#snippet share saturday

[autumnalwalker]

Snippet Share Saturday

Thank you for the tag, @late-to-the-fandom.

Passing the tag to @imbrisvastatio, @blind-the-winds, @silvertalonwritblr, @365runesoftheamalgamations, @cljordan-imperium, and an open tag for anyone else who may want to share a snippet (of any length) from your current WIP.

Here's a bit I wrote today from Empty Names. I had this idea stuck in my head of rapidly giving brief descriptions of a bunch of background characters a means of conveying the feel of a place rather than for the sake of the characters themselves being all that important to the story. Not sure how well that worked out, but it was a fun experiment nonetheless.

Later that evening, after having said goodbye to Sarah for the month, changing back into her usual red tracksuit, and calling to check in on Lacuna and Ashan, Eris is sitting on a barstool at 121813.  

“Twelve eighteen thirteen” is the generally agreed upon pronunciation of the bar’s name, although what the name means is less agreed upon.  The three most popular theories are that it’s either a date (usually speculated as either December of 1813), a scriptural reference (which scripture is a whole other debate), or a leftover address from before one of Crossherd’s major layout shifts.  Lacuna had suggested it might be a tarot thing when Eris told her about it.  The Hanged Man, the Moon, and Death.  An ominous spread, according to Lacuna, but Eris figures it makes as much sense as anything else. 

In any case, Fitzgerald Wilhelm von Harkenstein IV, the establishment’s clockwork owner, proprietor, and bartender always seemed to get too much of a kick out of the speculation to give a solid answer.  Make what jokes you like about a bartender with no taste buds, but Fitzy had drink mixing down to an art.  Then again, he claims to be at least as old as the city of Crossherd itself, so Eris figures he had plenty of time to practice if nothing else. 

For over a century now, 121813 has served as the closest thing to a centralized organization for American monster hunters.  Other parts of the world had holy orders, secret societies, and grand lodges stretching back generations, but in these parts everyone figured that a couple dozen thrill-seeking assholes who all frequent the same bar was good enough to get the job done.  Most hunters usually work solo, but the bar is a good place to brag about kills, show off trophies, swap rumors on potential quarries, and put a band together if you get word on something really nasty.

It’s not peak hours yet and regulars are still trickling in, but there were already a few familiar faces there to greet her when she walked in twenty minutes ago.

Golden-eyed Gretchen who had taught Eris German and how to wield a spear.

Bai of the braided beard who had taken over Eris’s old garbage collecting route when she signed up with Road’s new venture and ever since has been alternating between thanking her for the job referral and complaining that he couldn’t take his axes with him on shift.

Wyatt, whose eyepatch is actually an AR visor to aim assist his crossbow and adjust for weight and aerodynamic differences on specialized bolts.

The green-haired enby twins, Loregahste and Lornega, who favor halberds and hammers respectively but both carry swords as backup sidearms.

Chuck in his ill-fitting trenchcoat, a relative newcomer to the game who’s already earning a reputation for going off on insufferable rants about the superiority of katanas.

The grim-faced Preacher, who never shares his name for fear of theft, never touches a drink that isn’t water, and never hides his disdain for everyone else’s choice of archaic weaponry for the sake of sport when guns were so much more efficient at completing the important work of slaying beasts.

Old Vic, the elven immigrant from off world who’s always down to party like the college kid his face looks the age of.

Plus a handful of others that Eris either isn’t all that close to or doesn’t recognize at a glance.  High turnover rates have always been an unspoken truth amongst the monster hunter community.  It’s been said that there are five fates that await hunters.

One: You die early from a stupid mistake, biting off more than you can chew, or just plain bad luck.

Two: You finally catch up with that one monster that was your reason for taking up the hunt to begin with, and if you survive you walk away, vendetta done.

Three: You have your first near-death experience, confront your mortality, and make the wise decision to get out.

Four: You have your first near-death experience, confront your mortality, and realize you’re hooked on the hunt that will surely kill you one day more than you are on living a long life.

Five: The hunt gradually becomes your whole life and personality until one day you hit a tipping point that causes autogenesis to kick into overdrive, transforming you into a monster yourself in need of putting down by your former comrades.

Everyone at the bar tonight - except maybe Chuck and the other newbies like him who still think they’re invincible - has long since made their peace with the idea that they’ll probably be dead by forty.  Fifty tops.  Other than Old Vic, of course, who’s at least twice that age, but rumors that he’s already secretly met the fifth fate have been flying around since before Eris ever found Crossherd and 121813.  Having been on a funerary hunt with him herself and seen what a hunter consumed looks like, Eris doesn’t put any stock in that speculation.

[theadmiralsdaughter]

The sea was as alive as Maristella remembered, though now instead of watching its life from the sidelines, she was part of it. That season, the time spent onboard The Star of the Sea, had come and gone and come back around, and now she was here to stay. So much felt as though it had never changed, like the decks, the older crewmembers, or the slop that Ol' Nine-Finger Willie served in the galley. And in the last month since Maristella had joined the navy, the few things that had changed had become a natural part of her life aboard The Star. Among those changes were some new cadets. A few of them Maristella knew from the naval academy, but some Maristella had known longer: Verity, of course, as well as Conroy Lewin, son of the naval academy's professor of general studies. Joining them, much to Maristella's dismay, was Victor Durand III and his cousin Alastair. Now that Maristella was part of the crew instead of a mere visitor aboard her home, she had duties to attend to, and today they included sitting above the ship in the crow's nest, keeping a weather eye on the horizon, and watching for any ships that may approach— especially keeping watch for any sign of pirates.

MARISTELLA ARRINGTON: THE ADMIRAL'S DAUGHTER ch. vi

[tracle0]

hey writerblr

Snippet Sunday? Is that anything? Post a snippet on a nice Sunday and maybe pick out a few - say, three or five - other snippets from others to comment something nice on? Could be cool and groovy? Oughhh you want to do this so bad

[sunfloweraro]

The pink bunny au has me in tears already in this 2nd snippet. Both of them are dealing with so much 🥺

Hi Aeghina!!!

Me too! I knew what I was getting into when I started writing this and yet it still crushed me to write the Ravio chapters… he puts way too much pressure on himself to ‘save’ Link, and it’s no wonder he finally snapped. The time apart will benefit them both immensely though! Bunny especially… he really needed to find people who can understand what he went through and show him better ways to process it and begin to heal.

I am thinking of including a side story of Ravio getting help too… he’s in a terrible place right now and it feels awful to leave him there while Bunny goes on a journey of self-acceptance and emotional growth. (Even if I don’t end up posting it with the main story, I might need to write it for my sanity!)

Here’s a softer snippet after the Chain find Bunny to help you feel a little better:

***

And then, with a heavy sigh, the rabbit flopped against him. Hyrule froze, breath catching in his throat, hand stilling against the rabbit’s side. A smile lifted his lips, and after a beat, he began to pet it again, slow strokes down its side as its breathing evened out. Having only met the rabbit a few scarce hours ago, he hadn’t anticipated such a show of trust; his heart warmed with soft amber fondness, his eyes crinkling. When another soft whimper escaped the rabbit, it pushed itself farther into his leg in its sleep, seeking out his comfort to soothe its nightmares.

It was that moment Hyrule decided he would keep this rabbit safe for as long as it was with him.

***

(Obligatory @thatonecrazysidekick tag for new little snippet!)

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @diazsdimples who posted a whole ass fic! Go and give it a read, it’s a fun one 😁

Have some more from when your heart releases, you won’t fall to pieces aka the Eddie breakdown fic. The writing beans aren’t beaning for this wip, even though I’d really like them to be. Still .. thought I’d share something I wrote for it a little ways back (this is just after the scene from canon where Eddie says he’s scared he’ll never feel normal again.)

“What if I can’t find normal again? What if this is my new normal, Buck?”

“I’ll still be here. I promised to have your back and I meant it. Nothing is going to scare me away from you.”

Away from loving you.

Eddie’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth going a bit slack as he stares at Buck in a way that looks an awful lot like awe. Buck’s starting to think maybe he said that last part out loud. It doesn’t matter though, because it’s true. Nothing he learns about Eddie will scare him away. Every bruised and scarred piece of Eddie that he’s ever been shown has been carefully gathered up and placed with the others, all held within the safety of Buck’s heart, their edges slotting in perfectly beside his own.

Buck clears his throat to break the moment, now is not the time for Buck to cut himself open and pour his love and devotion for Eddie out at his feet. Not when Eddie is so fragile and Buck has a girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

He has to keep reminding himself of that, which is probably not a good sign about the vitality of their relationship. But now is not the time to think about that either. Right now he needs to focus on Eddie and making sure he’s okay. Hopefully convince him to get some sleep, because he looks like shit. Buck thinks there may be bags under the bags under his eyes.

“Right. You’re going to shower and then you’re going to sleep. Everything else can wait until the morning, okay?”

“And you’ll be here? In the morning?” Eddie’s voice sounds so small. Buck’s heart cracks at the sound of it.

“I told you,” Buck reaches across the table and squeeze his hands, “m’not going anywhere.”

No pressure tagging: @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus @wildlife4life @nmcggg @puppyboybuckley @wikiangela @watchyourbuck @rainbow-nerdss @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @spotsandsocks @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @tizniz @rewritetheending @athenagranted @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @bekkachaos @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @captain-hen and anyone else I may have missed or who wants to share something!

[thebigoblin]

Share a Snippet Saturday!

...no? okay, anyways, here is a snippet from a fic I started working on near the end of March in frustration of studying, and I have worked on/off on this since. I'm loving the 1st half of what I have written so far, so this is from near the beginning of the fic!

*

So, no. Dying is petty, so he wishes to never have existed. He knows he'll be missed. The better fate, for all, in conclusion can only be this then — tear off his skin from his body, his bones from its hollows, his feet from this earthly plane, and his existence from this universe.

The ultimate solution.

His skin itches with the power of his want. His blood is seething beneath his flesh, a live, angry thing, a counterpart to his melancholy. His fingers trace his skin, right hand on left hand's elbow and down, to the wrist. Then, frantic, a full body flail: he is his Tata's son, after all.

He itches all over, the sensation spreading like fallen gasoline. There's a throbbing pain at the base of his throat, a scream tearing out of his throat at the intensity of it. He had locked the door, privacy of space his to conquer in his state of being, his parents allowing him that space — but now, now they rush in, his dad's eyes red and lively, just like his blood felt a few seconds ago, his Tata's eyes liquid gold in the sunlight falling through the windows.

"Eli!" It's a roar, an Alpha roar. Fear and command, hand-in-hand. And then, a tearful, "No!"

[stellewriites]

fuck i just realised i completely forgot wip wednesday this week,,

[amaiguri]

Writing Share Tag

Thanks to @anyablackwood for the tag! This tag is simply to share some of your writing! I've been editing lately so here's what I've been doing:

Lord Giluniques would have been pleased just to see us alive after that last battle. He would have his next plan drafted and I would have been proud to play second fiddle in his symphony. Without him, there was no music. I sure as hell wasn’t planning anything. In all my two-hundred years, I’d learned you couldn’t save luminaries like him. You just had to let them burn and tell their story when they were gone. The Gods never deemed us worthy of real heroes — you might as well lie about it until people remembered them as such.

-- Ymver, The Eternal Bard

Let's hear from @maiemorrae (who know just had her first release!), @dragonprincedawn, @cee-grice, and I know @moonfeatherblue posted a short story on video the other day! 👀 Open tag to anyone else who wants to hop on!

[solaris-amethyst]

As I'm getting closer to finishing my Yeosang one shot I can't help but wonder if any of my readers would want me to post a little teaser snippet from the one shot?🤔

[theadmiralsdaughter]

This shows up fifteen times in my current mauscript for The Admiral's Daughter! here's one of my faves!

"Why do you concern yourself for my safety?" Maristella asked, and though she expected him to stutter at the tone of her voice and her leaned-forward wink, he instead met her eyes with his own. "Why don't you?"

this week's word is...

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[theadmiralsdaughter]

After a moment's silence, his eyes darted across the ship, then back to Maristella. "Can I ask you a question?" He asked. "You can ask." "What's so special about her anyways?" "Who?" Maristella asked. "Miss Sterling." The Captain answered. "Surely, she's a remarkable woman— though not the most remarkable I met at your father's ball— but what has she done to warrant you putting your life on the line for hers? Why risk your safety and sanity to save her?" "I'd risk my life to save anyone's," Maristella began, "so long as there's still people out there who put them in jeopardy. But Verity is more than just anyone— she's family." "Family?" He asked. "Is she perhaps a sister or some distant cousin?" "Not all family is forged in blood." She shook her head and looked back out at the sea. "Sometimes it's forged in water." MARISTELLA ARRINGTON: THE ADMIRAL'S DAUGHTER ch. xix

[sashakielman]

Share Your Snippet Saturday

From my NaNo writing session yesterday:

She hoped the group of rebels she was about to meet would agree. But they weren’t really rebels, were they? It was her father who rebelled against Orabellan tradition. Who rebelled against the notion of a good leader treating everyone with respect and dignity, even if they could not provide anything substantial.

If you like this snippet, I would be honored if you considered donating to my Mighty Pens fundraiser for We Need Diverse Books! You can support me and donate here.

[uarmygguk]

. . . . 'Cause people believe that they're gonna get away for the summer . . . .

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼

⎙ He was the still wave among the chaotic ripping tides— one that anchored youduring that unforgettable visit to your grandma's beach house— now on the verge of being sold.

Loaded with the responsibilities and emotions of spending the last week in Jeju, — will the new relationships and memories turn into something more, or will they just turn into bittersweet echoes of that one summer miles away from home.

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼

pairing, surfer!jungkook x f!reader tags/warnings, reader has had strict parents and this is her first time experiencing something alone— fully under her control, he is a surfer and owns a little shop for tourists who wants to explore the beach, a whole summer-beach house-fling kind of setting, fluff, smut, angst— the unavoidable trifecta, the characters do have some base-level lore too, longfic. note, this is the ultimate result of me listening to like a set of 4 songs ON REPEAT like it was a necessity, linking a playlist soon below, this is going to come out only on may but i couldn't wait to share a snippet of this scene i was working on literally at 2 am in the morning because i couldn't sleep. yeah call me productive. moodboard

love diaries music rec,

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼

teaser wc: 482

The waves ripple, gently caressing your bare feet, like a timid reminder about what you’re about to get yourself into on a random Saturday morning.

It does not feel all that haphazard though— seeing Jungkook knelt down in front, waxing the surfboard— the coconutty whiff of its scent soothes your senses for at least a moment before going full-on panic mode again.

“I don’t think today’s weather’s the best one for surfing, Matty you agree right?” you caress Matilda’s velvety muzzle as she barked in glee, jumping around the sand.

“She fully disagrees, c’mere” He looks up from the board, patting his upper thigh as you tilt your head in confusion.

“You need some feet gear, I’ll help.” He casually offers as if this happened on a daily— the way it rolled off his tongue so easily as he ran a hand behind his suit to dust it off of extra sand.

Nothing about this situation was routinely.

It was astounding how, in this very beach your grandma once adored so much, you were about to take leaps of faith and courage, experiencing completely new things way out of your comfort zone.

Jungkook crouches down, palms holding your bare feet now about to be clad in literal surfing gear, as he helps you into them with practiced ease.

“All set?” He comes up, a light smile spread across his face, taking a double look at your figure wrapped in the wetsuit rented from his own small beachside shop.

“Yeah, I’m literally about to set records— just me and my little surfboard.” Even the tiniest attempts to lighten the knot in your stomach and breath caught too hard in the middle of your throat, were in vain.

“Sure, set as many as you want, but I’ll deserve partial credit.” He catches a hold of your shoulder, maneuvering towards the board.

“What if I say you get full credit? Can I go back home? Matty might be hungry.” You fret in his arms, but he holds you still.

“Woah what happened to the bravery from minutes ago?” Jungkook’s hands come round your waist and all that you feel are the points of contact between your skin even through the thick material of the suits. He anchors you forth, steadying the surfboard under your feet.

“I’ve given you enough dryland training and you said you swim? You’re fine, __.” 

“But Matty-”

“She’s with Tae, I’m here with you. Let’s go?” Those words did calm you down more than you’d admit.

The humidity gets to your face quickly, gathering up a bright sheen on your skin.

No, you’re not sweating, obviously not.

It definitely has nothing to do with the vast expanse of waters laying free, welcoming you in with a warning. Fear. 

The initial inhibition was gnawing at your insides.

However, you feel his secure stance behind, and that was finally convincing enough for you to take the next step.

“I’m ready, Jungkook.”

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼

please visit this post to be a part of my taglist! lots of love <33

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

Next

Masterlist

[hoshinasblade]

second best |2| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 2.5K trigger warnings: author's note: hello, reposting the part 2 because of hiccups from saturday when i posted it first (tumblr blocked my blog lol). likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated but please do not copy or steal my works. in celebration of this blog reaching 100 followers recently, i have written a bonus part 3 which will be posted within this week. my taglist form is here, and feel free to let me know your thoughts by sending me an ask through here. using my degree correctly by writing hoshina fanfics yes

you aren't sure when things changed between you and hoshina soshiro.

when you were young, you would have understood that he didn't have the attention span to deal with you. he wasn't exactly shy, but you wouldn't call him friendly too - unlike you, who has taken it upon herself to be friends with all the children in the small neighbourhood. unfortunately for you, only the hoshina brothers are at the same age as you are, and at that time you thought that was a sign that fate was giving - you ought to be close to them.

you won't deny that you were fonder of the hoshina brothers than anyone when you started school. if you are being honest, you like them more than any of your expensive dolls or toys. being an only child, you thought it was only natural to want someone to be with - to want someone to share things with.

the brothers would have their endless training sessions every day, and though you did not know how to swing a sword then, you insisted to your parents - and theirs - that you must join them. sometimes you would be sitting on the floor just watching them, and frequently you would be the one keeping count of the score between soshiro and soichiro when they spar.

soshiro has never won a single match against his brother when they were kids.

but you didn't mind. you still preferred him over soichiro.

in fifth grade, you bought him the biggest cake your meagre savings could buy. it wasn't much really, but you won't forget how wide his eyes went when you lighted the candles and sang him the happy birthday song albeit out of tune. the next year, you gifted him a small keychain - a teddy bear in a purple kimono. you never saw him use it.

it wasn't until years after that you worked out what your feelings for him were. the girls from your class would make small talk and ask if you have a boyfriend now and then. you would say no all the time. at sixteen, you felt like you didn't need to be in a relationship - because you have soshiro, you said to yourself - and that was when it hit you.

every time soshiro would talk to you after that, you would peek in your little compact mirror, worried he had miraculously discovered your secret, afraid that maybe your face had given it away. he caught you doing that once, and he accused you of attempting to be pretty for him.

"is it me ye're trying to be cute for?" he volunteered to carry your bag on your way home but you declined. you didn't want to start assuming things; you knew he was just being nice.

"ya wish," you deflected effectively.

"well, whoever it is for, they're in for some trouble", he commented, and you chose not to read too much in his words. you realized how the walk to your house always seemed to be shorter when you were with soshiro.

when you turned eighteen, you asked your mom what it meant to be in love. she was the last person you had wanted to ask - your parents had broken their perfect marriage not long ago, your father choosing to abandon your mother and you. soshiro taught you the basics of kendo during those hard months. "i'll even let ya beat me", he said to you.

"it's when you care for them so much that you will go as far as to let them go because you wanted them to be happy," your mother answered.

soshiro did not have the decency to say goodbye when he left himeji. you wanted to celebrate with him, and it wasn't like you weren't familiar with his plans to move after graduation. you used to stay up late with him, and inevitably the conversation would steer to his dream of getting out of your town. he would say that it's to expand his horizons - for his growth - but you like to give yourself some credit because you know him too well to simply believe that. you can tell that he needs a place to stretch his wings and be the best - somewhere he can be better than his brother.

and maybe you are really your mother's daughter - you let hoshina soshiro go because you thought it would make him happy.

"vice-captain, platoon leader said ye're needed at operations." you saluted and walked inside his office. "get yer ass in there, were the exact words actually," you added, intending it to be a joke.

soshiro didn't even look up from the file he had been staring at since you came in. he's been like this for days after you were sworn in the defense force. you would bump into him in the hallways of the training building or sit at the same table with him for lunch, and he wouldn't speak to you at all. if you didn't know better, you would think that finally, after all these years, he is now aware of your feelings. but that would be impossible, because not only the other recruits would not dare to rat you out, but also because soshiro would not be acting this way if he knew.

"v-vice captain?" you repeated.

soshiro hummed. "i heard ya the first time, officer," he said, his glance on you so cold you felt it from where you stood. it wiped off the smile you were wearing that morning.

"ya can go," he said once more after he noticed you didn't move. "or d'ya need anything else from me?"

"no, vice-captain." you were almost out of the door when you remembered something else. "one more thing, hoshina-san," you faced him again, the way you said his last name soft against your own lips. "soichiro-kun will be visiting again tomorrow so we can go to himeji together -"

"do ya belong to the sixth division?" soshiro cut you off. "i didn't know ya transferred."

"i - i'm not -" you were still trying to look for the appropriate response when he interrupted you again.

"then why are ya spending so much time with him? d'ya wanna move to his jurisdiction?" soshiro is standing now, whatever he was reading earlier long forgotten.

it was difficult to reconcile this distant man in front of you with the boy you used to chase after during your childhood days. the one who would bring you an extra boxed lunch because you told him before that his bento tastes so much better than yours. the boy you fell in love with. you had both grown up, and taken different paths at a time, yes, but you did not expect to struggle so badly to find common ground with him. "im sorry, vice-captain, i'll be off now." it felt like a huge chasm had opened in the middle of the room that determined to keep the two of you worlds apart. you turned to leave, and you heard him mutter something.

"if ya wanted to keep going on dates with my brother, ya shouldn't have gone here."

there is only one thing sharper than his katana and it is hoshina soshiro's mouth.

pain swirled inside you, threatening to spill over. when you couldn’t keep the turmoil in any longer, you snapped.

"what is yer problem?!" your pitch reached a high octave that soshiro was shocked at the outburst. "did i do anything? cause yer being mean, soshiro," you pressed on, stepping closer to him. it didn't escape him how you dropped the title off his name, and the honorifics, too. he was about to respond, but you didn't give him the chance. "look, i know yer not on good terms with soichiro-kun, but he’s my friend."

"like i needed to be reminded." sarcasm coated his retort. "ya know what? ya can marry the guy and i won't even care. do whatever ya want", he said, dismissing you in a harsher tone

your forehead scrunched and your eyebrows met in confusion. "what are ya talkin' about? no one is getting married -"

soshiro's laugh was bitter. you recoiled at the offensive sound. "i'm not the one going around telling everyone she's in love with soichiro-kun.”

there was a loud ringing in your ears; you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and you were suddenly afraid that this conversation is unfolding into something else entirely. “i never said that,” you protested. “i never told anyone i was in love with him. i don’t know where you’re getting this from.”

soshiro’s expression remained stoic and unreadable. “i heard you say it at the izakaya”, he murmured.

breath was knocked out of your lungs and panic started to rise within you. “i never told anyone i was in love with him”, you repeated. you tried to rewind every second of what happened in the party thrown for the new officers nearly a month ago. everyone was drinking and having a good time after the sworn-in ceremony. commander ashiro and the vice-captain had to leave ahead. your fellow newbies grilling you on your history with hoshina soshiro.

“save it.” hurt was evident in soshiro’s voice; his eyes glimpsed at you briefly, and you saw an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher flicker. soshiro’s expressionless mask faltered for a moment, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability. although you don’t have a clue how he would have heard it when he went with commander ashiro that night, the desire to straighten things out overtook you.

for a split second, the burden of the truth hangs heavily on your tongue. you gave in to the desperation.

“i never told anyone i was in love with him”, you reiterated, hoping he would understand this time. “because it’s you i’m in love with.”

there were multiple occasions in the past where you almost admitted what he meant to you; you had pictured a thousand scenarios in your head where you declared your love, but all of them did not include the part where soshiro would respond.

you thought confessing would ease the ache in your heart, but it was the opposite. "i didn't know how to tell ya, and that's my fault. but how could i? ya didn't even bother to say goodbye to me when ya left home." it was taking everything of you to hold your tears back, and ignoring the obvious tremble in your voice, you continued. "did ya know i taught myself how to pray after ya were gone? i thought it was the only thing i could do for ya."

"i didn't know", was all soshiro could say. he looks in distress, still grappling with your bold confession.

a loud knock on the door broke the tension. “vice-captain, they made me fetch you,” okonogi said from the hall.

“well, now ya do.” you turned away just when soshiro strode towards your direction, running after you. you were faster than him, and despite the possibility that you would be seen coming from the vice-captain’s office crying, you twisted the doorknob and ran.

it is still hot when you sit down on a bench at the rooftop of the third division's training building.  you welcomed the cool breeze, however, and you noted that at this altitude, everything from far away looks considerably smaller.

you missed two important briefings this afternoon already, and your team is most certainly searching frantically for you everywhere. you are definitely going to be scolded by your superior. yet you couldn’t bring yourself to discard the little comfort being alone had given to you, especially after such an emotional confrontation. you sighed, exhaustion slowly crawling all over you. lost in your thoughts, you did not notice the soft footsteps approaching until a familiar voice tore through the silence. the cold breeze blew, making you shiver a bit.

“hey,” soshiro called out. you freaked out, immediately looking for a space to hide at. “i already saw ya,” he let you know.

he held out a keychain in front of your face, a tiny bear in a faded purple kimono with the string attached to its head dangling from his forefinger. you recognized it instantly - you got it for him when he turned 12 years old. he sat beside you, not concerning himself with asking for your permission.

“the first few days were the hardest”, he began, and you listened. “i was too used to seeing ya every day, but when we were apart, i convinced myself i would forget how ya look like. i didn’t.” he offered the keychain to you and you took it - the bear’s fur worn out and old to your touch. “i hold that thing whenever i start to miss ya.”

shock was etched on your face and your gaze darted to him. “is it too late now to say that i love ya?” he whispered, his face mirroring the sincerity of his tone. sunlight bathed the rooftop as soshiro’s words hung in the air, leaving you breathless and stunned. you gasped. “maybe i should have told ya sooner. but i have been in love with ya for a while now.”

you leaned into his shoulder, and you quietly cried.

“i don’t think i have been anybody’s first choice in anything, so it didn’t enter my mind that ya would probably feel the same.” his hand found yours and you relished on the warmth.

“your brother advised that i tell ya, ya know?” you said between sniffles.

he chuckled. “he didn’t do an excellent job at that, did he now?”

silence ensued; his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand, your head on his shoulder still - your breathing still a mess from everything that has been said. “i’m sorry i hurt ya. let me spend my whole life making it up to ya,” he proposed. the promise made your heart skip a beat.

for the first time in a long time, you gave him a smile - the one you have reserved just for him, the one you made sure to convey everything you wanted to tell him. there are a lot of other things you feel the need to ask him, but this will suffice for now. this is more than you ever had in your whole life.

“i can’t believe we wasted so much time dancing around our feelings. that one time i wanted to hit one of our classmates because he was being pushy with ya, d’ya remember that?” he reminisced. “anyone can have everything in the world, and the only time i would crack is if it is ya being taken away from me.”

all your dreams pale in comparison to your reality now.

out of the blue, you heard soshiro giggle. “does this mean ya were telling the newbies that night that it was me ye’re into?” he stared at you, and you can’t help but see him as the little boy you grew up with. this is the man i love, you said to yourself. you squeezed his hand.

you didn’t respond. all you know is the color of your cheeks surely rivals the pink of the skies as the both of you watch the sun sets.

[alchemistc]

Tommy had a younger sister. Eight years apart, Tommy knows intimately what it's like to be the main caretaker to a little girl with a dead mom and a shitty dad.

He'll give the Buckley parents props for at least trying, later on down the line. He hasn't spoken to his dad in years. But he sees the look Maddie gets sometimes, the quiet little corner she retreats to when the Saturday Night title fight is Evan v Margaret and Phillip, and he knows that space, the cavernous echo: could I have done more? and this was never supposed to be my job and will I make this worse or better if I intervene? what raw nerves will I expose if I cut open my wrists to fertilize this soil?

They were good at hiding it, for a while. Evan on his okayest behavior, Margaret and Phillip refusing to rise to any bait like the polite suburban family they were - the kind that would move their grieving child across state lines and force her to keep a secret for decades so that she could never move on from it.

(He's been angry for Evan for years, now, but he's been angry for Maddie too, for himself, for the fucked up things you can never quite prepare for the people that gave you life do to you.)

He had a sister.

And she was bright, and beautiful, and full of laughter and love even when Dad couldn't be fucked to sign her permission slips (Tommy can still forge his father's signature, has it down more precisely than even his own) or buy her a new pair of shoes when the soles broke free and they pinched her toes in tight.

He had a sister. She'd been pissed at him, ten years old and landing brutal kicks to his shins the day before he left for training. She'd been pissed at him, sixteen and quietly sullen over the phone when he told her he was staying in LA. She'd been pissed at him, twenty-two and rudderless while he let her crash on his couch for six months in the shoe-box loft he'd called home.

And she'd loved him. God, she'd loved him. Idolized him: learned football and baseball just to be able to talk to him about the few interests he'd had that his father hadn't dismissed out of hand; always at his hip when he slapped together Kraft Mac and Cheese for dinner and snuck her lunch money at the end of the week when the groceries had dwindled.

He hasn't talked to his sister in years, either.

Maddie tucks herself into the space to his right, glances out over the lawn where Tommy has been sneaking the third cigarette he's allowed himself in the last ten years. She shifts her weight, watches the cherry bloom in the low dusk light. "You gonna share?"

Tommy tips his head to look at her. Digs into his chest pocket for the Reds he'd bought two days before the Buckley parents descended on LA for the wedding.

Maddie's an old pro, apparently, fingers comfortably slack as she lifts the offering to her mouth, glances at him for a light.

The lighter is ancient, still has a snippet of his grandfather's favorite poem etched into the sidewall, though it's worn down and hard to read. The metallic clink of opening and closing the lid, spark igniting on butane with a flick of his thumb, had gotten him through some of his worst nights in Afghanistan. Maddie sucks against the filter and the flame catches thin paper and packed tobacco.

She grimaces at the taste, but pulls, waits, blows smoke out her nose.

"You'd think the Buckley Bowl would calm down after the twentieth rematch," she remarks. She's white-knuckling the railing with her free hand.

"Your dad's gonna come out here in ten minutes wanting to shoot the shit about the Pirates July slump like he didn't accidentally imply he'd have preferred me for a son at brunch yesterday."

Maddie sighs. "They're not always like this. I - You've seen them. I just think. I think my first wedding was a brawl and my second didn't happen as planned and Buck hasn't given them any leeway to throw around their opinions and..."

"You don't have to defend them, you know," Tommy says, and - he's not as close with Maddie as he'd like, but they've talked about it, a little. How lucky she is that Evan hadn't ever lost faith in her, how lucky Evan is to have always had her in his corner. How unfair it had all been. "Not to me."

Maddie's lashes are wet, the corners of her eyes glistening. "They shouldn't do this. Every time, they do this."

"Well, the wedding does come with a devilishly handsome new ally against them," he reminds her, and her laugh is a little soggy, but her eyes sparkle as she takes him in. She takes a drag, does a piss poor job of trying to blow smoke rings. Her hand is tiny when it drifts over his forearm and squeezes.

"Well, soldier, I think we're the cavalry."

Tommy butts out his cigarette into the solo cup he'd set out next to the Adirondacks, an hour after he'd bought the pack, holds it out for Maddie to do the same. Her smile is still a little wet, but it's just as lovely as her. Tommy makes a note to hug her extra hard before she leaves at the end of the night.

"Once more unto the breach," Tommy quotes, and slides the patio door open to let her take point.