out to the sunny Valentine street. “Doesn’t he look like a Barnaby?”

“If y’say so,” Arthur hummed, cigarette between his lips.

“Take care now!” the stablehand bidded as you left the building.

The Norfolk had put you back almost $200. Plus a brand new saddle, blanket, tack, and saddlebags. You had lost the saddle, and all the gear as well when you left Eugene, nursing a dislocated shoulder on the back of Arthur’s horse, and since then, had been borrowing horses from the camp or riding with Arthur into town when needed. You missed the freedom of having your own horse, however. Since you had turned sixteen, you had always had your own horse to care for.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you started, petting your hand along Barnaby’s neck.

“Quit thankin’ me. I ain’t done nothin’.”

You smiled, running your hand over Barnaby’s neck some more, fingers toying with his long mane. “You helped me, patched me up when I hurt my shoulder, took care of Eugene … brought me into town, so I could buy a horse. You’ve helped plenty.”

“Agh, that ain’t worth thankin’ me for,” he groaned, running a hand up into his hair as he removed his hat.

You sighed, pulling yourself into your saddle, adjusting the skirt you wore as you settled, reins in hand. “When are you gonna realize you’re a good man, Arthur. I mean, even as kids you always kicked yourself.”

“Maybe one day.”

He looked away, down to his hands holding the reins as Calliope shifted beneath him, hoofing at the dirt. You could see the self deprecation oozing off his shoulders as he sat in the saddle.

“One day, I’ll make you realize it,” you groaned, kicking Barnaby into a trot. “I’ll meet ya back at camp.”

***

“Miss Harlow!”

You jumped, shifting to lean against your arm as you looked over your shoulder. You had been quietly reading a book against a tree, Jack sitting beside you making flower chains. Miss Grimshaw was striding forward, the stern look of your mother figure ever recognizable. She rarely used your name; you had grown used to her calling you dear or dearie, and the mere sound of it always had you at attention.

“Yes, Miss Grimshaw?”

The stern gaze lessened, her features softening as she neared, looking down to you with a small smile. “Dutch wants to speak with you, dear,” she smiled, running a hand over Jack’s hair as he held a flower chain up to her.

“Thank you, Mister Marston,” she smiled, bending at the waist to accept the gift.

“Miss Harlow’s got one too!” Jack smiled. “And I made one for momma!”

“Go on, then,” you smiled, urging the child in the direction of camp. “Your momma’s gonna love it.”

You rose to your feet, watching Jack run off to Abigail as Miss Grimshaw tutted. “Off with you, now,” she urged.

You smiled, and headed for Dutch’s tent. Arthur, Bill, and Charles were sitting around outside, listening as Dutch spoke, cigar in hand.

“Mornin’ boys,” you smiled, folding the book into your hands as you stepped up.

“Ah, our little doe, Miss Harlow,” Dutch smiled. “The mastermind for this robbery!”

“You found this out?” Bill asked a bit incredulously. You had grown used to the men viewing you as nothing more than a wash maid over the years. Dutch knew better. You may have worn a skirt, but you were just as valuable as an enforcer and scout as Arthur and Charles.

“Yes I did,” you hummed, jutting your chin up. “Ready to head out?”

“You would be correct, dear,” Dutch smiled. “Good luck. I trust you can handle these men.”

Charles and Arthur smirked as they stood, starting for their horses. You met Bill’s eyes, smiling as you stepped past, setting your book on the camp table. “Of course I can, Dutch!” you smiled back to the gang leader. “Keep up, Williamson!”

Arthur helped you onto his horse, settling you behind him on the saddle. “So, how do you want to play this?”

You glanced over to Charles and Bill. “The man who gave me the information said it’d be guarded pretty well,” you started. “I’ll play the damsel, get them to stop, and you three take out the guards.”

“How much is supposed to be on this coach?” Bill asked over his shoulder.

“It’s payroll for some shipping company in Saint Denis,” you answered. “Driving through the Heartlands to Lemoyne. From the sounds of it: a lot. Should be able to catch it just over the state line.”

“When the shootin’ starts --” Arthur started.

“Run for cover. I know,” you interjected with a scoff. “This ain’t my first robbery, Arthur.”

You felt him chuckle, your hands placed on his sides to steady you in the saddle. “No, it ain’t.”

The hill you stopped on overlooked a main road, the Lemoyne state sign off to your left. You dropped from Arthur’s horse, stepping up to the ridge as you looked up the road. “Alright, boys, they’re comin’ through,” you hummed, turning and smiling to the men. “Wish me luck!”

***

“I got a girl in Berryville! Can’t be screwed cuz she’s too damn ill! I don’t go down there no more. There’s a blue horse laying outside her door!”

You smiled brightly, leaning into Karen’s side as the two of you sat on the log in front of the fire, both of you leaning heavily against the other, a bottle of whiskey being passed between the two of you. Your voices were loud enough to be heard throughout camp, but somehow, even in the drunken haze the two of you had fallen into, the others hadn’t told you to shut the hell up. Yet.

You and the boys had returned that afternoon after robbing the payroll stage, pockets full and a smile gracing Bill Williamson’s face as he admitted you did a good job.

It was Karen’s bright idea to drink and have fun. It had been a while, and you agreed it had to help lift the camp’s spirits somewhat, especially when Trelawney’s information about Sean being moved by bounty hunters had entered the camp gossip stream earlier that day.

“No, no!” you laughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you screwed up the line, laughing raucously with Karen. “I got a girl in Berryville!”

“Can’t get it in cuz she won’t stay still!” Karen finished before taking another deep swig of whiskey.

Arthur sighed, leaning on his elbows at the wooden table. The poker game had dissolved almost an hour ago, cards and chips stowed away. Dutch’s tent had been closed, but the lamp was still lit, and those still awake lazed around the fires, watching the stars. “Shut them up, please,” John sighed as he landed in the seat beside Arthur.

“Give it a try,” Arthur smirked, turning from watching your duet with Karen. “You and I both know that bottle will be thrown at our heads.”

“It’s one in the mornin’,” John groaned, leaning against the table.

Arthur groaned, pushing from the table with an agreeing nod. “Alright, alright,” he waved Marston off as he stood.

You were practically laying against Karen’s shoulder, watching the dying fire as you sang mismatched verses of O, Mollie.

“They say I drink whiskey, my money’s my own! And them that don’t like me can leave me alone … ” You laughed, hiccupping into your hand as Karen hummed along.

“Alright, ladies,” Arthur’s voice startled you as he stepped up, reaching for the bottle of whiskey in your hand. “It’s gettin’ real late.”

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” you carried on, a large smile on your face, hand tightening on the bottle of whiskey as he tried to take it away. “I’ll drink when I’m dry! And when I get thirsty ... “ you trailed off, watching as Arthur successfully pried the bottle from your hand and dropped it to the ground. “I’ll … I … forgot the words ...”

Arthur laughed, ducking his head with a small shake of disbelief as he watched you look around your seat for something your drunken brain made up. Karen hiccupped beside you, pushing to her feet. “Goodnight, Mister Morgan!” she smiled, voice much louder than normal, as she leaned into his side and bopped her finger to his nose. “Goodnight!”

Arthur caught her around the waist as she stepped by, guiding her until she started to walk towards her tent. “Alright, come on,” he started, reaching down for your arm.

You stumbled as you got to your feet, leaning against his chest with a hand laid over his suspender strap. “I think … I’m drunk,” you laughed, pushing off of Arthur as you tried to step away.

Arthur’s arm wrapped around you. “Again,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Ain’t ever gon’ be surprised when the two of ya are together. Drinkin’ the camp dry.”

You laughed, turning to face him as he neared, wrapping his arm around your middle. “You should join us sometime, Arthur!” you started, jabbing your index finger into his chest to punctuate your words. “Have some fun! Stop fretting over robberies … and Dutch’s words … and us girls.”

“I don’t fret,” Arthur argued. “But you are sloshed, sweetheart. Time for bed.”

You pouted, stumbling as you stepped away from Arthur. “Rrriiiigggghhhttt,” you droned, waving a hand in the air as you walked. “Frettin’ over me … runnin’ after Mary … helpin’ raise Jack … always frettin’.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he watched you. Stumbling forward, hand landing against the bark of the large oak tree, you bent over at the waist, vomiting up your stomach contents into the dirt.

“Alright, that’s it,” he sighed, stepping up and pulling your hair out of the way. “Ya need t’ sleep. And eat. Come on.”

“See,” you started, wiping your chin on your sleeve. “You’re frettin’ again.”

“Sure.”

He guided you to your tent, making you sit down on the edge of your cot before standing and producing a chunk of bread from his satchel, wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief. “Eat.” He didn’t order, but even in your drunken haze, you could hear the sternness in his tone; the caring nature that was Arthur Morgan. “You’re gonna have a hell of a headache in the mornin’.”

You picked at the bread, chewing on it slowly as you sat on your cot, head already pounding. “I … heard ya saw her … Mary … in town.”

Arthur nodded, standing at the opening of your tent. “Yeah, I did,” he answered. “And her brother, Jamie.”

“She was always nice,” you hummed, tossing the half eaten chunk of bread onto the small wooden crate acting as a table and reaching for your small pillow.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Get some sleep,” he added after a moment, pulling the blanket over your shoulder as you slumped onto your pillow, snores almost immediately filling the silence of the tent.

***

“Son of a bitch,” you groaned, leaning bodily against the support pole of your tent.

Arthur glanced up from his spot by the cookfire, bending at his waist to pour himself a cup of coffee. You stood against your tent, hand placed over your eyes as the morning sunlight hit you. Your hair and clothing was disheveled from a drunken sleep, and the pounding in your head was worse than Uncle’s snoring.

“Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” Arthur smiled, stepping up and holding out his coffee to you.

“Shut up, Arthur,” you groaned, taking the cup.

“Strauss should have some tonic for that headache o’ yours. Or I could go see if Pearson’s got any fresh offal for ya …”

At your visible retch, Arthur chuckled and trailed off. You covered your mouth, wiping the coffee from your lip with the back of your hand before looking up to glare at the man in front of you.

“You’re mean.”

He shrugged, taking the now empty cup from you. “Could say I’m frettin’ over ya ‘cause you drank Uncle under the table last night.”

You groaned, shoving the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Shut up, Arthur.”

He chuckled heartily, relaxing back as he hooked his thumbs into his belt. “I’m sure it’ll happen again,” he smirked, nodding to the main campfire where Karen sat with Javier and John. “We’re headin’ out to find Sean.”

You managed to chuckle, squinting up at him in the morning sun. “He’ll have the entire camp drunk if you bring him back.”

“Almost a guarantee,” Arthur smirked.

You stepped past him, patting a hand against his shoulder. “You’re frettin’ over us all again,” you mumbled as you stepped past him.

“Only you,” he countered. “Better eat something for that hangover.”

“I know,” you groaned. “I’ve been drunk before.”

“It ain’t a camp secret, sweetheart.”

You looked up to him, a small smile lighting your face. “You’re mean,” you repeated, with a small chuckle. “But you’re … right. I guess. Go get Sean back, Mister Morgan. Fret over someone else for a bit.”

“Will do,” he smiled.

#arthur morgan x reader #humors of whiskey #rdr2 fanfic

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hoboal87 · 4 years

Text

Elastic Heart Chapter One

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, OFCs

Pairing(s): None

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N sees a familiar set of eyes in the crowd, and remembers the first time she saw them and how they changed her life.

Word Count: 4300+

Warnings: Show level violence, cursing, pre-Stanford era Winchesters

Notes: Series will be mostly canon compliant, taking place during season 8/9. Also, for purposes of this fic Sam was born in '84 instead of '83.

Please give a comment or reblog and let me know what you think!

Elastic Heart Masterlist

Chapter One - Senior Year

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N”

I don’t hear my name being called, I’m in my own world, looking out into the crowd for a set of familiar eyes. I spot them three rows back and smile. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them, and I miss the days where I would see those eyes nearly every day.

Life as a nursing student consists of going to class, lab work, interning at a hospital, and occasionally sleeping. I’ve spent the past two years doing nothing but that. I’ve always been one to do things early, but this was the one thing that, for once, I was on par with my peers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. From the first time I saw those eyes, they altered my life, sending me down a path that I never planned to be on. Taking longer than we had thought, but eventually, I got back on track.

Finish school and get my fresh start. That had been my goal for the past two years. Move on, with or without those eyes in my life. I wanted them, but I knew that logically, it couldn’t happen. Our lives were too different, especially now. I lost my chance of having them with me always; now, I could only cherish the holidays and long weekends that allowed us to be together.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” the announcer’s voice contains a bit of urgency this time, drawing my attention. I step across the stage, shaking my supervisor’s hand, and receive my metaphorical diploma. I look back out into the audience and connect with those eyes again, wide and filled with joy. I take my seat and think back to the first time I saw them and how they changed my life forever.

Fall, 2002

This was it, the first day of my senior year. This is the year I will prove to everyone that I am no longer a kid. This is the year, mom and dad will see that I can act like an adult and make ‘good choices’ but, I’m determined to have just a little fun.

For the last two years, mom and dad have insisted that I take extra courses and go to summer school to ensure I graduate not only with good grades but early. I’ll graduate in the spring and be off to college in the fall. All I really want is to wait, take a year or two, experience life outside of my parents’ house.

I make the point to do as many high school activities as I can. Activities that they discouraged me from doing for the last two years; choir, volleyball, anything that will get me out of the house but still considered a school activity. I joined the decorating committee, wanting to participate in homecoming as much as possible. I know as long as I do nothing life-altering, I’m gonna be free in May.

“Be mindful of your grades, Y/N,” dad said, reading over all the consent forms, “if they slip, you will need to cut these extracurricular activities.”

“They won’t slip, dad.” I roll my eyes. “It’s my last year, let me have a bit of fun, please?”

“Your average drops below an A, and I’m pulling you out of each one of these clubs, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I mull over telling him the other part of my plan. “I was… thinking about getting a job.” I look down, not wanting to make eye contact. “Something part-time?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Y/N,” mom enters the room, “You’re going to be so busy already, tell her Rob.”

“Your mother has a point, and if they accept you to all these clubs, when will you even have time?”

“I may not even end up in the choir or the volleyball team,” I argue, “and if I don’t I’ll have a free period every day, I can talk to the counselor about making it my last class and—it’s my Senior Year, please, don’t you guys think I deserve a little more credit than this? I should get to experience a little bit of independence, don’t you think? I’m gonna be away at college in a year, I’m probably gonna have some on-campus job, I need to learn how to balance between the two.” I catch my breath, hoping that they will agree.

“Fine,” dad sighs heavily, “the same deal goes. Your grades slip, no more working. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes!” I throw my arms around him, “Thank you!”

“Maybe you could get a job at the clinic,” mom chimes in, “get some experience in the field?”

“I don’t think anyone wants a sixteen-year-old working at the clinic, Sarah. Maybe at the drugstore, though?”

“Yeah,” I sit on the couch, “maybe.”

I discreetly start looking at apartments that could be for rent after graduation. I look on the outskirts of town and find a garage apartment that a very sweet older lady agrees to rent to me if it is still unoccupied over the summer. Finding a job gets put on the back burner as the school year moves into full swing. It turns out I can’t sing, and I suck at volleyball, but the coach offers me the position of manager, allowing me to still participate with the team at pep rallies and travel with them on away games. As the season comes to a close, and with Thanksgiving break around the corner, I decide it’s time to actively look for a job.

The trouble is finding someone willing to hire a 16-year-old high school student with no experience. I try some local retail stores, but I know that mom and dad will never go for the hours they want me to work. I walk into Joe’s Burgers, my favorite place to get some dinner and continue looking through the classifieds.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” I look over and wave to the man behind the counter.

“Hey, Dan, can I get a Bacon—"

“Your usual?” he cuts me off, smiling.

“Yes, please,” I look down sheepishly, handing him the exact amount of money without being told the total.

“Whatcha got there?” he nods towards the paper that’s now on the counter as he hands me my receipt.

“Oh, I’m just looking for a job,” I tuck the paper under my arms. “Need to earn some money so I can get outta this town after graduation.”

“What’s wrong with the town,” his face grows serious, “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Shit—I mean, n-nothing. Fuck."

“Y/N/N!” Dan bursts into laughter, “I’m just messing with you! You think you’re the first person who hates living here? We’re a small-ass town in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’re such a jerk,” I say, relieved, “I’ll be in my spot, okay?” He tries to contain his laughter as I walk away, making my way to my usual table. I flip through the pages, seeing nothing that would really work for me.

“You know Joe has been talking about hiring another cashier,” Dan says, bringing my food over, “and you’re practically here all the time anyway, you may as well make some money while you’re at it. You want me to talk to him?”

“Really? Do you think he’d hire me? I can’t stay late on week-nights because of school, mom and dad would kill me.”

“Yeah, we need someone to work the register, Jana can’t do it all herself. Whaddya think?”

“Oh, my god Dan, that would be amazing!” I get up and throw my arms around him to give him a hug. I watch as Dan walks to the back of the restaurant, after a few minutes he returns, giving me the thumbs-up. Before I leave, he gives me paperwork to fill out and a uniform, telling me to return the next day for training.

For three days, I train, working with Jana on the register. She is a few years older than me, with absolutely no filter. She always has me hunched over, laughing at something she has said or done. The lunches are busier than usual with the break. On Friday, she decides it’s time to leave me on my own, ‘best way to learn,’ she quips.

I’ve never been a social butterfly, and the thought of having to deal with customers on my own genuinely terrifies me for a few moments. After giving myself a small pep talk, I turn around to see three large men waiting for me.

The shortest of the three looks at me, and leans over the counter, “I’m here, what are your other two wishes?” he asks, flashing me a wink.

“I’m sorry?” I can’t believe this guy is serious.

“My brother and I were wondering,” he gestures to the tallest of the three, “if it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“W-what?” I feel the heat pooling in my cheeks.

“Dean, knock it off, we’re here to work.” the older man behind him smacks him upside his head, and I have to stifle my laughter. He offers a sympathetic smile toward me.

“Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?” I shot back; it was the only thing I could think of, albeit an awful comeback.

“It’s okay, just blink if you want me,” I stare straight into those green eyes for a solid 10 seconds before turning away.

“Dean, leave the girl alone, how old are you doll?” he asks, turning to me.

“Sixteen,” I say, watching as he rolls his eyes at the other two.

“See, are you trying to go to jail, son?” he says, looking at me apologetically “I’m sorry my sons are two walking hormones.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” the tall one huffs. Green-eyes shrugs and rubs the back of his head.

“Don’t even Sam, I heard you when we walked in.” Their dad grabs them by the shirts and drags them both to stand in front of me. I couldn’t believe my eyes, this man grabbing his two grown sons like they were pre-teens, “Now apologize to…” he looks at my name tag, “… Y/N.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to offend you,” Green-eyes says insincerely.

“That’s fine, it’s part of the job, learning to deal with frat boys who love to mess with townies,” I smile back curtly.

“What the fu—” green-eyes is clearly trying to contain his anger, but his dad chuckles at the remark, and his brother can hardly control himself.

“Yeah, frat boy, don’t mess with the townie,” the younger one laughs, pushing his shaggy brown hair away from his face, revealing gleaming hazel eyes flecked with hints of green and blue surrounded by dark full lashes.

“Listen, Y/N,” green-eyes looks at my name tag again, “we ain’t no frat boys, in fact, we’re here becau—”

“All right, Dean, that’s enough.” His dad gives him a stern look that is clearly a silent conversation. “Since we’re off to such a wonderful start, let’s start over, yeah?”

I nod politely. These guys are clearly passing through and will be gone in a matter of hours or days, but Joe wants us to make all people, even the ones we’ll probably never see again, feel welcome.

“I’m John, you already know Dean,” he reaches his hand out towards the tall one, “and this is Sam. We’re actually looking into the recent animal-related deaths,” he says, producing a Fish and Wildlife Badge. I study it for a moment before handing it back. “We’re interviewing some of the local business owners and residents in the area of the attacks. Have you heard or seen anything usual, smelled anything weird, anything that comes to mind?”

“Oh.” I look at the three men; here I was being a bitch to the people trying to help. “Um, I just started working here a few days ago, animal attacks?” I look back up to John, who nods. “The only animals around here are coyotes, but even they’re pretty rare. I haven’t heard anything, but I keep to myself. Joe might know something, he’s the owner and knows everything about everyone.” I offer a smile.

“Is Joe in today?” John asks. His grey eyes hold so much pain as he looks at me.

“Um… yeah. He may have a few minutes now that we’ve slowed down. I can see if he can come talk to you?”

“That’d be great, thanks, Y/N.”

“Please, Y/N/N,” I say, blushing, covering my nametag, “No one really calls me Y/N.”

“Y/N/N,” he repeats, “I’d really like to speak with Joe if it’s not a problem.”

“Yeah, shit. Let me go get him,” I say, walking towards the back. “Hey Jana, I’m gonna go get Joe. Watch the register?”

“I got it,” she hollers back.

“Dude! She’s 16!” I hear who I assume is Sam whispering loudly. “Shut up! How was I supposed to know that?!”

“Dean, she’s obviously not 18. Stick to girls your own age,” John responds. “Sammy—.”

I can no longer hear the men as I reach the door to Joe’s office. Jana and Dan had both told me that his door usually stayed open, today it was not only closed, but it was locked as well. I knock, waiting for him to answer. He looks a little frazzled when he opens the door, but smiles at me, “Hey, Y/N/N, what’s up?”

“There’s a guy from Fish and Wildlife; he’s looking into the recent animal attacks? He’s asking about strange occurrences or something? I don’t know, but I know you pay attention to that kind of stuff, so he wants to talk to you.”

“I—shit, yeah, let him know I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he straightens his shirt and closes the door behind him.

I nod and head back to the front of the building. I watch as the boys and their father seem to be in deep discussion. Turning away when I realize Dean has caught me staring. I gather their food, and as I walk towards their table, I can hear that for some reason, I am the current topic of discussion, specifically, my age.

“Actually, I’ll be 17 in a month,” I quip, dropping their food, unsure of why I am engaging with this odd group of men.

“Huh?” Dean looks at me curiously.

“Well, for some reason the two of you are overly concerned with my age, I’ll be 17 next month.”

“Still illegal, Dean,” Sam smirks.

“Yeah, but right up your alley, Sammy,” Dean winks at him.

“Boys, stop treating this girl like she’s a piece of meat,” their father doesn’t even look up from his plate.

I can’t help myself, I’m usually not this brazen, but something about these outsiders coming in, I have to say it, “Well, here in the Great State of Texas the age of consent is 17, it’s not technically illegal,” and before I can stop myself I wink at Dean.

“Oh, Y/N, you are killing me here,” he says, bringing his hand to his chest. “Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to pass, but Sammy here,” Dean grabs Sam by the shoulders, “may be able to help you out.”

Sam blushes furiously; it’s actually adorable. I can feel the heat coming up in my own cheeks, and know if I stay any longer, they will see it very clearly.

“Joe’ll be out in a few minutes,” I say, turning to go back to the register. I walk away, adding a little sway in my hips as I know the younger men are watching. “Lemme know if there’s anything else I can get you,” I shoot another wink, this time in Sam’s direction.

“Thanks, Y/N/N.” John’s baritone voice carries through the restaurant.

I watch Joe take a seat with the three men, the younger boys listening and observing their father very carefully. I watch John grab something—a fork?— out of his pocket and discreetly place it in front of Joe. Why would he do such a thing? Joe and the men continue to speak for 10 minutes until the dinner rush starts, and Joe excuses himself.

The three men finish their burgers and leave the restaurant; concern etched on their faces as they have a heated conversation.

Throughout the dinner rush, I notice that Sam is stationed outside of the building. It looks as though he’s watching somebody. But every time I look up, his position has changed. After it grows dark, I can no longer see him outside; I realize I shouldn’t let him occupy my mind. Jana and I work furiously until a few hours later when we finally close.

“First day on your own,” Jana says, letting her hair down and hopping onto the counter. “You did good Y/N/N, only a couple mistakes.”

“Thanks, it’s not always gonna be like that, right?” I say, sighing, mimicking her actions with my own hair.

“Nah, I mean, the Friday and Saturdays will be, but unless it’s a school break, the nights are not usually too crazy,” she reassures me.

“Thank God,” I laugh, “what about the customers? Did you see those guys earlier? The ones talking to Joe?” I ask, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that I am blushing at the mention of the men.

“Oh, you mean the green-eyed one who was clearly hitting on you?” She smirks at me, “With the older guy and the really tall guy?”

“Yeah… you have an excellent memory…” I laugh, “he was so cheesy. ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” I mock him. “I mean, he can’t think girls really fall for that? Even the tall one knew it was a bad line.” I blushed a little, thinking about them.

“Oh my god, you like him, green-eyes.” She gasps, “You wanna jump his bones,” she sang mockingly at me, “you love him!”

“Shut up,” I threw my apron at her playfully, “I do not want to jump his bones. Besides, I’m jailbait. He’s at least 21 or so.” Jana raises her eyebrow at me. “He basically told me he couldn’t.”

“So… you’re saying you would if he was younger?” she giggles.

“Jana! No! He’s not my type. He’s way too cocky—he probably thinks he’s God’s Gift to Women,” I mock him again.

“What about the tall one? He was gorgeous,” she offers, “And the dad? He’s hot, like I will so call him Daddy. Let him just—."

“That’s way too much information, Jana. Anyway, if green-eyes is too old, how on earth is the dad not even more wrong?”

“That’s what makes it so hot… like, the wrongness of it…” she says mock fanning herself. “Okay, so clearly, the giant is the one you’re gonna have to do. You can just climb on top—" she says, moving her whole body onto the counter, “and take him for a ride.”

“Jesus, Jana.” I try to suppress my embarrassed laughter. But I blush furiously at the thought of Sam, especially with the image that Jana just planted in my head. I cover my face with my hands as I try to compose myself.

“Oh my god, you are so red!” Jana laughs, “It’s the giant! He’s the one you lo-ove!”

“I don’t even know him! They’re just passing through. You know the type, no one actually moves here. Not for real, at least. They’ll be gone in a week.”

“Y/N/N, that’s why it’s perfect. Hook up, get all that pent-up frustration out of your system, and then you’ll go your separate ways,” she offers. “Wham-bam-thank you-ma’am.”

“I’m really not into that one-night stand stuff,” I say, “I mean, what’s the point?”

“Come on, Y/N/N, that’s the point. Sometimes you just need a release. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with some guy you just met and hook-up with once. I mean, you’ve hooked up with guys before, right?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“Oh, my God. Y/N/N, you’re not a virgin, are you?” she whispers so that Dan and Joe won’t hear. I nod, I didn’t have a problem with my own virginity, but other people did. I know I have plenty of time. And with how busy mom and dad keep me, I have no time for boys. “Oh, okay, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know. Besides, mom and dad don’t even like the thought of me dating; they’d make the guy ask for permission. It’s not that I would ever have time for it anyway. Either way, it’ll happen whenever it happens, and it will probably not be great the first time,” I laugh, trying to break the serious look on Jana’s face. “I have very low expectations, especially if he’s never done anything either. Most boys my age don’t know what they’re doing anyway.”

“Not to be all romantic or whatever, but you know it doesn’t have to be like that. Your first time doesn’t have to suck. It can be really nice if you get the right person.”

“I figure it will either be awesome or okay,” I laugh, “hope it’s awesome, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Okay, I’m gonna have one more mom moment with you, and then we can leave, okay?” she grows slightly serious, and I nod my head. “Bring condoms.” I choke out a laugh. “I’m serious. Don’t count on the guy to do it. And don’t trust the ‘pull-out’ method. Dudes always think they can time it right, and half the time…” she makes a gesture I don’t quite understand, I look at her confused. “Inside. Or at least not all the way out. And I’m sure getting pregnant isn’t a part of your grand plan.” She smiles softly. “If you ever need someone to talk about this stuff with, you can come to me, okay?”

“Thank you, if and when the day ever comes, I’ll be sure to tell you.” She raises her eyebrow. “I swear. Don’t count on it being anytime soon, though.”

Jana finishes counting the tips, and I count the register. We grab our bags, say goodbye to Dan, who’s still closing down, and Joe, who’s in the office looking at receipts.

Jana and I live about a block away from each other, and close enough to the restaurant that neither of us bothered driving. Every week it’s getting colder, and I know by the first week of December it will be too cold to walk home at night. But until then, Jana and I walk together, her house off of the main road that leads to mine.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way home?” Jana asks as we reach her street.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Then you’ll have to walk back by yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’m prepared.” She pulls mace and a small knife that’s attached to her keychain out. “If someone or something tries to get me, stab stab.”

“Jesus, Jana,” I laugh out of shock. “No, I’ll be fine, how about tomorrow before work I get me one of those and then I’ll be prepared as well.”

“Fine, but call me when you get home,” she jots a number down and waves goodbye, “I’m serious Y/N/N, call me. If you don’t, I will call your parents.”

“I will,” I yell, turning back to head home.

I feel that I’m being followed. Paranoid, I know. I swear I can hear footsteps behind me, but every time I turn around, there’s nothing there. Freaking Jana, this is her fault. I’ve never had issues walking home at night before, but now I’m hearing things that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t put “I’m prepared,” in my head, now feeling like a taunt. I’m less than 5 minutes away from my house; what could possibly happen?

I hear a growling, something inhuman; it grows louder as I try to will myself to move faster. I turn the corner, and that’s when it happens, someone, something, jumps out of nowhere and starts running towards me. I try to run, but my legs won’t move, “fuck.”

I hear yelling, but I still can’t move, the creature is getting closer to me, and I get a good look at it. Claws, it has fucking claws. Its eyes are yellow, and its teeth are huge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a werewolf. But werewolves don’t exist. This must be the creature that John was looking for.

‘It’s some kind of rare species of bear,’ I tell myself, ‘a bear.’

It’s only about a foot away from me; it looks like something out of a horror movie. It’s on its hind legs, unnatural noises leave its body, and before I can even move, it's swiping at me. All I can do is close my eyes and pray it doesn't kill me. A loud bang forces my eyes open, I stand there, still unable to move. I look up to see a set of familiar eyes before me, ones I hadn’t expected to see ever again. Sam.

Chapter 2

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #Elastic Heart #Elastic Heart 1

94 notes · View notes

himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

Tough choice but may as well go in order. Guarnere, please. Thank you.

valentines day alphabet ( accepting! )

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Bill is very verbal about his affection. When he cares for someone, he’ll say it loud and proud. He’s always had a big mouth, but that just means he ain’t shy about telling people exactly how he feels --- and he’s liberal with praise, when it’s earned. He also shows affection by standing by people, having their backs through anything. If Bill will fight for someone, it means they’re worth it; if he fights with someone, it means he loves them.

B : BOUQUET. does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

*confused Guarnere noises* what the fuck is a flower Look. He’ll go to the florist, flirt with her a little bit, and pick up something nice. That’s the best he can do. He can look very handsome marching up with a bouquet in hand, but don’t ask him what the hell’s in it.

C : CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He’s not a fan of most chocolates. To be honest his nonna used to make her own --- she had a recipe for sweet chocolate that was to die for, and Little Billy was her favorite taste-tester. Compared to hers, store-bought chocolate just don’t cut it.

D : DATE. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Let him handle everything and he’ll be a happy man. Let him cook the dinner himself --- he’s got a special love for cooking, especially when his partner’s gonna be enjoying it --- let him arrange the table, let him choose the music, let him decide where they roll around at the end of the night. Bill likes being in charge. Granted, he’s drawn to partners who give him a run for his money in that department... but his ideal date would be an intimate night in, just the two of them, all planned out by yours truly.

E : EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

Bill hugs like a football coach. Very enthusiastic, kinda rough, lots of back patting and “good job, son” energy. He’s... not good at tender hugs. If he’s trying to pump someone up, sure, he can manage that, but... hugging somebody to comfort them? He’s not so good at that. Bill has trouble being soft, but can be very supportive when needed.

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Shameless, and shamelessly dirty. He takes flirting to a new level. Bill loves to buy people drinks and chat them up, even if he doesn’t plan on going home with them at the end of the night; it’s fun to just see how far he can push, and who’s willing to play along with him. (Nothing’s sexier than someone with a smart mouth, who can sass him right back.)

G : GIFT. is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

No one would call him bad at it, but he doesn’t always... hit the nail on the head. He tries, and will absolutely go to four different stores just to find something he knows someone’s looking for. Left to his own devices, he’ll come up with weird gifts, though. A pack of very colorful socks, an apron for a friend who can barely cook, a build-your-own-bookshelf kit for someone with no damn time. He thinks his gifts are great... but it’s easier to just give him a list.

H : HEART. is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He’s quick to give it away to the right people. Bill’s got great instincts, and is good at reading someone’s character --- it’s what draws him to the friends he ends up keeping for life. Bill only gives his heart to those who are able to hold their own, who are worthy of it. He ain’t got time for fairweather friends. Either you earn Bill’s love, or you don’t.

I : I LOVE YOU. does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Annoyingly easy. He’s not gushy about it, but he likes saying it, and it’s obvious in how often he drops it --- sometimes declared loudly to their assembled group of friends, but most often muttered in a low voice, for his partner’s ears alone. Why shouldn’t he love saying it? It’s true.

J : JEALOUSY. does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

Bill Guarnere don’t get jealous, cause he knows exactly who he is, and exactly who the other guy’s not. His partner might play around to get him riled up --- and hell, he’ll do the same thing --- but he trusts they’d never look at anyone else seriously. Trust is a major element in Bill’s relationships, and he’d never really fall in love with someone he couldn’t have faith in.

K : KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Bill’s exactly the sort of overconfident bastard who sees a kiss as a door to something more. He doesn’t have Prince Charming instincts, but his kisses are a team effort; he’s under no illusion about calling the shots, taking his cues from his partner how far they’ll go. If they don’t want his mouth somewhere, it’s not going there. His kisses are pure fire, electric, all teeth and tongue and shameless nips. He’s not afraid of anything. He’s also a mutterer, which depending on the partner is hot or annoying as hell. He’ll grit out words of praise or curses in between kisses, pressing them against the dark marks left on his partner’s skin, until they flush an even deeper red.

L : LOVE. who does your muse love?

He loves his people. Bill considers a select group of folks his --- and once you’re in, there’s no easy way out, ‘cept for proving yourself a total jackass. Bill’s ride-or-die for his whole (massive) family, and his extensive friend group. Yeah, he’s got some he’d do more for than others --- Babe’s the only one he’d hide a body for, and he’s still got that thing Lip asked him to hold onto in his closet --- but Bill loves fiercely, and would risk it all for any one of ‘em.

M : MOONLIGHT. is morning or night a more romantic setting?

Bold of you to assume there’s a difference between morning sex and night sex to this man. Bill’s ready to go at any time.

N : NAUGHTY. what is your muse like in bed?

Extremely confident, to the point that it seems like he’s compensating for something. He’s not --- that’s the best part. Bill gets riled up very quickly, and in bed he is heated, driven, and very physical. He loves lifting his partner up by their thighs and moving them around the room, loves pressing them against walls and leaving deep red marks on their neck... vocally expressive partners really get him going. He’s not shy about dirty talk, and even less shy about letting his partner take the lead. Bill’s very much of the “work together” mindset in bed. He can go multiple rounds at a time before getting worn out, but sometimes he’ll get a cramp in the middle, and then it all goes to hell (ft. the Not Sexy kind of cursing).

O : ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

Bill has a commanding way of speaking; he doesn’t make a big deal outta being eloquent, but he captures people’s attention. He knows how to be listened to. Sometimes this can make it hard, in quieter moments, to express what’s really in his heart, when he’s so used to speaking only the boldest words, but... Bill Guarnere always manages.

P : PARTNER. what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Bill needs someone who gives as good as they get. He’d never be happy with a shrinking violet; they’ve gotta have punch to them, a good sense of humor and firm head on their shoulders. He needs somebody loyal, a partner who’ll be by his side through thick and thin --- ‘cause even he’ll admit, he’s downright exhausting sometimes. A person with a temper, probably; someone with confidence, who says what the hell they think. Great curves are a plus, especially a nice set of boobs. Bill’s always gonna fall for someone with fire, who can keep him on his toes, and hold him up even if he’s only got one leg to stand on.

Q : QUESTION. would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

Oh, he’s gonna ask. Ain’t no question, as soon as he’s got the ring, Bill Guarnere’s not wasting a second. It’s just a matter of when (as soon as he’s 95% sure he’s gonna get a good answer) and how (out to dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant, or maybe afterwards, taking a walk through the park. He wouldn’t want many eyes on them, but he’d want to do it somewhere special --- a place he and his partner could take the kids to years down the line, to boast about how it all started here.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s no fuckin’ tights-wearing, wishing-well-singing, ‘someday my prince will come’ asshole, but sure, he’s a romantic. Bill’s got a flair for romance; he knows how to show his partner a good time, and loves doing it, just to see the warm gleam in their eyes. Dancing all by themselves, eating a candlelight dinner he made, taking a romantic bath together... all in the Bill Guarnere playbook, sweets.

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Not really? Look, Bill had a lot going on as a kid. He was everywhere at once; all the neighbors knew him as a holy terror, and the ones with any sense told their daughters not to get near him. Romance wasn’t first on his mind.

T : TRUE LOVE. does your muse believe in true love?

Absolutely. Point blank. Love is love, and some people are meant to be together forever. Anger can fuel a hell of a lot in you, but love’s more powerful than all of it. Anger can move mountains, but love can build them outta thin air.

U : UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

Nope. He’s a resilient bastard. Sure, he’s had his share of rejection (and smacks in the mouth), but Bill’s not the type to take it personally.

V : VALENTINE. how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

Well, he’s definitely never sat on the couch in his boxers eating a box of chocolate alone, and that definitely hasn’t given him a complex about giving his partner the best damn Valentine’s Day every goddamn year. (No Bill, cancel the hot air ballon, you don’t need it ---)

W : WEDDING. would your muse get married? why / why not?

Oh, hell yeah. Just give him the right person --- and he’ll find ‘em, don’t worry about that --- and Bill’s hopping on that one-way train straight to domestic bliss. He’s not in a big hurry about it, so long as his partner knows what’s what --- if he’s in a serious relationship with someone he really cares for, it’s a foregone conclusion to Bill that they’re gonna get married eventually. (He wouldn’t even think his partner might have a different viewpoint; if they did, it’d shock him to his core.)

X : XOXO. does your muse use / like pet names?

Definitely. Some are sweet, some are perverted, and some are a little bit of both. He uses them liberally.

Y : YOURS. does your muse get protective easily?

Protective could be his middle name. Bill is an incredible guy to have on your side in a rough spot; sure, he swings before he thinks, but he thinks while he’s swinging. Excellent man in a fight. No one steps in on Bill Guarnere’s loved ones and gets away scott-free, and he goes especially berserk if it’s his partner being threatened.

Z : ZZZ. how many people has your muse slept with?

Not... a number he’d be proud to admit to his Mamma, but he’s no virgin. Bill got up to more mischief overseas than he could ever find in Philly. Probably about... 8 - 9 partners? And no, he’s not careful where he sleeps. He’s gotten used to the taste of penicillin, and Doc Roe’s left a few brochures under his pillow.

#headcanons #bill guarnere

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thechoir-roomhq · 3 years

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WELCOME TO THE CHOIR ROOM, MARGOT STANLEY (beanie feldstein fc),

here is your SCHEDULE! you have twenty-four hours to turn in your account and post an intro. good luck and have fun with the semester!

[BEANIE FELDSTEIN, F, SHE/HER] who’s that? oh it’s {MARGOT STANLEY}. i hear they’re {17} and a {JUNIOR} at {CRAWFORD COUNTRY DAY}, have a voice like {SHOSHANA BEAN} and are part of {THE CANARIES}. they’re known to be {+AMBITIOUS, +TALENTED} and {-SELFISH, -JUDGMENTAL}. some people say they remind them of {a strict schedule, a loud mouth, show tunes and power ballads, never letting them see you cry, and always speaking your mind}. only one way to find out! [ria, 26, pst…smh]

Margot Marie Stanley is the daughter of notorious choreographer Dakota Stanley and suburban local Monica Lerner-Stanley. Monica was the definition of someone who peaked in high school. In her hay day, she was popular, she was beautiful, and boy could she dance. After high school, she went to college for dance where she met Dakota while he was teaching a seminar. They had a whirlwind romance but ultimately, they went their separate ways. Years later, by chance, Dakota was back in Ohio for a dance competition and they reconnected. At this point, Monica was a hasbeen. Still beautiful and still a joy to be around, but her life hadn’t amounted into much at all. She was working as an administrative assistant at Howell Dentistry by day and a Breadstix waitress by night. But something about her charmed Dakota and now that he was older, he was ready to settle down.

Monica and Dakota got married and shortly after gave birth to their first and only child—Margot. Monica’s parents were always skeptical of the marriage and relationship because…well…anyone with eyes could see that Dakota was clearly gay. Monica, desperate to be loved and to have a family of her own, had overlooked the obvious signs and had chosen to be with the only man who had ever promised her commitment. Overtime though, the truth came to light and the couple was faced with an important decision: divorce or…stay together. It was the 21st century and weirder things had definitely happened. So, choosing the non-traditional route, Monica and Dakota decided to stay legally married for Margot’s sake (and for tax-purposes), but they opened their relationship.

Dakota moved to Los Angeles where the dance industry was booming and kept a long list of young, up-and-coming gay men as company. He called them his “business partners,” but Margot knew a sugar baby when she saw one. Monica, on the other hand, kept her affairs more low-key. She stuck to online dating and never saw the same man twice, but the revolving door of lovers that came through their house did build a little bit of resentment in Margot.

When it came to her parents, especially her mother, Margot often felt like the adult. Her mom was a mess and her dad was emotionally awol, so it was always up to her to pick up the pieces when things got complicated. Sometimes she wished they would just get a divorce so she wouldn’t have to dodge questions about them and make excuses for why her dad was in LA while she and her mother were in Westerville, OH. She wished they would just get a divorce so both of them could get a shot at genuine happiness.

Dakota and Monica didn’t see it that way though. Sure, their marriage was void of love, but they got to share the one thing that mattered to both of them the most: Margot. Even though they were separated, both Dakota and Monica considered Margot to be their greatest creation. Dakota poured money and resources into his daughter, enrolling her in dance, singing and acting lessons from an early age. Dakota Stanley made stars and winners and he’d be damned if his daughter wasn’t one of them. Monica, on the other hand, saw her daughter as a best friend. They were a team and no matter what happened, she believed they would be okay as long as they had each other.

Despite being a longtime choreographer for Vocal Adrenaline, Dakota Stanley would’ve rather died than send his own child to a public school. Monica never would’ve been able to afford tuition for Crawford Country Day on her own, but with Dakota’s money, it was possible and then some. On top of all the workload that came with attending one of the top high schools in Ohio, Margot’s schedule was packed with lessons that took place outside of school. She worked with top choreographers and highly sought after vocal and acting coaches, all with the intent to train her for her destiny—Broadway. Ever since she was a little girl, her father instilled in her the desire to be a star. When she got a little older and it became obvious that she had talent, Dakota poured a hefty portion of his expendable income into resources for his child. Monica, having shared some of those dreams when she was younger, supported Margot fully…although she feared her daughter would one day be disappointed.

Margot didn’t share her mother’s fears. Sure, she appreciated the concern, but she was going to be a star. It was as true as the grass was green and the sky was blue. She had worked hard for it her entire life and all that effort wouldn’t be for nothing. It couldn’t be. Up until Margot was about thirteen, she moved through the world confidently and with an unmatched certainty about her future. It wasn’t until her audition for Young Cosette in a Lima Player’s production of Les Miserables in the eighth grade that she got her first taste of rejection. Bryan Ryan, an unforgiving community theater director, had not been shy or kind when he told her that she didn’t look like a star and then promptly handed the role over to Kenna Giardi.

The comment and subsequent loss cut Margot like a knife. Luckily, she was strong and she still believed in herself. She didn’t need some washed-up, wannabe theater legend telling her what she looked like or what she could be. However…the further she got from that incident and the less she snagged lead roles…the more she feared that he’d been right. The theater community was small in Ohio and she quickly learned who the power players were. Because of this, it wasn’t lost on her that she didn’t look like Kenna or Gigi Stone or Ivy St. James. But she could sing circles around them all and she was a better actress by a landslide…at least in her eyes.

Each time Margot didn’t get a role she wanted, she became a little harder and more jaded. She just had to get through high school. Maybe her small town in Ohio couldn’t see her for the star she was, but New York would. People that mattered would, and as far as she was concerned? No one in Ohio mattered, especially not the girls she was in constant competition with. Margot’s superior attitude didn’t aid in her making friends, but who needed friends? Certainly not her. So Margot kept to herself. She auditioned and participated in the Lima Players productions as they came, she went to her lessons, and she did what she could do make sure she was a featured soloist for the Canaries. She was outspoken and bold and never shied away from giving her unsolicited opinions because as far as she was concerned, she knew best. If only the Canaries would just listen to her…then maybe they’d have an actual shot at earning a nationals title.

#accepted #stanley #margot stanley #beanie feldstein #submission

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yamayamawrites · 4 years

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Strangely, You Feel Like Home

Since his last semester of college, Shouyo had been the father of twins - two rays of sunshine that he didn't expect but loves nonetheless. He gave up everything to be the father he wished he had, including his own dream of becoming a professional volleyball player. Instead he settled for becoming a volleyball coach at the local elementary school, making a little of each dream coexist as he taught his twins how to play volleyball.

However, when Shouyo discovers that his extremely rude neighbor Tobio is the same Tobio that plays professional volleyball for the very team Shouyo dreamed of being on, and that said Tobio wants Shouyo to coach his child, he can't help but think it's a prank.

Or, the Single Parents AU that nobody asked for.

A/N: Hi everyone! Of course I’m starting another multi-chapter fic because Like Friends Do is wrapping up and I need to keep myself busy to avoid the fact that college is starting back up just a few months from now. If you’d prefer, you can read this on AO3 by clicking here. If not, you can read chapter 1 below! Thanks again for reading!

Tobio awoke to the sound of shrill laughter just outside his window. He blinked blearily, shielding his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun shining in through the blinds he hadn’t bothered to close. He grumbled, ready to go tell the children to play somewhere else – but then it was accompanied by a much deeper voice, that of an adult, laughing along with them.

He gripped the bridge of his nose and forced himself to sit up. Of all the days this could happen, it just had to be the day he arrived home. He just wanted some peace and quiet, was that too much to ask?

Tobio pushed his legs off the side of the bed and forced himself to his feet. Every single one of his muscles ached at him to disappear back under the covers and perhaps throw on some noise-cancelling headphones, but when that deep voice yelled a shrill, “Gotcha!” followed by one (or perhaps two?) children laughing, he thought angrily that it probably wouldn’t help, anyway. He wandered into the kitchen and found his and his nephew’s multiple suitcases. He rubbed his shoulder and cracked his neck, remembered the struggle it had been just to get Ichiro to sleep on the plane…

Ichiro.

Tobio tiptoed up the stairs of his town home. He hoped that the children outside hadn’t woken him from his nap – he rarely slept as it was. To his surprise, when he pushed open Ichiro’s bedroom door, the toddler still laid splayed out on the bed, his rear hanging in the air while his plump cheek pressed lazily against his pillow. Tobio smiled, padding across the room as quietly as possible. He raked a gentle hand through his nephew’s dark hair, leaned down and pressed a kiss to that plump cheek. Anyone who saw them together commented that they looked like father and son, usually assumed such, and he’d never bothered to correct them. He supposed he was more of a father to the boy than his actual father, anyway.

But the shrieks continued outside. They grated on Tobio’s nerves, and he calmly left the small bedroom (so as not to wake the child). The second he closed Ichiro’s door he stormed down the steps and swung open the front door of his townhome.

He sighed and raked a trembling hand through his dark hair. Of all the days for someone to be moving in, it just had to be today.

Two little kids, a boy and a girl, with the most vibrant orange hair came pounding on stubby legs down the sidewalk with tiny boxes in their hands. Behind them, Tobio assumed their father carried a much larger box in his hands – he couldn’t see the man’s face, just a few unruly orange curls poking out from the top of the box. He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Oi,” he called, startling the children and the father alike.

The man stopped and set his box down. “Oh, hi!” he waved, voice bright and chipper. “You must be our new neighbor!”

“Can you keep it down a bit?” Tobio tried his best not to sound grumpy, but he already had a short temper when it came to any child besides his Ichiro.

“Sorry, sorry!” the man rubbed his neck. He waved the children to continue on, and they fumbled their way into the town home next door. The man jogged up the short driveway towards the porch Tobio stood on, his curls bouncing with his steps. He outstretched a hand, a warm, sunny smile plastered on his face. It almost made Tobio sick how energetic he could be, and he barely knew him. “I’m Hinata Shouyo. And you are?”

“Tobio,” he said shortly and shook his hand. “Can you please just try to be a little quieter? My boy and I got in late last night from the United States—”

“Tobio, ah?” Shouyo tapped his chin. “How old is your son?”

Tobio startled at the sudden topic change, not bothering to correct him that Ichiro wasn’t his son. “He’s—he’s almost four.”

“How exciting!” Shouyo chirped. “My babies are turning three next month.”

“You’re a little young to have kids, aren’t you?” Tobio asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

Shouyo laughed. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

The twins came stomping their feet out of the town home next door, laughing and chasing each other around the fenced-in front yard with dolls in their hands. “That’s my cue, Tobio,” Shouyo watched the children run around the front yard. “We’ll try to be quiet! Hopefully we’ll see each other soon!”

Shouyo jogged back down the driveway, turned and ran towards his own yard, and chased his kids around. Tobio sighed and rubbed his temple; they were no quieter in their endeavors than before. His only hope was that the town home walls were thick, since they shared a wall.

Ichiro tugged at Tobio’s sleeve next to him. “Uncle,” he mumbled in a quiet, sleep-filled voice. “Hungry.”

“What’re you hungry for?” Tobio asked, bending down to scoop him up. “We have to go grocery shopping soon. Want to pick something out there?”

A pout settled on the boy’s lips. “No grocery store,” he grumbled.

“We have to,” Tobio replied in his gentle voice, combing down some of the stray hairs poking up from Ichiro’s head. “I’ll get you a treat if you behave, how does that sound?”

The pout melted away and replaced itself with a shy smile. Ichiro hugged Tobio around the neck and pulled at his hair. “Treat!” he chirped.

Tobio walked Ichiro back into the house to dress themselves for a trip to the store. Though Shouyo and his children already grated on his nerves, part of him hoped that Ichiro could at least make some new friends from the arrangement.

***

Shouyo made the decision shortly after two that afternoon to call his friends from high school, Sawamura and Koushi, for some help moving. He realized (after several failed attempts) that he couldn’t carry his bedframe alone, nor could he carry his couch or dining table by himself. They brought their adopted daughter, Hikari, who had been tasked with occupying the twins, Mitsu and Haruto. With three sets of adult hands instead of the former arrangement, moving boxes and furniture didn’t take even half as long as Shouyo expected, and just before six that evening the three men collapsed next to each other on the couch.

“This place is pretty big,” Koushi noted, looking around the spacious town home. “Nice wood floors, too. Is Hitoka covering it?”

“Yeah,” Shouyo nodded. “She’s over in America again until the end of the month with her job, so she’s been sending money to help cover daycare and such while I packed everything up.”

Hikari and the twins came storming out of the downstairs bedroom, squealing and wielding foam swords that Shouyo couldn’t remember purchasing for the kids. They seemed to be having fun, though, and he had no problem with it – so long as they didn’t get hurt.

“How long is Hitoka staying in town?” Sawamura asked.

“At least until the twins’ birthday party,” Shouyo replied. “Probably a little longer than last time. I know she’s getting a little anxious being away for so long at a time.”

“It’s really great you both kept in touch,” Koushi murmured, almost to himself. Shouyo couldn’t help but agree.

“They’re her kids, too,” he said softly. “I couldn’t ever let what happened in the past get between her and these little rays of sunshine.”

His daughter, Mitsu, pounced on him, squealing and laughing and swinging the foam sword at his head with the accuracy of a blind animal. Shouyo laughed with her and grabbed her under the arms, twirling her around. He growled in a mock-menacing tone. “Grr, daddy’s gonna getcha!” he cried, blew raspberries into her stomach. Mitsu kicked her feet and screamed, her giggles echoing off the nearly empty walls of the home. Soon after, Haruto jumped at Shouyo’s legs, screaming for similar treatment.

“You want daddy to get you, too?” Shouyo bellowed, followed by an evil laugh. He let Mitsu down and the girl ran for Hikari, grabbing at her dress. He scooped Haruto up in a swift movement and the boy squirmed in his grasp, his laughter just as shrill as Mitsu’s. Koushi and Sawamura watched with amusement.

Eventually Haruto squirmed himself out of Shouyo’s grasp and he let the boy down. Shouyo collapsed back onto the couch, laughing to himself. “I don’t know how you do it,” Koushi said finally.

“What’s that?” Shouyo asked, looked over at him with a lazy smile.

“They’re so energetic at that age, and there’s two of them,” Koushi sighed. He let his head fall back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a sort of dazed smile on his lips. “I could barely even keep track of Hikari when she was that age.”

Sawamura laughed, then, nodding in agreement. “I did most of the chasing when she was that age,” he added.

“They’re a full-time job, for sure,” Shouyo said with a gentle sigh. “But they sleep through the night, so at least I’ve got that.”

“Hikari never slept through the night,” Koushi laughed. “I’m jealous.”

The children circled around the kitchen island then came back at full force, yelling and stomping through the living area that the three adults had settled into. “Should we order a pizza?” Sawamura leaned over and murmured to Shouyo, tried to keep the children from hearing. It was for naught, though, as the children erupted into cheers.

“Pizza! Pizza!” they shouted in unison, grabbing hands and dancing around in a circle.

Shouyo laughed and even got up with them, danced around and broke apart his children’s hands so he could fit between them. “I’ll pay,” he said over the chants. “It’s the least I could do for getting your help today.”

***

Despite the twins’ normally-decent sleep habits, neither of the two children got a good amount of sleep their first night. Shouyo couldn’t sleep much, either; but considering how exhausted he felt after moving all the furniture, he assumed his restlessness stemmed from his kids’.

Cranky whines and balled fists slamming into high chairs had Shouyo ready to put in some ear plugs and just go back to bed anyway – but still he wore his best morning smile as he fought with each of his children to eat their breakfasts. “Mitsu-chan, don’t you want your breakfast? The big monster is gonna eat it if you don’t!” he cried, ready to shovel a bite of Mitsu’s favorite oatmeal into his own mouth.

“Yuck!” Mitsu shouted in response, swatted at the bowl for good measure. Shouyo thanked his fast reflexes for catching it before it toppled onto the ground.

“Yuck,” Haruto giggled beside Mitsu, swinging his legs under his chair.

“Babies have to eat their food before they can go play volleyball,” Shouyo said pointedly, offering another spoonful to each of them.

“Bally-ball!” Haruto chanted, slammed his fists down with more energy now.

A knock came at Shouyo’s door. He fought back a groan – who could possibly be here now?

He chose to ignore it in lieu of caring for his screaming toddlers, but it came again, more urgent this time. He sighed and scooped two squirming children out of their high chair seats, rocked them carefully as he yelled out a, “Coming!”

It took some maneuvering to open the door, but when he did, he saw a cranky, tired-looking Tobio. “Oh, good morning!” Shouyo set his children down, who immediately took to hiding behind one of each of his legs.

Tobio had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. “Hi,” he said shortly. “I—uh, just was wondering if you could keep it down. Just a little. We um—” he waved his hand towards the wall connecting their homes— “we share a wall. It’s a little thin.”

Shouyo fought a scowl with a grin, and it ended up coming off as some weird (perhaps constipated) look. “Haruto, Mitsu, how about you go pick out some clothes for school today? Daddy will be there in a minute.”

The twins didn’t need to be given a second excuse to leave Tobio at the door; he seemed to radiate an energy that screamed ‘I hate kids’. Mitsu sniffled as she went, fought off a bout of tears that would likely come later that day.

The smile melted from Shouyo’s face and was instead replaced with a grimace, and had Tobio the mental capacity to reason with himself after losing out on a night of sleep, he might have realized he shouldn’t have come on such a busy morning. “Listen, Tobio,” Shouyo’s voice dropped deep, “I don’t know if you think you have some sort of angel kid or what, but I’m trying to raise twins on my own here and I’m sorry if they’re a little loud. We’ve been here exactly sixteen hours and you’ve already told me twice that my children are loud, but guess what? I know! I live with them!”

Never one to back away from a challenge, though, Tobio sneered and leaned closer. “My Ichiro never cried like your kids did all night last night. What, are you just unfit to be a parent?”

Shouyo practically steamed at the ears. “Don’t you dare try and tell me I’m unfit to be a parent,” he growled. “I gave up everything for my kids and I may not be the best father to them, but I’m doing what I can.”

Tobio couldn’t help but feel like he’d stepped on a land mine. Rather than rile the man up more, he tched and walked away without another word; had Shouyo’s children been at school, Shouyo would have likely gone after him, yelled some more, maybe sent a punch into that smug face of his. But Mitsu and Haruto’s voices chattered in the downstairs bedroom, and Shouyo would never do anything so cruel with his children’s watchful eyes on him.

It took Shouyo approximately forty-three seconds to fix his children’s outfit choices. Mitsu had settled for a bright pink dress with one green and one blue shoe – on the wrong feet, to top it off. Shouyo fixed her shoes while Haruto proudly marched around the room, a stuffed frog hanging out of his little chubby fist. His pants were inside-out and he’d put on two tee shirts. “Which one do you want to wear, buddy?” Shouyo asked while he peeled each of them off.

“Both!” Haruto chirped.

“How about one today and one tomorrow?”

“Both, daddy!”

Shouyo sighed, smiled to himself. “Okay, sure. Which one do you want on top?”

They tried breakfast again shortly after. It went much better this time, though Shouyo did have to take Haruto’s top shirt off of him due to most of his breakfast ending up on his shirt rather than in his mouth. Still, less than a half hour after Tobio’s rude greeting, Shouyo had each of his children’s bags thrown over his shoulders and they were walking to the local elementary school.

The walk itself wasn’t far – part of the reason Shouyo moved where he did. Though, if he’d known how grumpy his next door neighbor would be, he likely would have moved somewhere else. They lived in a small town just on the outskirts of Shouyo’s hometown, somewhere he never imagined himself moving back to. The elementary school was in a suburban area, surrounded by gorgeous houses, with a playground that spanned the size of half a football field at least. The gymnasium sat off the main building just a little ways, and just after Shouyo walked Mitsu and Haruto to the daycare room, he himself was escorted to the gymnasium.

“Can’t believe you decided to get a job here,” Kei droned, adjusting his glasses. He’d started teaching at the school just after college.

Shouyo laughed chipperly. “I love volleyball, I love my kids. I don’t see how this wasn’t the perfect option for me.”

“You’re right,” Kei sighed. “This probably was the perfect option for you.”

When they stepped inside, Shouyo found that the gymnasium was much larger than expected; there were large curtains separating the gymnasium into four half-courts. “We host a lot of the local middle school and high school sporting events here,” Kei explained. “Tournaments and such.”

“Right,” Shouyo nodded.

“We have two programs,” Kei further explained. “We run the younger kids’ camp just after lunch, while the older kids finish their school day. Then, the older kids come in.” He glanced over at Shouyo as he spoke. “It’s a little sad to see this is where you ended up, Shouyo.”

Shouyo laughed in response. “Maybe so,” he countered, “but I’d rather be on the court, even if it’s a small one, than in an office.”

“Sure,” Kei agreed finally.

“Kei!” a familiar voice called, and at the doorway of the gymnasium stood Tadashi, pushing a stroller ahead of him. “The front desk said I could find you here.”

“Well, you found me,” Kei replied with a mock-annoyed tone.

“Hold on, is that…Shouyo?”

“Hey, Tadashi!” Shouyo waved, his wide smile growing even wider.

“What are you doing here?” Tadashi asked, wheeled the stroller further into the gymnasium. “Last I heard, you and Hitoka were planning on settling down and—”

“Change of plans,” Shouyo rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Who’s this little one?” he gestured to the stroller, peeking at the small child that had drifted to sleep in the midst of their ride.

“Yuki,” Kei replied, ran a lazy hand through the child’s long, blonde hair. “Our daughter.”

Shouyo slapped a hand over his mouth. “You had a baby?!” he cried, though his voice was muffled by the hand clamped over his mouth.

Tadashi nodded, grin spread wide across his face. “Two winters ago, now.”

Shouyo sighed. “I guess I’ve missed a lot since I’ve been gone.”

“Not too much,” Kei replied. “We didn’t tell anyone about her until she was born, so.” He glanced at his watch impatiently. “Tadashi, mind waiting for me outside? I’ve got to finish showing Shouyo around.”

“Oh, I’ll be quiet!” Tadashi insisted.

“Yuki might not be,” Kei countered.

“She’s sleeping,” Shouyo replied. “Plus, I want to be here when she does wake up so she can meet Uncle Shouyo.”

Kei sighed, clicked his tongue, but didn’t protest. He led Shouyo through the gymnasium, the locker rooms, and up to the balcony level. “Tooru should also be here soon,” Kei muttered finally, looking again at his watch. “He’s late. That’s so like him.”

“Tooru…” Shouyo mumbled. “You don’t mean…Oikawa Tooru?”

“I do,” Kei sighed. “He’s been working here part time for about two years now. I asked him to be here early today to greet you.”

Shouyo had never gotten the chance to play volleyball against Tooru in high school or college, but he’d heard amazing things. Those amazing things were proven true when Tooru went pro for a few years – known as the Grand King to most of his fans, including Shouyo himself – but had to quit due to a knee injury. He feared he’d lost his one and only chance to ever play against Tooru; now he would be working alongside him.

“Sorry I’m late!” Tooru chirped from below. Shouyo hung off the railing like a child, a wide grin on his face. Tooru’s eyes met Shouyo. “You the newbie?”

“That’s me!” Shouyo couldn’t contain himself; he leapt down from the balcony, eliciting a cry of surprise from Tadashi and an annoyed sigh from Kei. Tooru watched with a faltering smile as he rushed up to greet him. “Hinata Shouyo,” Shouyo bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Tooru offered his hand to Shouyo. “Pleasure’s all mine. Are you working here part time, too?”

“Starting today,” Shouyo nodded.

“In that case, why don’t you help me set up the nets?”

“Yes sir!”

***

The stampede of toddlers into the gymnasium just after lunchtime was the one thing Shouyo felt he wasn’t prepared for.

Tooru stood beside him with open arms while the children rushed up to him, and several children rushed up to Shouyo, too. They jumped at his legs and Shouyo laughed, knelt down to greet them. Mitsu and Haruto were amidst them, running up and trying to tackle Shouyo to the ground – and they succeeded. He laughed warmly as children tugged at his hair, his ears, his arms.

Tooru blew a whistle and the children clambered off him. “Hi everyone!” he chirped.

“Hi Tooru-san!” the preschoolers chanted in response. Mitsu and Haruto clung to Shouyo’s legs after he pushed himself back to his feet.

“Today we have a new coach!”

The children cheered and some of them fidgeted, seemingly ready to pounce at Shouyo again, but Tooru somehow managed to keep them in line. “Everyone, say hello to Shouyo-san!”

“Hi Shouyo-san!” the preschoolers echoed.

“Shouyo-san will be coaching all the chibis today!” Tooru clapped his hands together. “Raise your hand if you’re a chibi!”

“Chibi?” Shouyo mumbled under his breath. Tooru leaned over to him.

“Everyone under the age of four is considered a chibi,” he explained his metric system.

“Right,” Shouyo nodded.

It didn’t take long for toddlers to surround him; Shouyo nearly fell over with the force of the children coming for him. Mitsu and Haruto clung harder to him, and even through the excited screams and yells of the children Shouyo could hear their nervous whimpering. He ruffled their orange hair, tried to calm them down, but with the children shouting around them the two only held on tighter.

“Where are my small fries?” Tooru called from beside him, and the rest of the children surrounded him in a flurry. He laughed warmly, patting children on the head gently. “Let’s go, small fries! We’re going to start with some running!”

In a few moments Shouyo’s side of the gymnasium cleared, and he was left with his children for the day. He grinned at each of them. “Chibis!” he called out over them. “Let’s sit in a nice, big circle!”

The shape ended up more lopsided than a circle – looked closer to a figure-eight, even – and Shouyo sat as close to the center as he could, each of his children taking the spot directly to his sides. Most of the children fidgeted and mumbled, but the majority obeyed the order. Shouyo grabbed a stray volleyball just a few feet away on the floor. “Let’s roll the ball to each other! Ready?”

He rolled the ball across the circle, and while the children couldn’t quite get the ball to go all the way where they wanted it, others made up for it by crawling to the center and rolling it again. The circle dissipated quickly in favor of the new spots the children crawled to. Shouyo sighed. A laugh bubbled out of him and as he heard a whistle on the other side of the gymnasium, he rose to his feet. “Let’s play!”

The practice went smoothly, for the most part. Shouyo taught the children a little bit about receiving, using a few of the soft rubber balls stored away in the gymnasium’s storage closet. They played tag and ‘Keep Up’ – where they had to keep the ball from touching the ground – and by the end, most of the toddlers either sat on the floor or on the bleachers to the side. Shouyo prided himself in having more energy than his children most days, but today he felt just as drained, and when Tooru rounded the corner he had a tough time hiding his fatigue.

“Good work today!” Tooru said in a happy voice. “The last guy could barely keep up with the kids, but it looks like you’ve got them well-handled.”

“Yeah,” Shouyo exhaled, smiled. “Having twins will do that to you.”

“I was wondering if those were your chibis,” Tooru nodded towards Mitsu and Haruto, who both had collapsed onto the gymnasium floor and were napping. “The hair gives you away, Shouyo-chan.”

Shouyo chuckled and gripped at his vibrant hair for good measure. “That’s what everyone says,” he sighed. “Do you have a little one here, too?” he scanned the crowd for a face that looked similar to Tooru’s.

“Oh, not me,” Tooru replied with a soft chuckle. “I just love volleyball.”

“I used to watch your matches all the time,” Shouyo gushed. “Never got to play the legendary Grand King, though.”

Tooru waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, I haven’t heard that nickname in years. What team did you play for, Shouyo-chan?”

“Karasuno High,” Shouyo replied. “Then I played for my university, Yuunei.”

“You must know my old friend!” Tooru replied then. “Iwaizumi Hajime. You know him?”

“We played in university together!” Shouyo affirmed.

“His little one goes here,” Tooru explained further. “That little booger over there.” Tooru gestured to a child deemed as a ‘small fry’ that busied himself by bouncing a volleyball as high as he could. “I’m Uncle Tooru to him,” he bragged.

Before Shouyo could respond, he heard the gymnasium doors slide open. “Ah, pickup time!” Tooru chirped, grabbed for Shouyo’s hand and dragged him towards the door. “This is the worst part,” he added.

“Why?” Shouyo asked.

“We have to say goodbye to the chibis and the small fries!” Tooru replied, throwing a dramatic hand to his forehead. “It’s devastating!”

A few parents approached Shouyo, noticed he was new. He chatted with them and called for their children, who – for the most part – came running as soon as he called for them. He had to chase a few stubborn toddlers around that didn’t quite want to go home yet, and despite his annoyance and fatigue he laughed while he did, scooped them up and made them giggle.

The process went quite quickly. Soon there were only a few children left – minus Shouyo’s own. Hajime hadn’t shown up yet, and the parent of a dark-haired boy with the most piercing blue eyes had yet to present themselves. “Oh,” Tooru noted, looking at the boy, “Tobio-chan is back in town.”

“Tobio-chan?” Shouyo replied. He remembered, then, his grumpy neighbor and fought a grimace. “Oh, that asshole,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, that’s the one!” Tooru laughed. “How do you know Tobio-chan?”

“He’s my new neighbor,” Shouyo sighed. “Got all up in arms because my toddlers are too loud.” He sighed.

Someone knocked on the gymnasium door, despite it being swung open. “Hello?” called a familiar voice, and Shouyo turned around to see Hajime. “Oi, Shouyo!” Hajime stepped into the gymnasium, a rare smile across his face. “Nice to see you, bud!”

“What about me?” Tooru huffed a pout, scooped Hajime’s child up into his arms. The boy laughed and kicked his feet.

“I see you every damn day, Tooru,” Hajime huffed. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Shouyo!”

Shouyo clapped him on the back in a hug. “How are you, Hajime?”

“Better than I’ve ever been,” he replied with a sigh. “What’re you doing here? I thought you and Hitoka were jumping ship and heading for the United States.”

“She left for business,” Shouyo replied, “but we decided last-minute that I should stay and raise the kids here instead.”

On cue, Mitsu and Haruto came running, grabbed at Shouyo’s legs and begged to be carried. Shouyo scooped Haruto up and Hajime reached for Mitsu. “You remember me?” Hajime asked the girl. “You’ve gotten so big!”

Mitsu shied behind Shouyo’s legs.

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Hajime asked. “There’s so much we need to catch up on.”

“We’d love to, but I’ve got stuff to unpack at home,” Shouyo rubbed his neck with his free hand. “Can you take a rain check?”

“Next week,” Hajime smiled.

From the doorway, a man cleared his throat. “Ichiro,” he called from the doorframe.

That dark-haired boy went running toward the voice that Shouyo (sadly) recognized as the grumpy voice that had complained to him – twice – about noisy toddlers. As if they aren’t noisy normally, Shouyo thought with a grimace. Still, he turned in the direction of the voice and to his dismay saw Tobio, who now looked well-rested but that grumpy expression still presented itself to him.

“The King is here!” Tooru teased from the other side of the gym, walked towards the door that Tobio stood at. “Tobio-chan, when did you get in?”

“Saturday night,” Tobio replied shortly. “Didn’t get much—”

Tobio’s eyes fell on the three matching heads of orange hair. “You,” he groaned.

“The ‘King’?” Shouyo muttered. “No…you’re not…the Tobio? Kageyama Tobio?!”

“That’s me,” Tobio replied simply.

“The insane setter?!” Shouyo cried, loud enough that Haruto tugged on his ear in annoyance.

“I wouldn’t say insane,” Tooru sneered. “People call him a ‘genius’, mostly.”

“But you’re such an asshole,” Shouyo mumbled.

“What did you call me?” Tobio barked.

Shouyo set Haruto down, much to the boy’s disappointment. He put a hand to his head, a laugh bubbling out of him as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing. Two of the best volleyball players in Japan – Tooru and Tobio – were in the gymnasium with Shouyo at this very moment, and he worked with one of them and neighbored the other. “This is a prank,” he said finally.

“Welcome back, Tobio,” Hajime said as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he would be standing in the same room as the King and the Grand King.

“I need to sit down,” Shouyo whispered.

“You act like they’re celebrities,” Hajime teased.

“Because they are!” Shouyo replied.

Hajime just shook his head and wandered over to Tooru’s side. “Can you watch Aito tomorrow until I get out of work?”

“How does that sound, Aito-chan?” Tooru looked at the boy in his arms. “Dinner with Uncle Tooru?”

“Can we have dino nuggets?” Aito asked, almost nervously. Hajime shook his head.

“Of course we can!” Tooru replied, stuck his tongue out at Hajime. “Uncle Tooru is the best, right?!”

“Uncle Tooru is the best!” Aito echoed.

In the meantime, Tobio had stepped further into the gymnasium with Ichiro practically glued to his side. He walked directly up to Shouyo, that scowl still prominent, and had Shouyo recovered from his shock at learning Tobio’s identity (he knew he recognized him from somewhere, but hadn’t been able to pin it down until then), he likely would have teased something about the man asking his children to be quiet again. Instead, Tobio stopped a few feet in front of him. “So,” he said, a little awkwardly, “you’re a volleyball coach, huh?”

Shouyo just nodded.

“Ichiro’s a good setter,” Tobio said sternly. “I’d like you to have him set.”

Shouyo shook his head a bit, a little confused by the request. “Tobio,” he said finally, “Ichiro’s still a toddler. We didn’t do any official volleyball today—”

“It’s a volleyball practice, isn’t it?” Tobio replied, voice surprisingly calm and completely betraying his ever-furrowing eyebrows.

“Yes, but they’re kids—”

“My boy is going to be a setter,” Tobio said, pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you can’t coach actual volleyball then I’ll have Tooru teach him.”

“No way,” Tooru called across the gymnasium. “Ichiro-chan isn’t getting any special treatment from me!”

Tobio growled under his breath. “What are you doing here, then?” he scowled back at Shouyo. “Following me? What?”

“I—I’m sorry?” Shouyo sputtered.

“If you can’t actually play volleyball—”

“Oh, I can play volleyball—”

“Prove it, then!” Tobio snapped. “If you can’t teach a toddler how to set, then you must not be very good at volleyball.”

“He’s a toddler!” Shouyo replied, voice rising. “I’m not going to teach a toddler how to set! I’m going to teach him the basics!”

“Setting is the basics!”

“Knock it off,” Tooru said sternly. “We’ll play a three-on-three. Kei and Tadashi have been looking for a reason to play again, anyway.”

Both men caught their breath from their yelling. “Fine,” Tobio muttered finally. “I’ll take this guy,” he gestured to Hajime, “and Kei.”

“That means I get to set to Shouyo-chan!” Tooru lilted. “I think we’ll make a great pair!”

But Shouyo’s gaze remained firmly on Tobio. “You’re on,” he grumbled, and only after Tobio stormed out of the gymnasium with Ichiro following behind him did he realize that he just agreed to a volleyball match against one of the best setters in the world.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina #daisuga #iwaoi #tsukkiyama #single parents au #single dads au #aged up au #fluff #maybe some plot?#maybe some angst #maybe some smut #maybe a little bit of everything

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