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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Refuge”

Happy Saturday, everyone! Welcome to week two of… fourteen? Is that how many episodes we’ve got this Volume? Man, we’re going to be here for a while.

There’s a ton to unpack in “Refuge,” but as promised I want to delve into the opening first. Given the scattered, symbolic nature of our intro I think it’s easiest to just chuck out observations in list form. I’ll segue back into cohesive recapping in a moment.

So, what have we got?

The glitching between a happy, whole Atlas and the burning wreckage we’re now dealing with. That works well given both Atlas’ tech-focus culture and the ways that tech has led to some of our biggest tragedies (hijacked army, framing Penny, etc.)

Ruby looks scared and is standing behind the rest of her team, separated from them by the title. I’m not really feeling that theme so far though, given Yang’s incredibly weak challenge, Ruby’s immediate forgiveness (during her talk with Penny), and the fact that she’s still working with half the team who vocally support her, particularly Nora. Unless something drastic changes, the idea of Ruby being the outsider here is silly.

We get shots of the girls with their past selves superimposed over their bodies and weapons. I like the message here—they carry those versions of themselves with them—just not how it’s contrasted with Ironwood’s image of an earlier Atlas now burning. So that’s all he is now? Everyone gets to embody their growth except for him? His past is erased to focus solely on our current predicament? I’m not picking up any redemption flags here…

Robyn’s hand reaches down towards Clover’s badge, which then circles to show off the Ace Ops. The final image contrasts an angry Harriet with a defeated Qrow. At least, I hope they’re contrasts. It’s going to read as absurd if they somehow end up working together after Qrow helped get her leader killed.

This morphs into Qrow alone who sits, devastated, until Robyn offers him a hand up and they both smile. I’m not a fan of this symbolism after the prison scene we got this episode. It’s like Qrow might have thought about his choices until Robyn’s anger reminded him that, oh yeah, he can be angry at Ironwood instead. These two teaming up, when their last team-up led to a death, is worrisome to say the least.

We get our horrifying image of Salem looming over Oscar as he clutches his head. The group’s weapons fall. This makes sense given this episode’s kidnapping and the team’s sheer inability to do anything to stop it.

Jaune stands determined—also makes sense with his trend of giving “pep talks”—while Ren and Nora stand apart, facing opposite directions. Nora looks back though.

Paralleling them are Winter and Weiss who also face opposite directions. This is becoming a common visual theme: Harriet and Qrow, Nora and Ren, Winter and Weiss. Here though, Weiss looks determinedly ahead while Winter stares down at her feet, unsure. Ugh, I just know they’re going to have her betray Ironwood too.

We get a brief glimpse of Whitley and Willow, not a whole lot to go on. Then we see Salem turning her chess pieces into grimm—literally changing the game—while Ironwood’s white pieces are turned to dust. I could make a quip about how white is supposed to go first, but the initial move was made thousands of years before Ironwood existed and thus he never stood a chance, certainly not when his own allies are actively working against him… but I won’t lol

Watts is smiling at a terminal while at his back Pietro works at his. More opposites. Pietro’s reflection looks to Penny even as his body continues to work, his heart contrasting his head. Penny, in turn, looks upset as her reflection flinches at something off screen and the glass cracks. Watts hacking her, perhaps?

We see the new teams as a cherry blossom (I think?) floats across the screen. It melts in Ren’s hand while escaping Nora’s. Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of that just yet.

Ruby and Yang share a look—undermining their supposed conflict this volume. Couldn’t we have gotten sister unity over the last three years instead?—and a fight against grimm starts up. It freezes as Cinder walks through it, hopefully implying that the group’s attention is on the wrong threat. While they concern themselves with low-level grimm, Salem and her allies are walking free and wreaking havoc.

Then Cinder screams and clutches her grimm arm as things go up in flames. I hope that’s not a death flag given that we’ve teased her death twice already and we only just got a glimpse at her backstory. Also, I think it’s worth mentioning here that there’s a “Summer is the Hound” theory gaining traction which, frankly, I think is 100% unsubstantiated. It’s a fun crack theory, but not something I’m inclined to take seriously until we get some actual evidence behind it. There is, however, potential evidence for people becoming grimm in general: Salem falling into the pool and Cinder receiving that arm. That’s not much though. So while I’m far from convinced that the Hound was once human—let alone that it was Summer—there is something to the theory that Salem may be able to control Cinder via her arm like she controls other grimm. After all, she knew Cinder was alive despite everyone else thinking she’d perished. They seem to have some sort of connection that hasn’t been explained yet and now that Cinder has willingly walked back into Salem’s clutches, she may not be able to walk out.

There are shots of all our other villains, the Lamp and the Staff reflected in Salem’s eyes, and Jinn’s blue smoke, perhaps suggesting that we’ll see her again, or the entity residing in the Staff (if they exist).

Atlas glitches back to normal—a false victory?—before the ice breaks and Team RWBY falls into the darkness below. Volume 3 vibes all around. There’s light above them emanating from the Staff, but as Ruby reaches for it grimm arms circle and pull her deeper. I hope this means that the group will suffer the defeat we need to keep Salem as a legitimate threat, but we had very similar imagery back in Volume 6 and they made it out of that situation just fine, so.

“Happy Ever After” glitches into “Happy? Never Again.” Which isn’t ominous or anything. We finally end on the classic RWBY image of Crescent Rose buried in the snow underneath the shattered moon.

On the whole I think the opening is strong and I like a lot of the symbolism in it, though I do question how much will actually end up being relevant to the story. My only gripes are that there are too many different styles going on—it feels like three or four different Volume openings slammed together—and the fact that it also feels overly long. I don’t think it’s actually any longer than our Volume 7 opening, but it seems that way to me, perhaps because of those varying styles breaking things up.

So that’s what we’ll be watching for the next twelve weeks! Let’s move onto the actual episode.

We open on the image of Clover’s bloody badge in Qrow hand, the same one we got in the trailer. I theorized last recap that we’d be getting the rest of our trailer/promo material this week and I was almost entirely correct in that. This moment, retrieving the bikes, fighting off the grimm, Watts getting hit, Oscar carried away… all we’re missing are some eye closeups and Nora powering up her hammer. As said, it makes me nervous for what the rest of the Volume holds. I can’t decide whether the footage wasn’t ready to be included in promo materials that early, or if RT is just determined not to give us any information past the first two episodes…

Regardless, this is supposed to be a moment of grief and all I could focus on was Qrow’s hand. Specifically, the lack of detail in it. On the whole, I’ve been very happy with the engine upgrade and I quite like RWBY’s animation now, but a closeup here draws too much attention to how, sometimes, they’re just not animating their characters in a way that looks natural. Where is Qrow’s wrist? Why is his palm perfectly smooth? Stylistically that’s usually fine, but when given the chance to stare at it you realize how odd it looks.

Says the woman whose own drawing skills suck but, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But we’re talking about the important bits in this episode! Out of frame Robyn is heard yelling, “This is your fault. You realize that, don’t you?” We’re meant to think that she’s telling Qrow this, especially with how he’s bent guiltily over the badge, until we cut to reveal Jacques right next to them.

I wish Robyn was saying all that to Qrow. It would mean that she was ignoring her own responsibility in Clover’s death, but at least it would have started an arc where Qrow has to grapple with what he did. Not the awful moment that’s coming up.

Before that though, Jacques claims that he’s the “victim” here who was “duped.” His hands may not be clean, but “at least I’m not a murderer.” Look, I’m not here to absolve Jacques of anything. The guy is an absolute shit stain on the Remnant world. However, he’s right in his overall point even if his words are BS. Meaning, Jacques is not a victim and he is a murderer, but he is not the one responsible for Clover’s death. Robyn has plenty of things to be furious at him for, but this is not one of them. Ironically, here we have Jacques functioning as the kind of villain the show wants Ironwood to be. He is a murderer because the company he runs exploits faunus and forces them to work in dangerous conditions (see: the death of Ilia’s parents). He is culpable because he a) had control over these conditions and b) has full knowledge of their flaws. He’s a racist who cares more about money than lives. His informed choices then led directly to deaths. Ironwood? Not anywhere near the same thing. Overlooking the “Omg Salem is here and I have to do something about it” context, he did not try to arrest Robyn. He did not force Qrow to resist arrest, or Robyn to get involved, or Qrow to break Clover’s aura, or Tyrian to stab him in the chest. Ironwood had no control or knowledge of these events, so he is not responsible for Clover’s death in the way that Jacques is responsible for the faunus’. RWBY is giving the right arc to the wrong character.

Robyn then insists that Qrow didn’t kill anyone. He didn’t strike the blow, but he certainly helped! Look, Qrow is one of my favorites, but I’m not about to claim that he didn’t have a hand in getting his friend killed. I seriously can’t believe the show is ignoring this.

We then segue into some, uh, questionable dialogue choices. Jacques is a “snake with a mustache”? Sorry, I can’t take Robyn seriously at the best of times, but definitely not when she’s tossing out laugh worthy insults like that. Nevertheless, this “snake with a mustache” is guilty because he “helped that man tear us all apart.” That man being Watts.

…why are they all in what amounts to the same cell with barriers dividing them? I suppose we could make the argument that they’re being held in some secret facility, given that they’re in this dark, garage-esque space with no lights and no other prisoners. Some sort of maximum security setup that... doesn’t have any other inmates and no additional security? Hmm. Then again, the power is supposed to be out and I don’t really trust RWBY’s ability to craft consistent backgrounds. I feel like they’re packed together merely because that’s plot convenient, not because it makes any sense in world.

Watts looks pretty comfortable in there though and Jacques is likewise full of confidence. He says that by now Whitley will have already called their lawyers to get him out. Now, non-imprisoned people know that the apocalypse is currently underway, as Joanna will later put it. No one is lawyer-ing at the moment, but it will be crucial to see whether Whitley is trying to get Jacques out despite the chaos. How faithful is he to his abuser? Can Willow start undermining Jacques’ influence now that they’re alone?

Jacque’s confidence thoroughly pisses Robyn off and she screams, punching the barrier between them. Keep this in mind for a second.

A moment later two guards show up to take Watts somewhere and… oh no. Please don’t tell me Ironwood is going to team up with him now that Penny has written him off? I know the guy has (presumably) already killed someone, and he must assume he’s killed Oscar, so we’re definitely in full villain territory despite the stupidity of it… but please don’t start working with Salem’s henchmen too. You know what? I’m not going to assume the worst until I actually see it. RWBY gives me enough nonsense as it is lol.

What I really want to talk about is that hit.

I’m somewhat concerned by a lot of the fandom’s reaction to this moment in comparison to another. Who remembers Volume 6? That scene when Qrow punched Ozpin directly into a tree? Now, I’m not keeping track of who says what when—this is a generalized reaction—but I saw a lot of posts defending that action. There were numerous justifications for the punch, but the three big ones were: 1. These characters are fighters and they’re used to it, 2. These characters have aura so it’s not that bad, and 3. Ozpin totally deserved it. Now, the problems here are that 1a. I don’t think punching someone when they’re crying on their knees is justified, whether they’re a fighter or not, 1b. Qrow was likewise punching Oscar, a totally innocent kid, 2. We had established earlier that Oscar was having trouble remembering to activate his aura and didn’t seem to have it active then (no ripple effect, he’s rubbing his jaw afterwards), and 3. Ozpin’s crimes are, as explored on this blog, not nearly the horrific actions that the story and fandom would like to paint them as. The point is that despite all this, lots and lots of fans said it was totally okay to punch Ozpin&Oscar. What’s the big deal? they asked. Now, lots and lots of fans—mostly when the trailer first dropped—say it’s not okay to punch Watts. Despite the fact that he’s also a fighter. Despite the fact that his aura has broken. Despite the fact that he’s not currently a threat (seated on the bed/Ozpin on his knees). Despite the fact that he’s responsible for helping Salem try to take over the world. If we were to make a case for who deserves to get hit, Watts is a WAY stronger candidate in my opinion, yet he’s the one who a lot of fans are scrambling to defend. Why? I assume it’s because hitting him feeds into the generalized police state/dictator theme Ironwood has been thrown into. It helps villainize Ironwood for fans to go, “Poor Watts. He’s done horrific things but no one deserves to face police brutality.” I agree. The only problem is that a lot of those same fans seem to have gone, “Ozpin can get over it. He deserved to be hit! I would have done a whole lot worse to him…” So is the difference only that one attacker is a military professional and the other is… a huntsmen professional who soon after that scene starts working for the military? Yeah. The show continually ignores that the group aren’t the rogue heroes they pretend to be. They worked under Ironwood for weeks, if not months.

The show isn’t clear about its morals and neither are the fans, with both changing tactics whenever it helps blame the character they already don’t like. When Robyn punches the barrier, do we really think she wouldn’t have hit Jacques if given the chance? Why would it be heroic for her to hit the Evil Man but it’s not okay for the grunt minor character to hit the other Evil Man? These morals don’t change just because you like Robyn and don’t like Ironwood.

Jumping ahead for a moment, we get another example of this hypocrisy with Joanna. A reporter is informing the people that the military seems to have stopped evacuations and there is an unheard number of grimm hanging out overhead, both things that are objective facts. He’s reporting as he should, sticking to what’s known and provable, and thus is, notably, not some lackey of Ironwood’s who is hastily presented as evil. Yet Joanna treats him like he is. She snatches the microphone from him and, when he starts to protest, threatens him with her weapon. After she’s done hijacking the feed, she shoves him on her way out.

Look at how scared this guy is. These are our heroes? This back and forth doesn’t work. Prior to his random killing spree, Ironwood took his fear and frustration out on some furniture, yet the show acted as if he was hurting real people. The mere possibility that he might use violence and intimidation to achieve heroic goals—getting Amity up/escaping Salem—was enough to label him as an antagonist because the understanding was that you can’t act like that no matter what your intentions are. Yet our current heroes can use as much violence and intimidation as they want to achieve their own heroic goal of warning the people? Do we think the story will encourage us to be critical of the group if they start beating up a bunch of Atlas goons to reach the access point? Of course not. And it’s that flip-flopping that’s the problem. Your heroes have to function differently than the villains in order for them to be heroes. Under that logic, our heroes haven’t acted like heroes since mid-Volume 6 and it’s getting harder and harder to watch.

Especially when we take the scene before this into account. Yup, we’ve still got Qrow gunning for Ironwood. Robyn bemoans the fact that they can’t do anything, to which Qrow replies, “We can do something. We can kill the man who put us here.” I… feel like I shouldn’t start repeating myself given how long this recap is—we’ll be here for forever lol—BUT I hope everyone reading this understands precisely how little this makes sense. How god awful a choice it is. I mean c’mon. Robyn attacked Clover unprovoked, Qrow teamed up with Tyrian, he broke Clover’s aura, Tyrian murdered him, Salem is here, and now he’s sitting in a cell with Watts and Jacques… but Ironwood is the guy he wants to kill? REALLY, QROW? THAT’S WHO YOU’RE GOING TO GO AFTER? I really can’t with this show sometimes. RWBY, put your clown makeup on.

We get a cut to Ironwood’s image just so there’s no confusion about who Qrow wants to help kill next and Joanna threatens that reporter who, you know, is also a citizen in need of help and protection… Her “General Ironwood has abandoned you, but we have not” sounds absolutely ridiculous when we just watched her intimidating this guy to get what she wants. ‘You can trust us! Unless we randomly decide we don’t like you.’ I have other things to say about Yang calling out that racist woman later on, but she gets props for helping her regardless. Honestly, I don’t get that sense from the cast very often: that they’d help you even if they don’t agree with you. They certainly didn’t offer that to Ozpin, Ironwood, or the Ace Ops.

There’s a very long shot of a scared toddler staring out the window, just to hammer home how young and innocent Mantle is. Seriously, pay attention to our imagery: Mantle is scared children in homes, cute children fist-bumping Jaune, family photos lost in the street, a stuffed toy run over by hoverbikes. It’s meant to evoke a general sense of domesticity and, again, innocence. Meanwhile, Atlas is only shown via Ironwood and Jacques, the villains. Where are the families living up in the sky? The children? The humanizing details? Our racist woman is an outlier who is quickly silenced by Yang. The rest of Mantle is characterized as victims: scared women, worried fathers, the faunus huddling together in the slums, even another racist who, while an asshole, is supposed to have a point about things like the embargo. Which is all true. These characters are all of these things, it’s just that they’re not unique in this. All this exists above too—from those families, to the faunus slave labor, to the beloved objects that remind you of someone’s worth—but they’re ignored to provide a simplistic look at Atlas as the villain.

Throughout this entire episode the group tosses out snide remarks about how “They” don’t care about you and it’s just… they who? The other thousands of innocents who have nothing to do with Ironwood? The hundreds of Mantle citizens you already evacuated? The redeemable people like Winter and Whitley? The group fights alongside a Schnee who was one of the most vocal racists a year and a half ago, yet writes off the entirety of Atlas as the bad guys. What a mess.

As Joanna’s voiceover finishes, we cut to Yang’s group going after Pietro’s tech. I already covered this scene in our promo material, but to summarize here: horrible tone. Absolutely nonsensical given the situation. Salem is here and Yang is giggling over bikes. In fact, the tone is off for most of the episode (our end being the wonderful exception): Yang’s joy ride, antics with the Mantle citizens, Blake poking fun at Weiss, the tube scene… none of it fits the context of the series’ big bad here to kill everyone. Arguments along the lines of, “But it can’t be doom and gloom all the time” or “This is a brilliant parallel to Volume 3 with happy times heralding tragedy” don’t erase the fact that our cast isn’t taking this threat seriously. Last week Weiss’ “We’re never going to sleep again” moment worked because it’s humor in the context of how bad everything is. All of this? It’s just the group goofing off despite supposedly being in mortal danger. This?

This doesn’t read well. I’d argue this scene is even worse in context due to lines like “The others are definitely missing out.” In our promo material I assumed that the group just split for the sake of splitting and they were, in fact, just missing out on something cool. But we’ve since learned that they split due to a fundamental disagreement about how to help people, a split Ruby compared to Salem’s plans, a split that Yang started! Why is she now acting like their separation is a funny “missing out” moment? It’s like if half your friend group decided to go to the movies while the other half went to a party with an unexpectedly good DJ. The movie-goers are people who are “missing out,” not the group who went off to take over a military base and everyone left angry.

Keep in mind that Ozpin is also back. Every fun times scene with Oscar in it has the added problem of Ozpin hanging back, not saying anything, not acknowledged, still a secret.

The other issue I brought up weeks back was the lack of grimm. Why are the streets deserted? Shouldn’t the army be overrunning the city? Well, turns out that there’s no army because… Salem just hasn’t bothered to send it into the city yet? When Jaune and Ren take out the low-level grimm Oscar asks if they’ve “already pushed this far in,” to which Yang replies, “No, I think those are from last night.” A few minutes later, last night’s grimm change to new non-Salem grimm as Oscar observes, “It’s the negativity. Salem’s forces aren’t moving in, but it’s enough to attract the stragglers.” Later still, Joanna asks, “…grimm are circling out there. What are they waiting for?” GOOD QUESTION. We don’t know, but it’s real convenient, isn’t it? RWBY redeems itself a bit at the end of this episode with that Hound grimm, but I’m still calling it out for having Salem hold off long enough for the group to evacuate pretty much all of Mantle and infiltrate the base. That’s real nice of her. As the characters keep pointing out, it would be a staggeringly different situation if they were overrun with grimm right now, huh? Kind of like the situation Ironwood (rightfully) assumed they’d be dealing with.

Again, I’m so glad our Big Bad is kind enough to let the heroes do everything they need to before lifting a finger to attack them.

RWBY seems to be setting up a, “See! There was always time to evacuate the city!” accusation even though no one could have known that and it makes zero logical sense. Salem brings an army with her so she can not use the army against Atlas? Right…

This all segues directly into our other promo scene. My initial comments still stand: the tone doesn’t work, the lack of urgency doesn’t work (Jaune playing with the kid, Oscar politely knocking on doors), the low-level grimm are not a threat, that shield is useless against anything not driven by plot convenience, and it’s weird for Jaune to be yelling, “Heads up!” when there’s no one in front of him. As said, this moment really doesn’t sit well given everything that’s going on. I had hoped that it would read better when seen in the episode itself, but that’s sadly not the case.

After Ren one-shots the grimm Jaune suggests that they use his amplified semblance to get everyone to the crater safely. Ren seems less than pleased about this, but agrees. Right now, it’s easy to say that he’s in a bad mood because Nora is mad at him, but what about the Volume before? Where’s this underlying tension coming from? I can come up with lots of theories, but at some point the show needs to confirm something. The longer we go not explaining what’s wrong with Ren, the less faith I have that it will make sense when we get it.

We see the racist woman upset that they have to go live with the “animals in the slums” rather than going up to Atlas. As said, I like that Yang helps her despite clearly hating the woman, I also think her criticism holds up well (ignoring the simplified ‘They abandoned you’ narrative). The only thing that bugs me is RWBY continually presenting racism as a problem to throw a band-aid on and then pat yourself on the back for ‘solving.’ Racist drunk says shit? Toss him in the trash! Racist woman says shit? Remind her that her survival depends on you! It’s not that these responses aren’t earned, but that we’re given them instead of an actual arc that tackles the complexities of this issue. I mean, Blake has abandoned the White Fang and we’ve barely mentioned the faunus slave labor in Atlas. When they head to the dust facility it’s conveniently run by bots instead of faunus. Can you imagine if Weiss Schnee walked into a group of exploited minorities, hoping to use them to access a military base? But of course, there’s nothing like that. RWBY ignores the actual issues for these simple solutions. Heroes just attack/threaten racists and then it all goes away. Yay.

The other problem with this scene is that we learn the crater is the slums. Um… what? Hold on, Joanna made it sound like it’s a separate place, potentially inhabited by grimm, yet it’s the same area Oscar was in last episode? How is that area warmer? This makes no sense to me.

Also, ha, the crater below Atlas apparently houses all the “animals” that Team RWBYJNR is very protective of. I’m waiting for them to do something that messes with the Staff—Ruby reaching for it in the opening—Atlas crashes down on a whole city of exploited minorities, and then Ironwood is blamed for it somehow. Can’t wait for that episode.

So the group starts making their way there and hark! An Ozpin! I’m always thrilled to hear him, even if he’s treated just terribly by the show. Oscar is at the back of the group and comments that “It should not be this hard just getting people to cooperate.” Except… they are cooperating? Oscar, you are watching them cooperate right in front of you. That one woman might grumble a bit, but she hasn’t made a move or said a word about not doing what you say. Where did this complaint come from? Another example of RWBY insisting something is there when it simply isn’t. More importantly, Ozpin responds:

“And yet, it’s becoming something I’m increasingly concerned about.”

“You know, I really don’t need your additional comments right now.”

Then why did you comment out loud, Oscar? What, do you normally talk to yourself like that? You were clearly speaking to Ozpin! Don’t criticize him for responding. I hate traps like that.

Ozpin immediately says that Oscar has every right to be upset and apologizes for leaving… it’s not apologizing for his entire existence like I wrote on the bingo board, but it’s close. Who’s surprised that Ozpin is the first to offer (another) apology? Not me. Oscar corrects him with, “I’m upset you came back!”

Okay. Here’s the thing. I like the idea of Oscar rejecting Ozpin both because he’s taken over his life and because Oscar has suffered horribly due to Ozpin’s presence (punched, slammed into walls, kidnapping attempts, etc.) That makes sense, it’s actually morally complex, and it’s great groundwork for character growth. The only problem is… this came out of nowhere. Oscar was shown accepting this new life when he left the farm. Then again when he insisted on fighting Hazel. Then again all the times he’s been told he’s acting like Ozpin and seems to accept that just fine. He’s clearly pleased with this new badass self he’s got going on—he even says as much—yet doesn’t want to acknowledge Ozpin as the catalyst for all this positive change. Okay, that’s something we could still work through, but what about the group? Fans are already theorizing that this is why Oscar is keeping Ozpin a secret, because he’s scared of how the group will react, punishing him to get at Ozpin again, and though he 100% has reasons for thinking that will happen, Oscar hasn’t shown that fear before now. Qrow punches him? Bonding moment with Ruby. Jaune attacks him? I made you all dinner. They all smile over his inevitable death/disappearance? He smiles back. Yang is the most scream-y? Happy to have her using him as an armrest. The group continually ignores him and treats him with suspicion? Not a peep of protest. It’s horrifying that Oscar accepted how the group previously treated him, but he did accept it. Where did this fear come from if we haven’t seen it in response to the harm done towards him? Just as importantly, can’t we have an arc where Oscar is mad at the team some too? I’ll admit that the general premise of blaming Ozpin makes sense for the traumatized fourteen-year old, but after two years of blaming Ozpin for everything… aren’t we sick of this? His team has actively hurt him, outside of Ozpin’s ability to prevent, yet Ozpin is the one who takes all the heat for their behavior. “I felt like I was actually part of the team” should lead to the realization of, “Hey, Yang shouldn’t yell at both of us for things outside of our control” not, “Hey, you should stay away forever because others have decided they don’t like you.”

All of this following Ozpin saving Oscar’s life in the airship. Then saving his life again after Ironwood shot him. Our heroes are real grateful, huh. I hate that RWBY is taking another fave and doing them dirty, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

Ozpin also mentions his magic—would be nice if Oscar brought that up with the team!—and that he is now “recollecting my longest held memories.” He…is? When? Don’t you think that’s something important to show us? We keep being told that “the merge” is occurring but not shown what that actually means. Seriously, when did Oscar get slammed with that many memories??

Please just use the aura machine and give Ozpin a robot body. RT doesn’t have the chops for writing this situation.

As they continue on towards the crater Ren snaps at Jaune about not needing a “pep talk.” Jaune looks annoyed at the attitude which, fair. It says a lot about the writing the last few years that Jaune is the character I’m least frustrated with lol. Likely because they haven’t had him do anything lately which, given that he’s not one of the title characters and our cast is bloated enough as it is, I’m still totally fine with.

Ozpin concludes the scene with, “We need to find a way to work together. Not just the two of us, all of us” with the camera panning up to look at Atlas. I’m glad someone isn’t ready to throw Ironwood under the bus. Given how the group reacted to him sparing Lionheart’s name though, I don’t think they’ll follow Ozpin in his forgiveness. If anything, I expect this perspective to just be more hate fuel.

We move to Ruby’s group which now includes May. Woohoo! She still hasn’t gotten half the screen time as Joanna, but I’m really glad she’s here. In fact, between a useful semblance and that adorable courtesy, I love her already. Despite, you know, helping the team break into the base and all that. Everyone has their flaws lol.

She also frames the Amity plan as getting the world “talking again.” Why is everything presented like a fun romp rather than avoiding death via Salem? Absolutely terrible tone this episode.

The group hilariously waltzes past a sign labeled AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and enters the dust facility with the bots I mentioned earlier. This I do like. My hypothetical scenario incorporating the racism issue aside, I like that Weiss is using her knowledge and connections to further the mission, rather than something conveniently dropping into the group’s lap. Like Amity suddenly being ready for launch…So yeah, it makes sense that Weiss would know of a potential way in.

Sending someone up through the tubes though? Ehhh… I know they have aura and everything—and that Zwei was once mailed—but are we sure this is safe?? Doesn’t matter because Nora sends Weiss through with a misplaced button press. Good thing that was the tube heading to the base. Too bad Weiss is heading to a guarded military base alone. It should have been May going first with her semblance activated, but no. Chuck this onto the ever increasing ‘Bad Tone’ pile. There should not be giggles over Weiss being in that level of danger, especially with everything else going on. Ruby’s expression is the only one on point.

Before Weiss is yeeted off though, Penny and Ruby have a talk wherein Ruby lies her ass off. Penny says, “I do not like it when friends fight” and when Ruby starts talking about Yang she corrects her, revealing that she’s actually thinking about Winter and Ironwood. “They were our friends.”

I was ready to sing Penny’s praises and really, she still gets credit for being the only one who has acknowledged this, but her opinion is (once again) overridden by Ruby’s. Penny goes, “but then the Ace Ops attacked you” which Ruby doesn’t bother to correct. How would Penny know otherwise? The only information she has about that battle is what Ruby has told her, but Ruby is lying via omission here. The Ace Ops never attacked her. They very explicitly refused to start a fight. Ruby attacked them. Then when Penny is upset that Ironwood said “people were going to die because of me,” Ruby takes her by the shoulders and angrily insists, “That was a lie and he was only saying it to hurt you.”

Ruby… you’re the one lying. You know damn well Ironwood didn’t just say that to hurt Penny. Oh yeah, the general trying to keep a kingdom alive from an immortal witch is preoccupied with hurting Penny’s feelings for no reason other than being evil. That makes sense. More importantly, Ironwood is right. Look, I’m by no means blaming Penny for anything. She fought off Cinder, took the power when there was no other choice, and has now gotten caught up in Ruby’s plans which include incredibly misleading information that Penny has no reason to question. She’s doing her best and deserves that hug. But that doesn’t mean she lacks responsibility here. Ironwood needs Penny to evacuate. Penny—listening to Ruby—won’t help him. Ergo, if something happens to the people up in Atlas Penny will be partly responsible. If I have the key to a door with lots of people trapped behind it as a fire rages, and I refuse to open that door, I have indeed allowed a lot of people to die. As Penny says, she didn’t want this responsibility… but she has it. She has to deal with it. Too bad she’s with Ruby who encourages her to ignore it instead, insisting that nothing bad that happens after their choices could in any way be connected to them. Kind of like Qrow ignoring his own actions against Clover.

Because that’s the takeaway from this scene. Penny had empathy for their friends and then Ruby talked her out of it. She never even acknowledges that those were indeed seven friends that she betrayed. That’s horrible.

What happened to Ruby? I used to love this girl.

Continuing our tone issue, Nora is watching this show like her favorite soap is on. Okay then.

Weiss goes up the tube and then we cut to Fiona saying that… the Mantle police are helping them evacuate? So the military is bad, but the police are good? I need to stop trying to make sense of RWBY’s allegory.

When Yang and the others return Fiona makes an innocent comment about being worried about how they’d fare without the rest of their team. Yang is pissed.

Ah, so we’re back to her giving allies attitude for random observations. Remember the anger at Marrow for suggesting she and Blake try different team-ups? Now here Yang is, in a different team-up, doing quite well. Funny how we never acknowledge who first suggested that. Now, Fiona reveals a totally logical worry that losing four fighters might make a difference when fending off grimm, but Yang is poised to be angry at everyone, about everything, all the time. Which I get is something that a lot of fans like. I’ve already seen a couple of posts praising RT for letting Robyn and Yang be angry without consequences because women often can’t do that and, fair. That is indeed one way to read it. My problem is that their anger is actually irrational, not just called as much because we women are ~emotional~. Their anger isn’t justified: Robyn because she had a significant hand in all this nonsense (that she’s ignoring) and Yang because it’s clear Fiona means no harm here. This is anger that needs to be called out, not ignored because yay women expressing emotion. That kind of defense is reserved for a woman’s justified anger that needs to be expressed without criticism, especially in a narrative that tries to undermine her perspective. But what has Fiona done to Yang? Nothing. More importantly, the show has yet to teach Yang a better coping mechanism than lashing out at people, be it with her fists, words, or angry glares. Yang has been through the ringer and it makes sense that she’s angry, but that doesn’t mean she gets a lifelong pass to treat those around her badly.

Anyway, Joanna says they have a lot of people to keep warm even though the crater was supposed to be warmer? And they’re stealing dust? So what are they using it for it not heat? We’re not seeing any difference here and frankly all the civilians should be dead by now. Or at least entering hypothermia. (Give me that conflict: how do you keep people safe when they’re not all conveniently up for walking all the way to the slums?) Joanna also says that they’re trying to get the “Old mine shafts into a livable condition” which would take how long exactly? In fact, I’d say our timeline is already wonky. We’ve watched Yang hide the Ace Ops last Volume, fly to Winter and Penny, find the Happy Huntresses, wait around for Oscar to show up, ran off on her own at some point to scout, went to get bikes, evacuated all those people to the (far away) slums, then went back out to fight off the grimm. That had to have taken up a good chunk of the night, though it’s impossible to tell the time with Atlas’ snowy sky. I’m leaning towards a bingo mark though…

The faunus who I thought was a badger or something is… a bear I guess? He has a bear-like paw, but his nails seem too long… I honestly don’t know. But he’s Fiona’s uncle! Cute. She's off to deal with a fight that’s starting while the group goes to fight more grimm. Finally, the episode gets good.

The teamwork to take out the dragon grimm was nice, always glad to see it, but the real fight starts when two more grunts show up and then immediately run away. What could have scared them off?

The Hound. (I’m sorry, all I can think of is Game of Thrones when I write that, but it seems to be the name the fandom is adopting, so…) Remember how I said it was unlikely to be a threat on its own? I WAS WRONG. Holy shit this thing is terrifying. It snatches Oscar and in some wonderfully quick animation absolutely obliterates the kid. Oscar is thrown around like a chew toy, desperately trying to rabbit kick at this thing and it does [checks notes] absolutely nothing. I’d normally say something about our farm boy always getting the shit kicked out of him, but this scene was too good for my salt.

Then it changes shape, growing arms, and starts using Oscar as a shield. Yang can’t pull back in time and is snagged by her head, the Hound tossing her into the wall hard enough to break the stone. She’s still conscious though and warns the others about its strategy.

“But grimm aren’t that smart,” Jaune says. Maybe if you kids (Fiona keeps calling them kids) had stayed in school you would have learned that grimm get smarter with age! Oobleck knew that. Or, just as likely, this is a special Salem grimm. Hard to say at this point.

The point though is that the group is helpless in the face of this monster. I do want to emphasize this. I’ve seen a few people criticizing them for not doing enough to save Oscar and it’s like, what did you want them to do? Yang tried to attack and the grimm nearly had her hitting Oscar instead. Ren tried to attack and the grimm changed so fast his weapon was useless. Factor in that morphing—which the group has never seen before—the horror of Oscar hanging there limp, and the general fighter response of, ‘I can’t just keep attacking head on because that thing might kill me,’ and you realize the group was screwed from the start. They can’t stand up against this thing, not without a good strategy anyway, which there’s no time to think up. For the first time in years, ever since Tyrian, Salem actually made the right, villainous call.

Ren screams, “Give him back!”—which was just lovely in an angsty way—and the grimm creepily cuddles Oscar against his chest. Then he responds, “No.” Yeah, they’ve never seen that before either. Can you blame them for their shock? I’m impressed that they were on their bikes just seconds later, managing to keep the grimm in sight. That speaks to their combat experience. Not the ability to power through a situation where they’re clearly outmatched, but their ability to pick themselves back up and try again.

... Ah, so that’s why Pietro was oh so randomly making them bikes. The plot needed a way for them to keep up with a flying grimm. Got it.

My takeaway? RT should be writing horror. They’re far better at it. The animation, sound effects, voice acting, the grimm’s speech and protective instincts, that splatter of goo on Oscar’s cheek…

... stellar all around. Like the Apathy, this is the best I think RWBY has been since the lore episode of Volume 6. Granted, action sequences like this aren’t required to grapple with any of the messy morals and character consistency of other scenes, but still. If RWBY had just given me a lighthearted ‘Girls fight cartoon monsters’ show or a horror fueled ‘Girls fight monster abominations’ show, I’d have been happy. This? This is the only redeeming part of the episode. And it’s indeed one hell of a redemption. Look at this thing!

I’m not going to say it erases all the bad we got—it doesn’t—or that it likewise erases problems like Salem not using the rest of her army, but it’s a notable step in the right direction. This grimm is a threat. This grimm is a mountain the cast has to overcome. If this is the minion its master should be Everest. I still think this Volume is going down the tubes fast (it’s going the way of Weiss lol), but if it can give me more scenes like this? It might not be a total loss.

Last thing to acknowledge: What about Ozpin? I’ll admit it doesn’t look good. Given how fast he takes control he should have been able to override Oscar’s will and at least fight back a little with that spectacular magic we saw during the finale. So why didn’t he? I hope we get an in-world explanation: it happened so fast even Ozpin couldn’t do anything (shaky, but I’ll take it in a pinch), now that the merge is farther along he can no longer take control—something. Because I can easily imagine how quickly the fandom, and even the cast, will turn on him for not playing deus ex machina here. In reality, I think Ozpin didn’t take control simply because the plot needed him not to. The writers needed Oscar kidnapped so any potential out from that is conveniently forgotten… which is another knock against their writing, despite how great the scene otherwise was. The point is to take all these potential pushbacks and find a satisfying way to circumvent them, not pretend they don’t exist. RT can still save themselves here by providing that explanation later, so I hope they’re smart enough to do that. Ozpin has been blamed for everything at this point. His own kidnapping doesn’t need to be added to the list.

Also, still no word on Schrödinger's councilman. We’ve got to wait another week to see whether he’s dead or not.

Finally, let’s update the bingo card!

I’m crossing off “Ruby gives an ‘inspiring’ speech built on ignoring facts she doesn’t like” for that conversation with Penny. Yeah, it’s a speech to her alone about her worth, but Ruby mischaracterized the situation so badly I’m mad at her lol

I never thought the story would straight up just not have the grimm army attacking, so I think I’ll hold off on “Army of grimm conveniently doesn’t kill any civilians” until we see if/when it gets involved.

I’ll likewise hold off on the timeline slot until we see how bad things get…

Maria is on thin ice given that we have no idea what she’s supposedly doing while the group is off on their missions. Stay tuned.

Today we’re crossing off “Deadly cold conveniently doesn’t kill any civilians.” They should all be dropping like flies by now.

A friend pointed out that Cinder’s Cinderella flashback counts as an “Overly obvious fairy tale allusion.” In fact, I talked about how much of a shorthand that is, so that’s getting a mark.

From last week I’ve also decided to include Amity for “Retconning previous lore.” Now that the group is fully underway with their plan it reads as even more egregious that we were told it wasn’t ready.

I’ll hold off on Ozpin’s space for a while. See if he apologizes to the whole group and, if so, exactly what for.

“Oscar is finally kidnapped”—check!

Well, that’s a whole lot of headway this week. Can’t wait to see where the next episode takes us... Here’s hoping we spend a lot of time with that Hound. MVP of the episode.

Until next time! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #rwby recaps

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 4 years

Note

HERE'S THE OFFICIAL ASK BABE, YOU CAN SAVE IT FOR NEXT WEEK BUT HIT ME WITH THE RONNIE GOODNESS. That boy has a serious sweet tooth (fight me it's my own canon) and I want to hear about the VERY MOMENT that it dawned on him that he can eat things off of us whenever he wants. ALLOW ME TO SET THE SCENE. Friday night. The Mandalorian is back for season two and you're both FUCKING STOKED. Ice cream sundaes. You have a little something on the corner of your mouth and he leans in to kiss it away. 💜

A/N: LET ME JUST SAY... THIS FIC GIVES ME ALL THE FUCKIN’ FEELS I COULD POSSIBLY HAVE AND I THINK IM IN LOVE WITH THIS ADORABLE NERD NOW... @millenialcatlady THANK YOU FOR PUTTING THIS NUGGET IN MY HEAD AND THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME TO RUN WITH WHATEVER I PLEASED AS FAR AS IT ALL GOES! I LOVE YOU MY MUSE AND I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS TAKE ON YOUR AMAZING ASK!🖤

Warnings: food play, pregnancy, pregnant sex, tit sucking, cowgirl style, DIRTY TALK (the good kind), slight breeding kink, stuffing/creampies, Use of the word Daddy but not in the kink way, absolute fluff, absolute smut, just pure marital bliss

(Text Thread)

Ronnie: Hey, honey. At the store picking up some things. Anything you want for dinner?

Y/N: Oh, babe, you read my mind. I would love some ice cream, chocolate sauce, cherries, the works… oh, and pickles!

Ronnie: LOL. Okay whatever you and my lil’ pumpkin want. I’ll be home in a little bit.

Y/N: We love you, daddy!

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

You put the phone down to adjust your body on the couch, the further along you were getting, the harder it was to feel comfortable, let alone pretty. But Ronnie never failed to make you the happiest woman in the entire world. Always asking what you needed, rubbing every inch of your body when it ached, running baths to soothe you and your growing little one, and fucking you whenever you had the rush to eat him alive.

He always went out and got whatever you needed, even if it meant waking up from a dead sleep at four in the morning all because ‘the baby’ wanted some black olives that seemed to be missing from the pantry. He was so selfless that way and in every way. You thanked whatever entity over and over again that he and you had met at the diner that one day. Both ordering the same cheeseburger and milkshake for lunch, sitting across the way, shooting glances as his mouth devoured the meat like the carnivore he was, and then proceeding to do the same to you in his smart car not even thirty minutes later.

The both of you were inseparable at that point. Loving the same things, watching the same shows, eating the same foods. It was kismet in every single sense of the word and even more so when you found out that a carbon copy of you both was on the way.

You sat there, contemplating the last year, waiting for your knight in shining armor to arrive home with the good stuff, rubbing your protruding belly as your little girl flailed around like the deviant she was.

“I know sweetie,” you whispered to your bump, “daddy will be home in a little while,” glancing up as you heard the key turn in the lock.

“Hey, there ladies,” your grinning husband beamed as he saw you cuddled up on the couch waiting for him, “how’s my favorite girls?” he put the paper sack down and knelt between your legs, pulling your face to him with his large hands, kissing you with the sweetest effort he could muster.

“We’re good daddy,” you grinned, grabbing his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along his shaven cheeks, admiring his soft pouted lips, “we missed you today.”

He sighed, bringing his hands to meet your bump, rubbing it to get his daughter’s attention, “I missed you girls too,” bending his head down to meet your clothed skin, kissing the baby, “So. Much.”

A series of flutters hit his hands as your daughter squirmed at his honeyed voice, “I think we’re slightly hungry, huh, baby girl,” he laughed as he felt more kicks pummel his fingers.

“God, yes we are,” you whined as he got up to pick up the sack and bring it to the kitchen, “comin’ right up ladies,” he smiled grabbing the stuff out of the bag and chuckling at your excitement when bringing the jar of dill pickles and a fork your way.

He kissed your forehead after taking the food, “I’m gonna make our sundaes after I get changed, okay honey?”

“Ronnie, I can make the food,” you said struggling to lift your body from your spot.

“Woah there mama,” he pushed you and your pickles back on the plush sofa, “I can do it. How about you queue up the show and put your feet up. I’ll rub ‘em when I sit down.”

“Honey I really wan-,”

“No,” he scolded, “you and my daughter relax while I get the menial tasks done that you shouldn’t bother yourself with. You’re the one doin’ all the hard work after all,” he grinned again, his glasses moving up his perfectly chiseled nose, displaying his precious dimples.

You prayed that your little girl would get those perfect features of his. The ambered eyes, the dark hair, the moles that littered his body. He was too damn perfect.

“Okay honey,” you sat back, balancing the jar on your belly as you shoved one pickle down your throat, rolling your eyes back into your head at the satisfaction of sustenance. He chuckled again, padding upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes as you got your weekly show ready for viewing.

He made his way down after changing into a pair of black joggers, and a grey t-shirt, the sight of him hopping down the stairs causing a warmth to radiate through your pussy. After a few minutes of cabinet opening, and fridge closing, he came into the room armed with the majestic concoctions he’d created for the both of you, grinning ear to ear at the sight of your doe eyes twinkling at the food.

“Babe,” you looked at him, “I love you so much, this looks amazing!”

“I thought you’d like all the fixings,” he grinned even wider, sitting down and handing your special sundae to which you located where the pickle jar had been.

He situated himself with an arm around you, and the sundae on his thigh, lifting the blanket you’d had over him so he could scoot even closer. After some rearranging, you pressed play on the show you’d decided on and devoured your ice cream as if you’d never had any your entire life.

Half an hour in you held the empty bowl, thinking about sitting up to put it on the coffee table. You started to strain up to put it there, when Ronnie noticed your movements before you could even put them to action, “honey, here,” gesturing his large hand to which you placed it in and he did the deed for you.

Sitting back after putting both bowls down, he threw his arm back around your shoulder, and the other to meet your belly, rubbing the spot as you laid your head between his neck. He looked down at the scene before him, smiling and kissing your crown, taking in the jasmine-scented shampoo that emanated from your gorgeous hair. Grinning yet again as he saw his unborn daughter writhe under his touch.

His eyes wandered to your plunging cleavage, where a stream of chocolate sauce had found its home. His eyes widened at the glimmer from it, thinking of how he’d love to cover you head to toe in the mixture and lick every single bit of it from your perfect skin. His loose cock straining in his joggers as he became restless at the thought of bending you over the couch and stuffing you fuller than you already were of him.

“Babe?” you looked up at his lust-blown eyes behind his glasses, “are you okay?” running your hand to brush his painful erection.

“What’s going on?” looking at him with concern, “do you need something?”

“Honey,” he calmly stared into your eyes, “I need to do something,” his lips fell into a pout.

“Okay?” you gestured, “what is it?”

“I need to fuck you,” he matter of factly said, gripping your belly with his hand.

Your lower stomach twisted in a knot, “o-okay babe, that’s fine with me,” you chuckled at his desperation.

“But I need to cover you,” he moved his hand to plunge in between your tits, the motion causing a gasp to leave your mouth, “with chocolate sauce,” he said showing you the amount that had found its way there in the first place.

You were fully on fire at this point, willing to let him cover you in anything he wanted to get him to fuck you good and hard.

“Get the bottle,” you gripped his forearm, pleading him to wreck you.

He jumped from the couch and ran to the kitchen to grab the large bottle of sauce, grinning like a fucking kid in a candy store. In the time he had grabbed it and run back, you were already completely undressed and sat upon the edge of the couch, tits, and belly protruding out as you arched your back towards him.

“Fuck, honey,” he beamed at your changed body, opening the bottle to drip it on your delicate skin, “you look fucking delicious,” watching the cascade of sweetness drip into the crevices of your breasts.

You sat there, completely dazed as your husband painted a mural on your tits, musing as he watched the chocolate cover your engorged peaches.

“Perfect,” he marveled, capping the bottle and setting it on the coffee table. He made quick to remove his shirt, displaying his thick body to which you shuddered at the sight.

“Suck my fuckin’ tits babe,” you mewled, falling to pieces as he brought his lips to your aching buds, sucking the life out of them as he situated himself between your legs kneeling before you on the couch again. His hands caressing your luscious pregnant curves, rubbing the sauce all over his face and your jugs.

“These fuckin’ tits,” he moaned, “they’re gonna be the death of me, honey,” removing his glasses as he devoured them, leaving no trace of chocolate as he finished his work.

He gazed at your blissed-out face, taking in the sounds you made and the way your lips parted as he made you fall apart over his gestures. His hand wandered down to your heat, feeling the wetness seeping out of your weeping cunt for him.

“So fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, rubbing the skin with his middle finger.

“I want you to ride me, honey,” he begged with golden eyes.

You of course couldn’t resist his puppy dog pleading and made him lay back on the couch like the good boy he was.

“Take your pants of babe,” helping him undo his joggers as his large cock sprung free from its cage. Grabbing it in your soft hands and pumping it as he guided you onto his lap, your juicy thighs straddling either side of him. You let him help you guide your pussy to his tip, settling down as the shaft was covered by your walls as you sank down.

“Fuck, Ronnie,” you whined out, feeling every inch of him touch your fluttering pussy, “you make me feel so damn full babe.”

Undulating your hips on his lap, his hands gripping your sides with a bruising touch, rocking you back and forth on his body.

“Yeah, honey?” he panted, “you like bein’ all full of me don’t you?”

Thrusting up into your cunt, knocking on your tight cervix, releasing a piercing moan from your open mouth.

“Goddammit!” you screamed speeding up your motions, “I fucking love it so much!”

Your tits bouncing at his gyrations, your belly on display, it was almost too much for your poor husband. Your walls began to clench around him, signaling your orgasm, to which he moved his left hand down towards your throbbing clit. Rubbing tight little circles as he watched you unravel in front of him for the millionth time that night.

“That’s it, honey,” he growled, “fucking cum all over my cock. You know you want to.”

Watching your face look down at him, screaming for release, “I wanna cum on your big cock babe!”

“Fuck Y/N,” his eyes went wide as your pussy released its sweet nectar, causing his pulsations to quicken.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he gritted his teeth as you were rag-dolled on his thighs, sweat beading up on his forehead as he watched you grip your aching tits whining and moaning like a whore on his thick cock splitting you in half.

“Stuff me full babe!” you cried out, rubbing your sensitive nipples, as he slammed your hips harder with his. He let out a feral growl as his dick twitched inside you, releasing his potent seed into your sopping hole. He pumped up and down slowly, watching the mixture began to seep out, only to have this bright red cock push it back in with a squelch and a groan.

You both took some deep breaths, stilled in position, still gripping your tits as his hands left your hips to grip your bump, “you girls okay?” coming out of his haze in concern.

“Yes babe,” you laughed moving to get off his lap to be more comfortable, “we’re just fine, I promise,” patting his blushing chest as he tried to control his pulse while helping you get into position. He sat up, grabbing your t-shirt from the ground as well as his, helping you place it back on, kissing every inch of your face and neck as he did so.

“I love you, Y/N,” he grinned, pulling your face to his in a searing kiss as your fingers found his loose strands, pushing them back as your tongues danced over each other.

You pulled off, gazing into the swirl of his ambered eyes, still petting the baby hairs that had stuck to his face, “I love you too babe.”

At that moment, your daughter made her presence known again, sandwiched in between your sweat covered bodies. Ronnie brought his large hand to meet your over your belly, “she’s gonna be mad at us all night now, huh?” he laughed, rubbing on the spot where her little foot was poking in and out.

“Ya,” you agreed, “I’m gonna be up all night with her I think,” putting your other hand over his and kissing his cheek as you both sat back into the embrace of the couch.

Leaning down to press his lips to your bump, “pumpkin you’d better not give your mama any grief tonight,” he pecked a few times, rubbing his thumb over the flutters erupting, “she needs to sleep just as much as you do baby girl.”

Your hands rubbed the back of his head as he nuzzled on your belly, cradling it as he shushed your squirming little one. The sounds of his hushing lulling you to sleep in the light of the tv playing the show you’d both been neglecting.

After a few minutes of rubbing and cooing, he lifted his head to look at your sleeping form, admiring the way your face looked so peaceful in the white light of the tv. He kissed your forehead, gripping under your knees and back, lifting your dead weight into his hulking body. He sauntered up the stairs, carefully moving you out of the way of sharp objects and corners as he found your shared bedroom. He placed you gently on the bed, making sure you were on your side, and grabbed the body pillow you’d worn out over the last few months of its purchase.

He placed it just so it supported the baby, and your aching body, watching as you closed in on its plushness, sighing in relief when you’d relaxed on it. He stared in the dim light of your bedside lamp in total adoration of you, noticing the baby moving in your body as you quietly snored.

He bent down once more to kiss the appendage poking out, “go to sleep baby girl,” he whispered on your skin, “mama and I love you to the moon and back, pumpkin,” kissing it again and then moving up to you.

“Goodnight honey,” he whispered into your ear, kissing it at softly as he possibly could, “I love you more than life itself.”

He switched the lamp off, and slid into his side of the bed, enveloping himself around you, cradling his baby. Letting out a heavy sigh as he let the sweet sounds of your snores lull him to sleep.

-----------

I. AM. A. FUCKIN’. PUDDLE.

IF ANYONE NEEDS ME IM BURYING MYSELF ALIVE BECAUSE IVE DIED OVER THIS ONESHOT. I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH.

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

#ronnie peterson smut #ronnie peterson x reader #ronnie peterson x female reader #ronnie peterson #the dead dont die #ronnie peterson fluff #tw pregnancy #tw pregnancy kink #adam driver #adam driver fan fiction #adam driver fanfic #my writing #adam driver one shot #ronnie peterson oneshot

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

You Were Never Truly Gone ch.8

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Soooo, you guys saw the leaks? Bruh.....

This was it, her triumph, everything Kiyomi was hoping for. The pair was together in front of the altar, flanked on both sides by the mass of Faceless guard, each member hidden behind the traditional mask. Standing in the first row Kiyomi admired how gorgeous Mikasa looked in her white wedding dress, head covered by a hood. The Shogun was right there with her, dressed in black as a counterpoint to his bride, the smile on his face genuine and Kiyomi felt a pang of pride in her chest.

See? I told you that she’s beautiful.

Everything falling into place, as she listened to the Shogun recite his wedding vows, Kiyomi’s mind was already plotting on what to do next. She was the hero now, the one who brought them the new symbol, and she had to make sure that the other nobles remembered that, first she would….

The man was finished, and now it was Mikasa’s turn to speak. The priest looked at her expectantly, nudging her to begin her vows but the girl didn’t say a word. Instead, her gaze scanned the crowd until she found Kiyomi’s, forcing their eyes to clash. Confused, Kiyomi mouthed for her to go on with the wedding. But to her horror, the Ackerman girl didn’t comply.

An exceptionally cruel smile parted the blood-red lips.

And then the Shogun was stumbling back, a dagger thrust in his chest. One of the Faceless moved drawing his blade, and before anyone could do anything he rammed it into the groom’s back.

Chaos ensued.

Screams from everywhere, sounds of running as people panicked while Kiyomi stood where she was, staring at the scene. The treacherous guard pulled down his mask, revealing that shitty beard and green eyes that Kiyomi despised. Eren Yeager, the bastard, reached out and took Mikasa’s hand, pulling her into an embrace. All around them, the rest of the Faceless guard followed his lead, drawing their swords and hacking into the gathered nobles, blood splattering all over the temple’s walls.

Kiyomi couldn’t move. She stood and stared as the two kissed in front of the altar, the place where she was supposed to have her greatest victory. Instead of that, she was looking at the greatest loss as people around her kept dying, cut down by the Shogun’s guard. To make everything worse the ground itself shook, and faint stomps could be heard.

Separating from Mikasa’s lips, Eren looked her straight in the eye, his triumphal grin disgusting to look at.

“You know how I told you that I can’t restart the rumbling?”

Cracks ran all over the roof, and his next words confirmed Kiyomi’s greatest fear.

“I lied.”

A colossal titan’s foot came through the ceiling, and Kiyomi didn’t even get the chance to scream before she was crushed to a pulp.

Waking up with a gasp Kiyomi clutched at her chest, staring wide-eyed over the darkened room. Cabin, it was the cabin, she was still at the ship. A dream, nightmare, nothing else. Breathing deep to dispel the terror, she squeezed her eyes shut while massaging her temples.

It would seem that Eren’s sudden re-appearance did a number on her mental state, and Kiyomi couldn’t even say that she was surprised by that. He was nothing short of a monster, and she was right to hate him, right to despise that man from the bottom of her heart.

No, pull yourself together.

It doesn’t matter that he’s back, the plan is still going, Mikasa agreed to it. There will be no assassination and titan army, that was in the past and wouldn’t happen again. The horrors of the past were nothing but a memory, a terrible one but gone forever. Calming herself with measured breathing, Kiyomi laid back on the bed, looking at the moonlight dancing on the cabin’s ceiling.

It will be fine. Everything will be fine. Just a few more days…

The week-long voyage was supposed to be a beautiful dream. Kiyomi imagined it sometimes, how it would feel when she is carrying the fabled Mikasa Ackerman back towards Hizuru, saving her nation and the world in a single stroke. It was the moment of her greatest triumph, years of plotting and sacrifice finally bearing that sweet, sweet fruit. She wanted to spend the time wisely, get to know the Ackerman girl – the future wife of the leader – better, maybe plant some seeds into her that she could collect on later. Yes, it should have been great, a dream come true.

It was a purgatory instead.

Any time Kiyomi saw Eren she couldn’t help but feel the anger in her rising. He wasn’t even doing anything, just talking to the sailors and soldiers, joking with them even, the bastard truly had no brakes. They all liked him, she heard, Aaron was a popular guy and it made her teeth grit. Nobody knew that they were laughing around with a monster, a man that started an apocalypse.

No, to them this was just Aaron, a friend of the Ackerman girl.

It was even worse to find the two lovebirds together. Kiyomi was never big on romance, always putting career in front of her personal needs, and it didn’t feel good being slapped in the face with it. It was everything, all the little gestures – watching them eat together, passing by as they strolled along the ship corridors hand-in-hand, catching them stargazing while they laid on the roof. She had no issues with Mikasa having fun, laughing, giggling, and being in love, she hated that Eren got to experience it too. It wasn’t fair, not to the millions that he trampled.

Her mood got even worse when she saw them kissing, hidden in corners of the ship, once in a cargo hold too, it made Kiyomi miserable. Didn’t help that after three night of relatively peaceful sleep, bar the nightmare, she was once again awoken by: “Ah, Ah Eren, right there! Don’t stop!”.

That night she didn’t lay in bed and waited for it to end. Fed up with the two, Kiyomi left her cabin and leaned on the railing outside, popping a cigarette between her lips. Smoking in silence she stared over the waves, contemplating her situation.

Hizuru was getting closer and closer. In just about two to three days they would arrive, and she would present Mikasa to the people as their new symbol. Her marriage to the Shogun would be quite an event requiring a lot of planning and plotting on Kiyomi’s part – there were nobles to talk to, bribe, charm and threaten. After the Rumbling Hizuru more or less fell apart, shattered into pieces as many small-time barons took advantage of the chaos. She was serious about needing Mikasa, because through her – and the child of course – they would gain a unifying symbol.

Kiyomi sighed, tapping the ash into the ocean.

So much work, and so far from over. Picking the correct baron and convincing him to have his son marry this imported girl was difficult. He didn’t know Mikasa, and even with Kiyomi’s assurance that she is a beautiful and very dignified young woman it wasn’t easy. She managed, in the end, but now she had to think about what will happen once the future Shogun finds out about Eren. Or Aaron, doesn’t matter.

Mikasa was from the ideal “princess” – she was no delicate flower to be protected and that required a strong man in her life. She wasn’t a shy virgin with a blush on her rosy cheeks that could be presented to her future husband on a silver platter. None of that.

If Kiyomi would describe Mikasa with one word it would be powerful – both physically and mentally she was admirably strong. Quiet but not to be underestimated, not easy to manipulate either as Kiyomi found out recently. She played on the old woman’s desperation perfectly, forcing her to accept terms that would normally be impossible. Her having a lover was scandalous on its own, but that the person was no one else but the genocidal maniac everyone believed to be dead, now that was the cherry on top.

Bah.

Nothing to do about that now. Kiyomi was played for a fool but that would end soon – Hizuru was her stomping ground, the Ackerman girl knew no one there and would be dependent on her. Maybe the marriage would be rocky but as long as it produced an heir then everyone could walk away happy. And if the sounds that woke her said anything, it was that Mikasa could do that activity necessary for having children very well.

“Sulking on your own?”

The voice. The voice she hated with her entire being. Gritting her teeth around the cigarette butt, Kiyomi turned to see Eren coming to join her at the railing. Everything about him pissed her off. The way his hair was messy, tousled by someone’s fingers. The dark bruises that bloomed all over his neck. The scratches she could see, disappearing beneath his shirt. The half-cocky grin he wore, knowing very well why she can’t sleep.

“Felt like having a smoke.”, she growled, letting the irritation show in her voice, “Want one?”

Maybe getting him to smoke would kill Eren sooner. To her dismay he shook his head, declining the generous offer. Eyes traveling towards the Ackerman’s door, Kiyomi saw that it remained closed, Mikasa not coming out to join them.

“Where’s your “friend”, Yeager?”

“Sleeping. Exhausted, for some reason.”

Sure, some reason.

“And you came out here why?”

“Needed a breath of fresh air. She is very… intense.”

Kiyomi’s lips curved into a frown.

“You are just rubbing it in at this point.”

He shrugged.

“You wanted to know.”

Letting the breath out of her lungs create a large puff of smoke, Kiyomi turned back towards the ocean and continued staring into the distance. Maybe ignoring him will make Eren go back. An assumption which proved to be wrong, as he spoke to her soon after.

“You never asked how I came back.”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”, more ash fell into the rolling waves, “Nothing but trouble for me.”

“That’s fair. I would say that I’m sorry for causing it to you, but… I’m not.”, she could hear the bliss in his voice, “Being alive is amazing.”

At least he wasn’t lying to her, Kiyomi could appreciate honesty.

“Figured as much.”

Eren’s resurrection didn’t interest Kiyomi in the slightest. She couldn’t care less how he managed to cheat death for the last time, it didn’t mean anything. The practical woman that she was, Kiyomi was only interested in how it impacted her own planning.

To be frank, it threw a giant wrench into it.

Yet there was something else she would like to ask, and there would probably not be a better time in the foreseeable future.

“Tell me, how can you be so calm when you know what Mikasa will do once we get to Hizuru?”

“What do you mean?”

“She is going to marry another man, have a child with him. That doesn’t bother you?”

“That’s the terms of the deal Mikasa made with you. This is her show now, I’m just tagging along on the ride.”

“Ha, that doesn’t sound like the Eren Yeager I know.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”, one of his eyebrows lifted, “My previous mindset got me killed, you can’t blame me for trying something new.”

“Still, going from full active to full passive is…”, she studied his face for a second, “Strange.”

“Maybe, but I need to stay hidden and Hizuru gives me that. A sanctuary.”

“Indeed, as much as it pains me, I have promised that to lady Mikasa.”

“You hate me, and you have every reason to.”, Eren’s voice remained passive as he spoke, not rising to answer Kiyomi’s obvious verbal attacks, “I’m not going to apologize for what I’ve done and I can’t take it back either.”

“Good, because your apology would mean nothing to me.”

This time he finally reacted, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

“I do wonder if we will ever get along.”

Kiyomi’s scowl was the only answer required.

“Don’t count on it.”

“As you say…”, pushing himself away from the railings, Eren did that half-mocking bow again, “Good night, lady Azumabito.”

When the door of Mikasa’s cabin closed behind him, Kiyomi threw the cigarette into the ocean, angrily staring after it. Damn him, damn him to hell.

The morning of their arrival’s day found Kiyomi lecturing Mikasa in her cabin, giving her a few last-minute tips. The girl was looking great, happy and elated even, making the old woman forget all about the pesky Yeager.

“We will be arriving in the port and from there we will have a parade through the city.”, Kiyomi began her instructions, “You requested it and I made sure that the public will be there to see you. May I ask why you wanted one in the first place?”

“I want to give the people something to look forward to, I feel like they deserve as much, especially after I made them wait this long.”

Thinking about the working class already – Mikasa had some good instincts in her.

“Very good. The parade will take you to the palace, where I will show you to your chambers and give you a chance to freshen up. Come evening, the ruling council will gather and we will meet them to discuss the wedding preparations. Also, you will meet your husband there. Sounds good?”

The Ackerman girl nodded, taking it all in.

“I believe that you will take good care of me. Of us.”

Of course, couldn’t forget that parasite. And the goat. Then again, Kiyomi had nothing against the goat, it was a rather well-behaved animal. Eren on the other hand….

“I’ll have “Aaron” put on a uniform and march with the soldiers. I doubt that anyone will notice him, and not like people will be looking at them – all eyes will be on you, lady Mikasa.”

“As long as we can reunite in the castle, I like your plan.”, a firm nod, very military-like, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They could hear the shouting of the crowd from afar, the water carrying the sound rather efficiently. Standing on the deck, Mikasa looked at the fast-approaching shore, seeing the masses that gathered there in her honor, stomach doing little flips.

“Hey.”, a hand closed around her fingers, “Relax, we will be okay.”

Eren was right there next to her, dressed in a Hizurian uniform, offering a smile in these trying times. She managed to mirror his smirk, despite the twisting of her guts.

“I know. We are together, so there is nothing that I can’t handle.”

The ship’s horn indicated that the shore was even closer now, and Eren left with a last fleeting kiss. Kiyomi took his place almost immediately, ready to accompany her on this perilous journey. As Mikasa studied the port, she noticed that it was very modern, even more than she thought it would be.

“The buildings,”, she said out loud, “look very recent. Did Hizuru rebuild the port?”

“We had to, this area was completely devastated during the rumbling.”

“Oh…”

“Most of the damage had been fixed, but there are still areas which are nothing but trampled ground.”, Kiyomi’s face was sour, “We don’t have the manpower to fix it completely, and lack of proper leadership does not help.”

“That’s why I’m here, no?”

That brought a smile to Kiyomi’s face.

“Yes indeed.”

With a last booming horn sound, the ship backed into the harbor and the gangplank was lowered. The soldiers fanned out first, Eren among them, joining the forces that were already hard at work, keeping the shouting crowd away. Horses were brought when Mikasa and Kiyomi touched the ground, but that was not all. A small group pushed its way towards the two of them, moving to the left and right in a protective formation. They were wearing masks, hiding their identity, but from the lack of alarm on Kiyomi’s part, Mikasa figured that they weren’t here to hurt them.

“Who are they?”, she whispered to the older woman.

“Oh, I should have told you. These are the Faceless.”, Kiyomi quickly supplied, “Personal guard of the Shogun and his family, elite soldiers that will die for you in a blink of an eye.”

“Do they ever take these masks off?”

“Only if it is requested by their charge, otherwise it is a great dishonor. Why?”

“Just curious…”

So a personal guard that was supposed to stay with her all the time and never take off a mask covering their face? Hmmm…

Mounting up in a swift and practiced movement, Mikasa waited until Kiyomi also managed to scramble up on her horse.

“You know, we could have used cars.”, she said, watching the older woman struggle.

“We could, but horses are more regal and also it reminds the people of where you came from.”

“I thought that my origin is a thing to be forgotten.”

“Not at all! Your past is what made you who you are, and it reminds us of the strength you possess. Managing to survive such a nightmare you were thrust into takes incredible skill and dedication.”

Unsure on how to reply to such praise, Mikasa directed her eyes towards the crowd instead. There were so many people here, cheering for her, and it made her heart race. Finally, Kiyomi managed to seat herself properly, clicking her tongue at the mount before addressing Mikasa.

“Shall we?”

The parade through the city was quite an experience. Mikasa had never waved so much in her life before, but here she was, doing her best to appear both dignified and cheerful as she returned the endless love of the people. It reminded her of the times when she and Eren watched Survey Corps return from their expeditions beyond the walls, albeit grander in scale.

The ruckus subsided when they left the port city behind, moving through the countryside towards the capital. There were next to no forests left, trampled beneath the titan’s feet, but the meadows and rice fields stretched to the left and right of the road, restored in the years following the rumbling. High and up, they rode for a few hours before the other city rose in front of them.

The capital was situated high, mostly in the mountains, and because of that a large part had escaped the destruction, Kiyomi said. There were people waiting for her, cheering as their group rode past, and Mikasa was once again forced to smile and wave like an idiot. Eren, hiding between the soldiers, had a time of his life watching her.

The palace was also much greater than anything that Mikasa saw in her life. It was more like a whole city, hidden behind additional walls, towering over the rest of the land. Untouched by the rumbling, it remained as grandiose as before, taking her breath away.

“I take it that you like your new house?”, Kiyomi purred from the right, “A step up from a cabin in the mountains, is it not?”

Mikasa wasn’t sure that she could agree with that statement but forced herself to nod either way.

Still in a bit of a haze from this all, Mikasa was led to luxurious chambers that felt out of this world, with Kiyomi saying that all this is hers now. It was crazy, considering that the most she ever owned was a tiny cabin. And the old woman was all smiles and nods until those dreaded words left Mikasa’s lips.

“Where’s Eren?”

“I… I’ll send for him.”

Both to give them a little privacy and because being in Yeager’s presence annoyed her, Kiyomi left soon after, saying that she will be back to escort Mikasa to the meeting with the ruling council. Finally reunited with her lover, the pair shared a hug before she pulled back.

“How’s Yams?”, she asked, curious about their animal companion.

“See?”, he grinned, “I told you that you’d miss him.”

Mikasa playfully slapped Eren’s chest.

“Answer the question.”

“In the royal stables, loving it so far.”, he looked around, “Same as you it seems, this is quite the place.”

“Mhmm, not the same without you though.”

“I doubt that I can stay in your chambers without people gossiping.”

“That depends…”, she took a hold of Eren’s chin, making him look at her.

“Have you ever considered joining a royal guard?”

It was almost evening when Kiyomi came back, knocking before opening the door, flanked by two Faceless, to the Ackerman’s chambers. Mikasa was sitting at the table when Kiyomi came in, Eren was staring out of the window, and neither paid too much attention until she cleared her throat.

“We should get going to the meeting, lady Mikasa.”

“In a minute. First, we need to talk.”

A small crease formed between the old woman’s eyebrows.

“What about?”, she asked cautiously.

“I think that it would be better if you sit.”

“I think that I can decide that for myself.”

Coming closer, she leaned on the table. Eren also changed his position, standing behind Mikasa and putting his arms on her shoulders in some sort of protective gesture. Kiyomi didn’t like this – the closeness of the two, the air of mystery suddenly shrouding Mikasa’s words.

She didn’t like it one bit.

“If you have something to say,”, she forced her voice to remain level, “then speak.”

Exchanging a quick look with Eren, Mikasa put her hand over his before meeting Kiyomi’s gaze. And then she dropped a bomb that shook her to the core.

“The thing is, I do not plan to marry the Shogun.”

Her eyes, her grey eyes were burning into Kiyomi, and she felt her knees go weak. Her butt met the chair as she folded, doing so at the same time as Mikasa’s next words finding their way into her ears.

“I never did.”

#eremika #fanfic #snk #aot

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clownsgobeepbeep · 3 years

Note

Phantom

*sings* Boy you got me fucked up-

Warnings for stalking and pretty disturbing content imo. I tried to water this down but...my god...

Friday afternoon.

Always the same place. Always the same time. Always the same booth. Always the same order.

Have a nice day, her lips read. Cherry-red lips shaped like a cupid’s finely crafted bow, curled up into a polite smile directed towards the waitress that had just left her booth. At this point,reading her lips was like reading a book, just following whatever word came next.

Through the glass pane that divided her from the outside world he watched, watched as her thin fingers dug into the coin purse shaped like a pink axolotl, soon pulling out a few dollar bills that were placed on the table for the tip.

She stood up, wiping herself with her napkin one last time. Finally, she made her way from the booth and through the diner, waving her hand goodbye to the old man that wiped the main counter. There was no need to hear her for the lip-reading alone was more than enough, but he every now and then chose to allow her voice into his ears.

At this point, hearing her every move was built into his system, every vibration beating in his chest like the drumming of his heart.

Her heeled shoes clicked and clacked with every dainty step, causing the ends of her golden bob to bounce in an almost elegant manner. He heard the clicking cease before a key was inserted into the keyhole of her teal car, its driver door soon opening before she hopped into the driver’s seat.

There was a slight squeak when she reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror, cherry lips having curled down slightly as she realized this was not the way she had left it. There was no way somebody could have touched her mirror without anyone realizing some stranger reached inside her convertible vehicle.

Shrugging it off, she reached down to the cup holders to grab her lipstick to redo the one on her lips. That was when her eyes were drawn down to an emptiness, no lipstick in sight. She now furrowed her eyebrows, desperately looking around the car to find the missing lipstick.

From a distance he watched her slight fit of panic, his lips curling up with a snicker as he fiddled with the heart-shaped item. His own hazel eyes trailed down to look at it.

“Take Me.” he read in a whisper, a shaky breath escaping his lips before his eyes went back up to her, seeing that she had given up and instead retorted to grabbing the lipstick she kept in her purse as a backup.

She removed the lid before the stick was placed on her lips, hazel eyes looking through the mirror to apply the faded color. It wasn’t until she saw another pair of hazel eyes in the mirror that made her turn around in a panic, heart having stopped in that instant as she saw nobody behind her car.

Perhaps she was tired and was now seeing things in her mirror. It wouldn’t be the first time and she was mostly certain that all forces against her had given up.

She decided to reapply her lipstick at home, tucking the tube back inside her purse before starting up the engine. She began to reverse her car, realizing that something was off with the movement.

Perhaps something was behind one of her wheels.

So she got down from the car, circling around it once before finding the problem she faced. The back wheel on the right side was popped, something small and round lodged into it. Once realizing this, she reached down to grab what was most likely a nail, ripping it out and discarding it to the side.

Without her knowledge, the item’s tiny legs extended out, helping it crawl away and towards the shadows where it knew it was meant to be. In the shadows was he who had purposely sent it out, chuckling to himself at the prideful work done by his parasitic minion.

“Dammit.” he heard, looking back up at her. Her petite form made its way back into the diner, sighing as she began talking to the old man from before.

He gave her a comforting smile, telling her that he would do as she requested.

She had asked to leave the car there until the morning, or just until one of her beaus came to fix it. The older man asked what she would do in the meantime. She would walk.

From the shadows she was watched, the observer almost cackled in glee. Her latest form of transportation proved to be a nuisance when it came to spectating her, always making her trips far too short for his taste.

From where he stood he could tell that she was told to wait just a minute, that walking alone wasn’t her best option no matter the time of day.

She insisted it was alright.

He couldn’t help but let out a smirk, tilting his head in satisfaction as he waited for her to walk out of the diner again. This could have been the time to finally reintroduce himself to her. But perhaps, he could wait a little longer. The anticipation only made things more thrilling, watching her from afar for this long without her knowing.

His eyes landed on her facial features once again, skin colored like a fuzzy peach that had two rosy cheeks. Perky little nose that still had the slightest tint of pink left from her childhood, something that always embarrassed her but he always adored, especially with his inheritance of it.

The blonde bob always framed her heart-shaped face so perfectly. Long eyelashes popping from behind her fringe to flutter like a butterfly’s wings, almost teasing anyone that saw such a simple but coy action.

He clutched his coat in a tight grip with both of his hands, almost clawing into them with the sharp tips of his fingers as his eyes followed every curve of her body. Her white sweater was neatly tucked into the denim skirt that hugged her bottom half ever so perfectly, revealing her thin legs that were finished off with little red boots.

Her left hand clutched her purse that was too in the sphere of a red heart, just like the tiny red hearts that adorned her long nails. These gently tapped themselves on the new leather material while the ones on the other hand dug into her hair, practically combing it before a stray strand was tucked behind her ear. Even on here she wore hearts, her earrings that dangled and skipped beats like the heart that pounded even harder in the chest of her observer. It was all very appropriate for a Queen of Hearts.

Said observer had been far too focused on taking in as many details as possible that he had lost track of time, a minute of doting over every single thing had actually been a few minutes, long enough to cancel the girl’s solitary walk home.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

He blinked a few times before actually paying attention to the situation, eyes furrowing deeply as he realized that there was a newcomer in the diner. There was no need to hear a name or see a face to this person, it was the mere tone in which ‘you’ was spoken as well as the setting itself.

A male with raven hair had entered the building, his arms already wrapped around the object of interest’s much smaller form.

She spun around after a moment of surprise, hazel eyes becoming half lidded as her hands carefully planted themselves on the male’s chest. Fingers made slight, tantalizing motions before her hands slid high up with her digits now entangled in the dark hair. One hand had actually remained lower, placed on the male’s cheek to gently caress it, the former’s face turning to kiss the palm that faced him.

“Sonny called me, Atlas nor I were going to let you walk home alone.”

“I told Sonny-” the girl eyed the older man with false anger. “-that I could go on my own. I can take care of myself.”

“We know you can,” the male leaned down to plant his cracked lips on the girl��s soft hair, sparking a boiling rage in the one that could only stare from afar. “But we love protecting you so much.”

“Whatever.” she replied, soon enough parting from his embrace. It wasn’t long until she was outside once again, this time with the adversary that continuously told nothing but ridiculous comments, flashing crooked grins and off-beat winks every now and then.

The pair was watched as the scene unfolded, the male kneeling down after picking up a spare wheel from the vehicle’s trunk. He looked up at the girl, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he practically ogled her form like an infatuated fool.

It was maddening how the girl returned a similar look, but not as fatuous as the male that even had to be reminded to turn his attention to the wheel that required changing. But once he had finished with the task, his eyes were again glued onto the girl’s legs, the left being lifted off the ground in an almost enticing manner so that he could place a soft kiss.

“You have anywhere to be right now?” she spoke above a whisper so that only he could hear her suggestive tone.

“If I did, I would have told Atlas to be here.” the male kissed her bare shin again, receiving a ‘stop’ in the form of a giggle that resulted in him standing up before caging his partner between his body and her car.

Disgusting.

If looks could kill, the male’s life could have been terminated in an instant with how he was stalked. The attention was no longer on the girl but on him instead, poisonous thoughts directed his way as he placed his hands on the girl’s hips. His fingers could have bruised her skin with how he was digging his fingers into her, tainting her with his brute force.

There was no hypothetical possibility here of all the things he could do with so much anger kept in the stalker’s form, he could have killed the other male without a second thought. He could have gotten rid of his problems right there and then, all of them.

But no.

He was smarter than that.

He was clever.

He was patient.

There was no need for elimination, only waiting.

Waiting with an open embrace for those cherry-red lips to genuinely smile at him and only him.

Waiting with an open embrace for those hazel eyes to be half-lidded and fixated on only him.

Waiting with an open embrace for those hands to hold and caress him and him alone.

Snapping out of these thoughts filled with hope, he turned away from the repulsive scene before standing erect and turning on his heel. There was no point in staying at this point in time, he already knew what would be going on once the flirtations supposedly ceased.

Reaching into his pocket, the watcher tugged on a golden chain that was connected to an elegant pocket watch, one in the shape of a heart. On it was a single hand that he moved with his thumb, making a half-moon shape until stopping. As this happened, time and space moved just for him as he found himself hours later in a new location.

Darkness had now fallen the town as well a silence, not a creature stirring at this time of the night he found himself in.

There were not many sources of light to illuminate his way, but there was no need for it.

Night vision was good enough, but muscle memory was much better.

He followed a trail he could almost see after having walked through it several times, eyes glued onto the building he approached.

Through a glass pane he could see a source of illumination, many tiny ones in fact. Tiny stars that would glow in the darkness when the right time came. He had grown accustomed to seeing them often despite the pink-colored curtains that concealed his view from what was on the opposite side of the glass.

With nothing but thoughts alone, the curtains parted open to reveal a bed situated almost in the center of the bedroom the stalker leered into.

There was a glisten in his eyes as a smirk tugged at the left corner of his lips, heart palpitating with thrill as his sights landed on the girl from before.

A complete jewel. The jewel of the sea. His jewel.

Her heavenly features so calm, so oblivious to it all.

Painted eyelids carefully shut as her lips twitched every now and then. Her features were no longer peach but a color that resembled the petals of a young daisy, still so soft and pure.

She faced the window after experiences of having to watch her back, the scar being closest to her family that slumbered in the other rooms of the house.

This was one of those nights in which she slept alone, the only source of comfort being the plush toys she kept all around her bed. Her usual blue companion nowhere to be found, instead staying the night with the pups he fathered.

Without a second thought, behind the girl was her watcher, almost cooing at how innocent she looked all cuddled up in bed. There was no way oh her knowing he was there unless he desired it.

It was almost as if he didn’t exist. It was almost as if he was a phantom.

Ever so cautiously, he seated himself right behind her. He brought a finger up to the small of her back, feeling the silky nightwear covering only half of her back.

His finger was then on the exposed portion of it, trailing up the line of stitches she received years ago.

She was so fragile. So small. So...perfect.

And with a phantom touch he moved onto her face. As cliche as it sounded, the beauty in her only soared the closer he got to her.

His digits caressed the smooth texture of her cheeks, moving in circular motions to follow the rosy swirls. With his other hand, he touched his own cheek to move his fingers in the same motion as he imagined the same symbols on his own features. How lovely it would have been to match with her.

Putting aside these thoughts, he followed through with her cherry-red lips now in the form of a heart while the rest of her lips matched her skin.

The tip of his index finger traced the heart as he almost giggled to himself, especially at the thought of the other lips that clashed with hers. Some day, it would all cease, he just knew it.

But thinking of this left him with a familiar rage, one that had him clutching onto the sheets that covered the girl. It was infuriating that every but he could hold her, that everybody could treat her as they pleased.

So it was in moments like these that he took what was rightfully his.

Thinking back to the male from before, with his arms wrapped around the girl, he mimicked his actions.

Arms snaked around her thin waist as he brought the rest of his body onto her bed, snuggling his face into the exposed part of her back. He took in the sweet scent of flowers and nature that radiated off her, every now and then finding tones that repulsed him; only for her would he stand them.

This was all he wanted.

For her to be here.

For her to hold him.

For her to tell him it was all okay.

Why did she have to leave him? Was he not everything she had always wanted?

Clearly this was the case, and for this he strived to be all that she ever wanted.

With these thoughts he unconsciously squeezed her waist, suffocating for a split second before she jolted awake.

She whipped her head around in every direction possible, even turning down to look at her waist that had nothing but the wrinkled material of her blouse.

She brought her hands down to her abdomen, soothing the area before she brought her head back onto her pillow.

There was no doubt she was imagining things, perhaps dreaming of them after so many close encounters with disturbed minds and deaths.

She could only close her eyes once again as she comforted herself, tightly hugging a stuffed toy before bringing herself to sleep once again.

Never realizing that phantom that remained. Just for a little longer.

For tonight, she belonged to him.

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redrosesartcabin · 4 years

Text

Hey peeps. I made yet another Oc for Gunmar to be associated with:

This is Merel Devlin Hecate. She’s a witch in the tales of Arcadia universe who is neither to be associated with Merlin nor Morgana. She’s neither really good nor evil, but still doesn’t hesitate to ask Gunmar to work for her when the time came. How’s she’s gonna do that? Well...

(Ps before you read the story: Since wizards hasn’t come out yet, I may not have written her accurately or some things might not make sense in the future. With that being said, I hope you enjoy my little story)

WARNING: A LOT OF SWEARING AND SOME VIOLENCE IS INVOLVED. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THAT DO NOT READ.

—————————————

Merel Devlin Hecate (Character introduction)

Merel stood before the circle she had drawn on the floor. Usually confident as she was, she tried to put on that very same facade she normally didn’t even have to force. But this time was different.

This wasn’t some quick demon summoning nor a fun little potion: she was bringing a troll back from the dead.

In Merel Devlin Hecate’s 1007 years of life, she had done a lot of questionable shit that got her almost arrested on several occasions by the good side of the wizard society and captured and enslaved by the bad.

She was neither really good nor evil.

She did whatever the fuck she wanted.

Both sides hated that, because whatever Merel planned either interfered with one or the other sides stuff. Or she didn’t participate in whatever war was going on at all and disappeared for a couple of years in a hut in the mountains and only came back when she caught wind that what she considered “Bullshit” had passed. The air clear again to pollute with new chaos she could create.

And she was amazing at it.

Merel had always just been a talented witch. And any witch or wizard that was talented at their craft took it upon themselves to make their own destiny. Be it evil, like Morgana, or good, like Merlin (though if he is as good as he praises himself to be is questionable).

And Merel? Well she decided she was tired of people and help whoever she thought was right at the time. Sometimes she would pop up by Morgana's- and sometimes at Merlin’s “Fanclub”. Both usually took her offer to help, since she brought so much to the table. They however learned throughout the decades and centuries to never fully trust her.

Merel knew they didn’t trust her though and she was fine with that. She knew she would get out of trouble somehow.

Until today.

After 1007 years of life, the time had come where she was unsure about what she was doing, and if it was going to work.

She was going to resurrect a troll. And not just any: Gunmar the black.

Gunmar. The. FUCKING. Black.

One would say she had lost her mind to try out such dark magic.

And what for even?

Well: She got into trouble. But not the usual “oh that one wizard/witch is mad” where she would just put together a little illusion potion to clear her tracks and disappear before anyone could even touch her. She was now officially wanted.

And not in the nice kinda sense.

Merlin figured out, after defeating Morgana, that Merel (apparently) assisted and befriended several changelings, which, indirectly, led to a successful construction of the Killahead bridge. The old man then got really sour over that and declared that she was an official enemy of the wizard state. And since Morgana is supposingly gone (at least for the time being) the wizards that assisted Morgana's cause were also wanted or already captured, so she wouldn’t get support from there either. Not for any money or sleazy trick in the world that she could give.

‘The bastard must’ve waited for a moment like this’, she had thought to herself and felt anger arise in her.

For all the evil shit that Morgana had done, and that Merel would never forgive her for, Morgana would’ve chased her down immediately, if she had been truly mad at her. If she would’ve ever figured out her schemes (which she obviously didn’t, or if she did, she did not much care). Morgana was straightforward; if she was mad at you, she’d let you know right away.

Merlin however, that little motherfucker, made it out to be like she was “so” neutral towards her, like she was towards him. They made deals if needed be and didn’t if there was no need and just didn’t talk at all. But now that little son of a bitch had all the power, he was out for her, chasing her down like a dog ‘cause he had the power now.

At first she didn’t know what to do. The illusions wouldn’t hold them off forever.

But now she had it, the perfect plan. She would resurrect, or rather summon, Gunmar, who would thusly be bound to her. She could control an evil, powerful bastard and scare the living shit out of Merlin AND regain her position as free witch back, whilst also kinda punishing Gunmar for his shit.

It was a perfect plan, but sadly complicated: There was no say if this would actually work.

Nobody had ever resurrected a troll. Except for Morgana of course, who had resurrected Angor Rot countless of times. That however was an entirely different story, since Angor’s soul was bound to a Ring that Morgana had created and could control BEFORE the first time he died.

Gunmars soul was a free one however. He died with his soul in his body, as a being only bound to himself.

But Merel would try to resurrect him from the deepest depth of hell to where he surely had been condemned to, summon him to be bound to her magic and do as she pleased with his being.

It’s what Gunmar deserved.

And it’s what Merlins hypocritical ass deserved.

He and his little, pathetic, servant-like wizard army deserved the biggest scare of all time, because one thing's for sure: Nobody fucks over Merel like that and would get away with it so easily.

She may be no Merlin or Morgana, but unlike them she was free, not bound to a cause or any expectation. There was no limit to what she could and couldn’t do, and she would use that to her advantage.

Merel sat down before the circle. The light of the burning candles illuminating her pale skin in a way that made the scene all the more mysterious looking.

As she sat down, her yellow skirt surrounded her legs in a silky smooth motion and her black, slightly see through crop top with the beautiful rose pattern and frilly sleeves accentuated her upper body perfectly: She felt amazing, even with the fear still eating her insides out.

“I’m ready”, she whispered to herself as she combed her black, long fingernails through her dark blue to dark red ombré, voluminous chin long hair.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before a language, long dead, slipped over her cherry colored lips. A mixture between Latin, Greek and something otherworldly.

The air picked up around her, picking up the candle flames, pulling them higher and creating a fire in the middle of the circle.

She finished her incantation and opened her eyes to the scene. Her hands still in the same position as before, since she still felt the magic being in the works. Any wrong move could break the process.

The fire disappeared in the middle of the summoning circle, forming a swirl that looked much like a portal to another dimension.

Half an hour went by in which nothing more than that happened. The swirl staid a swirl.

“Damn it, it didn’t-“, work she wanted to say, when suddenly she saw blackness appear in the middle of the circle.

“Wait...of course! I have to speak, so the soul can find me”, she realized, “Ey! Gunmar! Come on out motherfucker!”, she yelled.

Another minute passed, but finally, a body came into light. It was a formless thing, like a black thundercloud, bringing strong lighting and a storm. Slowly but surely however, big horns appeared, muscular arms, legs and upper body formed and beautiful carvings glowing in yellow and orange that got carved into him by what seemed like an invisible knife. His back and tail were facing her as he was kneeling towards nothingness before his head shot up and he turned around, finally facing her. His eye was glowing like the candle flames had and his mouth was turning downwards in anger.

She smiled devilishly in delight: It had actually worked.

“Bitch”, he spoke.

“That’s a nice greeting”, she commented and fake pouted as she added, “it’s not very polite to speak to your summoner like that though, after all: I brought you back from the dead or didn’t I?”

“I know who you are, Merel Devlin Hecate: I’d rather stay dead than be bound to you!”, he roared, trying to attack her, but was thrown back into the middle of the circle by the invisible barrier it provided.

“Oh now”, she smooth talked, her voice sounding like a mother trying to pacify her crying child, “don’t get yourself worked up. That can’t be good for a troll your age. Sit down and be happy to be alive again. Besides: I’m sure you’ll like my plan a lot”

“And I’m sure I won’t”, he rumbled

“Well then you’ll just have to live with that”, she now hissed, “you have no choice in this deary. You fucked up and died and now you’ll get this life and no other. You’ll get to feel what it’s like being controlled by something other than yourself like you’ve made so many other trolls feel.

You are full of shit Gunmar. Always have been. I’m sure you’ll cry like a baby by the time I’ve had control over you for more than a day take it worse than any other troll you’ve controlled ever has. You’re nothing more than a piss poor fucker who had some power in his lifetime, but actually you are just so scared of everything, that you need to show to the world, constantly, that you aren’t.”

Gunmar said nothing. He looked angry, yet also confused and at a loss for words. She must’ve hit a soft spot there.

“Nothing snarky to say? Did I hurt the big bad troll? Are you gonna shut the fuck up and just obey my orders and admit your defeat?”, she asked, her voice a little too cocky even for her liking.

“I do not admit defeat, because we did not fight fairly, but I will admit to my captivity.”, he spoke, his voice unusually soft.

“Ok. I can live with that. Now listen:...”, and so she started explaining to him, what her goal of having summoned had been.

“That actually isn’t such a bad plan”, Gunmar admitted and flinched at his own words. What had he become all of a sudden? A dog… that’s what. Not in a millennia would he have thought, that karma would get him like it did now.

“See? And you’ll get to eat some wizard flesh! You may be bound to me, but you are also protected. Nothing can kill you, because you are technically dead. You won’t get no eternal night, but you can get your revenge on Merlins supporters, who are also indirectly the supporters of the trollhunter and therefor his supporters. You get me?”

“I mean, yeah b-“, Gunmar had started countering, but got interrupted by Merel who simply said, “Good! Then we agree on that. Let’s get going, shan’t we?”

“Ah...uhm...Yeah sure”, is all he could say, giving in. Whatever he had wanted to say had slipped his mind and besides: What other choice did he have anyhow?

And so they went for the first kill.

At first Merel wasn’t sure if it would actually be that easy to make Gunmar kill the witch (she was one of the newer understudies of Merlin who took care of filing some script shit in favor of Merlin) she targeted without other wizards seeing him enter, but turns out her illusion magic worked wonders as always and they could slip into the facility and take her out no problem. She wasn’t the most powerful or most important witch she wanted to take out, but that easy? Really?

She did get surrounded by wizards as they found her and Gunmar before the corps.

“Eat her whilst I have a little chat with the gang”, she whispered

“Do not talk to me like-“, but before he could keep talking he felt a kind chain almost strangle him that had appeared around him shooting out of Merels fingertips in n a flaming motion.

“Deary, I can talk to you however I like. I got you in my power. This chain is always there, even if you don’t see it and I can control it at all times. Now behave deary and eat the kill”, she whispered, her voice sweet and sharp and cold.

Gunmar growled at that, but nodded compliantly.

“Very well deary. Eat. You did good.”

And that was the last time he talked back to her. At least like that. He of course staid the snarky asshole he was. She could deal with that though. All she really cared about to show who’s boss.

And just like one, she took the wizards before her out, one by one, only letting on stay conscious choking him, letting him float above her.

“Listen here Milky boy”, she spoke to the young, pale wizard in her grasp, “I have come to say I have managed the worst of the worst: I have resurrected a troll, and not just any: Gunmar the black. He had been shattered and torn, his soul condemned to eternal damnation, but I have summoned him. He is bound to me, my weapon, my killing machine and unless Merlin decides to surrounder, I will make sure, you, boy, and all your pity party fucks who support this poor excuse of a ‘good wizard’ will feel my wrath for coming after me! Now run along young wizard and tell the world Gunmar is back, and I have him in my grasp and no other!”

She let him fall to the ground where he rung for air before running off to wherever to whomever: But just away from her.

“And I always through you’re a part of that ‘pity party’ as you call it”, Gunmar admitted after having cleaned off the bones one by one.

“HA, Me?”, she cackled, “Under the command of Merlin? I didn’t know you were a comic. Now let’s get going before any important wizards get here and cause real trouble for us. We still got a lot to do!”

…

#Oc #trollhunters Oc #gunmar the black #trollhunters gunmar #gunmar #tales of arcadia #wizards #witch #artist on tumblr #original art #exophilia

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440mxs-wife · 4 years

Text

Baker’s Dream, Part 2

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Date night at your place went perfectly, with you cooking dinner for Sam. Afterwards, you shared a piece of tiramisu, taking turns feeding each other. You even packed up some leftovers on the lasagna and the dessert as a gift to his mother.

As the weeks went by, you and Sam grew closer, often just spending time at each other's homes. It didn't matter whether you went out in town, or had pizza and a movie at your house or his penthouse. As long as you were together, that was the most important part.

Everyone at work could see how happy the two of you were and they silently cheered you on. Sam's colleagues saw how much happier Sam was now that he was with you, especially after what he went through with Amelia. Your bakery crew kind of teased you about how cute you and Sam were, but they were all secretly rooting for you.

One night, you and Sam were snuggled up on his couch watching a movie. Your head rested on Sam's shoulder, and your left hand was flat against his chest. His free hand was absently drifting through your hair as you tried to pay attention to the movie.

"Hey, I almost forgot to ask you. Mom and Dad are throwing a small dinner party this Friday, and they wanted to invite you. Not too many people, just Mom, Dad, Dean and his girlfriend. Oh, and Jeremy Robinson, our CFO. He's an old friend of Dad's from the Marine Corps and helped Dad get the company to where it is today," Sam finished.

"This Friday? I think I can fit that into my schedule," you grinned. "Is it formal, or what should I wear?" you asked.

"Well, if it were up to me, you would wear...." Sam trailed off and waggled his eyebrows at you.

"Yeah, I know what you'd rather I wear, or should I say not wear," you retorted, playfully tapping his chest.

Sam chuckled at your comment. "Baby, I'm sure whatever lovely outfit you put together will be perfect. I'll pick you up and we can go over to Mom and Dad's together. Unless you'd rather leave from here," he remarked as he nuzzled your neck.

"Mmm, that is a very tempting offer, Mr. Winchester," you said breathily. Sam's stubbled face was causing small fires to ignite throughout your body. "I think it's a decision I should definitely sleep on," you answered, rising from the couch. You held out your hand and started walking towards Sam's bedroom. "It's this way, right?" you gestured with your head.

Sam nodded slowly, his mind running a mile a minute to make sure he understood you properly. "Here, let me show you," he replied as he stood up from his place on the couch. He paused in front of you, taking your face between both of his hands and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Are you sure, baby?" he said softly.

You nodded. "I'm sure, Sam," you answered. Sam pulled your face towards him so your mouths crashed together. His hands went from cradling your face to rubbing your back and winding his fingers through your hair.

"So beautiful," he whispered. He led you by the hand to his bedroom, where he turned on the light on his nightstand.

Sam stood before you, gazing into your eyes. His hand brushed away a stray lock of hair, which he tucked behind your ear. "How did I ever get so fortunate to have someone like you in my life? Going into that hotel bar was one of the smartest things I've ever done, because it led me to you. I love you so much," he finished.

"I will always remember that night we met. There I was, drowning my sorrows, and you threw me a lifeline. You showed me that I deserve better than my ex, and you're it, Sam. At least for me, anyway. I love you so much," you remarked.

Your mouths slammed back together with a hunger you each could satisfy only for the other. Clothes were peeled off and you soon found yourselves under the blankets together. You and Sam took turns learning about each other, with your tender touches and hot kisses. He took the time to show you how much he loved you, and allowed you the opportunity to return the favor. As the two of you moved together, you built layers of passion, each one higher than the last, until you both found your release.

When your heart rates had returned to normal, you turned to face Sam and rested your head on his shoulder. His arm snaked around you to keep you close to his chest and he kissed your sweaty forehead. "Goodnight, Sam," you mumbled before your eyes drifted shut. "Goodnight, my love," Sam whispered into your hair.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hand in hand, you and Sam marched up the porch steps to his parents' house. Before ringing the doorbell, you turned to face each other. "You have nothing to be nervous about, baby. They're going to love you. Mom already does, and Dad's bark is worse than his bite, I promise," he smiled. Sam brought his hand up to brush your cheek, then slid it behind your head. He tipped his head forward to capture your lips with his in a slow, sweet kiss.

The door opened, which broke your kiss with Sam. "Having a little appetizer, eh Sammy?" a voice from the doorway said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Dean," he muttered. Sam placed his hand on the small of your back and ushered you into the house, glaring at his brother as introductions were made. You giggled at the siblings' interaction, which seemed to relax Sam a bit.

He continued guiding you towards the kitchen. At about halfway, Mary rushed towards you with outstretched arms to engulf you in her embrace. She released you and turned to a tall man with salt-and-pepper colored hair that you knew had to be John Winchester. More introductions were made, with handshakes and hugs also exchanged.

Mary announced that dinner would be ready in about 20 minutes, with just a few things to finish up. You excused yourself from Sam's hold, assuring him that everything was fine. You followed Mary into the kitchen to see if you could help. She protested, however, saying that you were a guest. She relented with a laugh when you told her that your mother would never forgive you for not helping, guest or otherwise.

While you assisted Mary in tying up loose ends for the meal, she asked how things were going with you and Sam. Your cheeks grew warm as you stammered to answer her question. The words didn't matter, though, because she could tell how much in love you were with each other.

Mary handed you a basket of bread to take out to the table while she grabbed one of the other dishes. You looked up to see Jeremy Robinson, CFO of Winchester Enterprises and his daughter, Amelia, walking through the door. Sam did not see Amelia as she walked in, since she was hidden behind her father.

As soon as she saw Sam, she grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him into a hug with a forceful kiss on his lips. You turned your eyes from the scene in the living room and stumbled back to the kitchen to help Mary. She saw the tears shimmering in your eyes and wondered what had happened.

Before she could ask you, Sam burst through the kitchen door and took you aside, entwining his hand with yours. "Baby, I know you saw that, but you have to believe that I had no idea that she would be here tonight," he pleaded. "What happened in there meant nothing to me. You are the one that I love, the one who holds my heart," he vowed.

"I know Sam, I believe you and more importantly, I trust that you're telling me the truth. It was a little shocking to say the least, to see some other woman kissing my man," you grumbled.

Sam dipped his head down and you rose up on tiptoes to kiss him. From the doorway, you heard Amelia demand, "What's going on in here? Who is this, Sam and why are you kissing her??"

He looked her square in the face, a small smirk gracing his lips. "This is my girlfriend, I'm kissing her because I love her," he answered. "Shall we head to the table for dinner, my love?" he asked, gazing into your eyes.

"Absolutely, Sam," your hand reached for his again and intertwined your fingers. As you sat down at the table next to Sam, Mary caught your eye and winked at you in support. You gave her a small smile in return.

Dinner conversation flowed easily, with the men mostly talking about the business of Winchester Enterprises. Dean's girlfriend and Mary asked you about the bakery and offered suggestions for future offerings. Amelia mostly glared at you from across the table, clearly under the impression that Sam should be with her, not you.

You mentioned that you brought over an apple and a cherry pie for dessert, which piqued Dean's interest. He knew of your bakery by reputation, and didn't hesitate to pay his compliments. You had catered the baked goods for a wedding he went to for one of the other executives. On occasion, Baked and Brewed had also provided the muffin trays for many a Winchester Enterprises board meeting.

"I'm tellin' ya, Sammy. You gotta marry that girl, keep all that baked goodness in the family," Dean declared.

Sam gazed lovingly at you and squeezed your hand under the table. "We're not quite there yet, Dean, but I don't intend to let her get away," Sam replied softly. He leaned over and gave you a lingering kiss on your temple. "I love you," he murmured against your skin.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next two weeks at the bakery were pretty hectic, with people pre-ordering their pies for Thanksgiving. You were back to working 12-hour days, but Sam had given you a key to his penthouse apartment. After your long day at work, you couldn't wait to soak your aching bones in Sam's Jacuzzi tub.

On those busy days, Sam made sure to take good care of you. He usually had dinner ready or takeout on the way by the time you got to his place. As soon as you walked in the door, Sam was ready with open arms to greet you with a hug and a welcome-home kiss. Evenings were typically spent cuddling on the couch watching movies or talking till all hours of the night.

At least twice a week, Sam made sure to stop in to the bakery to see you so you could have lunch together. Mary and her friends stopped in once a week for their "Silver Foxy Ladies" meetings. For these occasions, you provided a pastry tray, which always led to one or more ladies getting something to take home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Six months later

The front door opened to reveal Mary Winchester's beaming face, holding open the screen door as she ushered you and Sam indoors. You caught a fantastic aroma from the kitchen and nearly started drooling.

"What is that heavenly smell, Mary?" you asked.

"Oven-roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes and broccoli cheese casserole. Speaking of which, I should check how much longer before dinner," she responded with a wink.

You reached up on tiptoes to give Sam a kiss before heading to the kitchen to help Mary. She was getting used to having you in there to help and keep her company. She truly enjoyed spending time with you and was beyond happy that you and Sam had found each other.

Back in the living room, Sam, Dean and John were crowded together, speaking in hushed tones. You and Mary brought in the last of the food dishes, then called the men to the table. Sam seemed to be hanging back for some reason, so you went over to where he was standing.

"Sam, is everything okay?" you asked, worried. You took his hands in yours. "Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me. I'm right here for you," you assured him.

"I know, baby, and I love you so much for always being there for me. There is something that I hope you can help me with. You see, Mom found this, and thought that I might know someone who would like to wear it," he started. He pulled a small black velvet box from his pocket and dropped to one knee.

Your hands flew to your mouth as you realized what was happening. Sam opened the box to reveal a simple yet elegant engagement ring. "It's been in my family for generations. It was my grandmother's and she was married to my grandfather for over 50 years. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" Sam asked.

All you could do is nod your head vigorously, as the power of speech temporarily eluded you. Sam slipped the ring on your left hand ring finger for a perfect fit. "Yes, Sam," you whispered. "I would love to marry you!"

From the dining room doorway, cheers went up and everyone was hugging and offering their congratulations. After dinner, you and Sam sat on the front porch swing, snuggled under a blanket in the cool night air.

"It really doesn't get much better than this, does it?" you asked. "Quiet night, under the stars with the man I love," you said.

"Baby, this is only the beginning. Meeting you was one of the best things to ever happen to me. I finally found my missing puzzle piece. I love you so much," Sam remarked, nuzzling your neck.

"And you came along before I even knew how much I needed someone like you in my life. You're my missing puzzle piece as well. I love you, Sam," you replied.

#sam winchester #sam x reader #spn imagines #spn fluff

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tact-and-impulse · 4 years

Text

At Arm’s Length Chapter 14

*dojo door slams open* Dad’s home.

Thank you for your patience! Now that this is the last installment correlating to the Kyoto arc, the next chapter will be an interlude before we hop onto the angst train. I know it took a long time for this update, and this past year has been a struggle, given I had to prepare for a major exam (which I passed, so that’s something!) and the current state of the world. The events of this chapter cover Kaoru’s childhood to the Seinan war, including several traumatic events. Content warnings for death of a parent, depictions of war, PTSD, death of a spouse, and depictions of hospitalization. Let me know what you think, and please take care of yourselves.

Chapter 14: Becoming a Father

When he emerged from Commissioner Kawaji’s office, Koshijiro let exhaustion take over. He had stayed awake two hours past midnight to finalize his evacuation plan, and the entire morning had already flown by due to the commissioner grilling him on the details. He had fended off the questions with varying degrees of success, until he was dismissed with a scowl.

He returned to his desk, settled in his chair, and closed his eyes. Just for a minute…

“Officer Kamiya, we received a message requesting backup.” Shinichi nervously interrupted his rest.

He shook off the lethargy, to see the rookie. Occasionally, the young officers were called on for assistance, and Koshijiro had to accompany them as their direct superior. “Please tell me the details on the way there. Let’s head over.”

There was a clash at the fish market, reportedly between two rival gangs. The details of the feud were unknown, but both sides were agitated and aggressive. Shouts and crashes could be heard from a block away. As Koshijiro and the others approached, the noise intensified. The scene was chaotic. Men were exchanging blows and throwing various items at each other. Bloodied faces drifted in and out among the mob, along with the uniforms of officers. The rookies immediately launched themselves into the fray, disappearing in a matter of moments.

A flash of red barreled towards Koshijiro’s right, and he instinctively caught…an octopus. His arm held the creature to his chest, and its tentacles curled around his sleeve and towards his neck. Gingerly, he set it in a nearby bucket of water, and it wriggled in relief. Now that he looked closer, some of the thrown items were raw seafood.

But not all.

A sword swung towards Koshijiro, the rusty edge aiming for his temple, and he ducked. His right hand fell to his bokken, as he analyzed his opponent. A shorter, stockier man with a gap-toothed grin and a death wish, apparently. Koshijiro drew his bokken, moving into a defensive position.

It wasn’t difficult to read his movements, and when the man attempted an overhead swing, Koshijro blocked. The force was intense, and he had to widen his stance. However, that set him up perfectly for the next move. With an inhale, he pushed back, lifting his back foot off the ground to hook around the man’s knee. The man gave a startled exclamation as his feet turned inward, and Koshijiro disengaged. His opponent threatened to fall forward and that left him open for a strike at the sensitive point behind the elbow. The man’s grip spasmed, but even if he could somehow shake off the numbness, Koshijiro was already following through with another blow to the back of the head. Koshijiro watched him go down, and the immediate handcuffing by Officer Abe, who was on standby.

“Whoa, Kamiya-san, that was awesome!”

“Well, I’m glad it worked. I’ve been thinking over this maneuver for some time.” He was rather proud of his success, and confidently, he moved on.

In total, fifty people were arrested, jailed, and scheduled for questioning. He had volunteered for the last shift of interrogation and didn’t return home until past midnight. Koshijiro prepared for bed, and every movement was abnormally loud. Once he had closed his eyes, his ears rang from the eerie silence.

How long had it been since they were gone? June was already coming to a close. Kaoru’s birthday was at the end of the week and he was in Satsuma for her last one. Their usual celebration was a nice dinner, but he felt like this one should be grander, to make amends. He would have to think of something soon…as a testament to how tired he was, he fell asleep mid-thought.

When he woke, he scrambled for the time and realized he was running late. The train would arrive soon, and he had promised to be at the station. He skipped breakfast and broke into a sprint as he drew closer, but he made it to his destination. Tokio rose from a bench, lifting her little son.

“Kamiya-san, thank you for being here. Are you alright?”

He took a moment to catch his breath. “Yes, I’m fine. I see the train’s here?” The locomotive seemed to be giving a long exhale, the turning of the wheels slowing with each cycle.

“Yes, but they must be checking the passengers before they let them out.” She adjusted her hold on Tsutomu, his sleeping face squished against her collar.

They watched the disembarking people and scanned the faces for a boy of the right description. Finally, he stepped out. He was about ten or eleven, and his hair was mussed from sleeping at an odd angle. Noticing their gazes, he cautiously approached, looking up at Tokio.

“Are you Fujita-san?”

“I am and this is my son, Tsutomu. Kamiya-san is my husband’s colleague.”

Koshijiro nodded in greeting. “It’s good to meet you. How was your journey?”

“Long. It wasn’t too bad until the train.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wanted to go on foot like Kenshin did, the train is too noisy.”

“You met Himura-san?”

“Yeah. He really helped me out in my village.” He became quiet, obviously remembering. “He did say, ‘Kamiya-dono will be in Tokyo, so there is no need to worry.’”

Koshijiro coughed to conceal his embarrassment. “I see. Well, I heard he made it to his destination, so there’s no need to worry about him either.”

Tokio knelt to meet Eiji at eye level. “My husband informed me that you lost your parents and brother. I’m so sorry.”

“Kenshin helped me.” Eiji stared at his feet. “He said the dead only want the living to be happy.”

“He wasn’t wrong.” Koshijiro quietly said. “Your family would want that for you.”

They walked out, and Tokio intended to treat Eiji to a well-deserved meal. She extended the invitation to Koshijiro but he had to decline. “Some other time. I’ll stop by now and then, to check in. If there’s anything you need, you can always visit the Kamiya dojo.”

On his way back, he passed a flower seller, hawking baskets teeming with small pink and white deutzia. They greatly resembled cherry blossoms and he remembered they were gone by August. He turned around and paid for one bouquet, mentally mapping out the detour to the cemetery.

Kyoko will surely love these flowers.

***

Everything about Kaoru was utterly charming. Her little yawns, the way she stretched her whole body when she woke, the downy hair capping her head, her plush grip gently enclosing his thumb. She was an energetic baby, working her fingers and flailing her limbs as if testing them out. She was more than Koshijiro and Kyoko could have asked for.

She grew quickly, and Koshijiro was loath to miss a moment. He couldn’t help but feel a little envious of Kyoko and Osue-san, who visited thrice a week to help out. The majority of his day was spent working, so when he returned home at Kaoru’s early bedtime, Kyoko encouraged him to rock their daughter to sleep. She reassured otherwise but he had felt awkward in the early days, too large and clumsy for his tiny girl. As he strolled through the house, Kaoru’s round eyes intently focused on his face before she slowly nodded off.

When she was a few months old, Koshijiro noticed a bright blue ribbon tied around her head. “Hm? What’s this?’ He asked Kyoko.

“I noticed she has a bald spot, so I thought to cover it with the ribbon.” Meanwhile, Kaoru didn’t seem to mind, happily rolling onto her belly and offering Koshijiro a smile.

He sat beside her and one pudgy hand touched his knee before she tried to lift her upper body. Her feet pushed against the tatami but she didn’t budge. As she struggled to move to his lap, her barely visible eyebrows drew together and she made a loud noise of frustration. Amused, he picked her up by the armpits and remarked. “It’s a little early for you to crawl, Kaoru, but it’s good that you’re eager.”

“She’ll be crawling soon.” Kyoko joined them, adjusting the blue ribbon so it was more secure. “And then, she’ll walk and run.”

“Not too fast for us, I hope.”

But for now, Kaoru was still small enough to hold. While their little home was cozy and quiet, it was not as peaceful outside. The disasters of the Ansei era had accumulated in the past two years: cholera raging through Edo, an earthquake in Hida, an assassination near the Sakurada gate. A treaty with the Americans had been signed, resulting in widespread discontent. With the ports open to trade, the markets and routes changed. Inflation drove costs up, as foreigners bought gold. The shogunate was proving to be increasingly unequipped to handle current issues.

Meanwhile, Koshijiro continued to teach kenjutsu. His students were eager to use real blades and threatened to leave if they couldn’t. He did his best to ensure everyone was safe, but he only had one pair of eyes. There were several close calls. After a particularly nasty duel between two students, he sent a doctor for their injuries and ended class early. When everyone had left, he sat on the freshly cleaned dojo floor, rubbing his forehead. The students were eager to fight and yes, they needed to know how to protect themselves, but was he enabling them? What would his predecessors think of him?

“Sorry to interrupt.”

He turned to see Kyoko, holding their baby daughter and beaming at him. “It’s Otou-san, Kaoru. Otou-san.”

Kaoru gave a delighted cry, waving her fist. How could he possibly be despondent?

Kyoko handed her off, and the baby’s soft cheek grazed his. She nuzzled, turning her face against his shoulder, and he held her tighter. Meeting his wife’s tender gaze, he smiled. “Thank you.”

Once Kaoru could toddle about, there was no stopping her, and she took obvious joy in being followed. Her wide smile over her shoulder was a precious thing to behold. When she’d fall, her tears weren’t out of pain but desire for comfort, for she quickly stopped once she was held. Soon enough, even those subsided, and she’d resume walking as if nothing happened.

After one such occurrence, Kyoko began to laugh. “Her face looks just like yours! So determined!”

“If that’s so, then she certainly takes after you too.” But he laughed as well.

It was during those blissful days that his father returned. He had sent a letter in advance, explaining he no longer had work in Kunitake’s area and would be transferring back home. Koshijiro personally suspected they had a falling-out but kept his reply succinct and inviting. Otou-san arrived with the summer heat, and Koshijiro stepped away from the dojo to greet him with a bow.

“Welcome back.”

“Koshijiro, it’s good to be home.” His father smiled. He was noticeably thinner, the lines on his face deeper. “Oh? Is that Kaoru-chan?”

He glanced towards the porch, to see his daughter staring at them, before she unsteadily ran into the house. “Oka! Oka!”

“Calling for her mother?” Otou-san’s tone was both amused and wistful.

“Her first word as well. Please, come in.” As he offered, he took his father’s satchel. It was surprisingly light. Had Otou-san sold his belongings…or was he kicked out?

Kyoko appeared, Kaoru clinging to her leg. “Welcome! Are you hungry at all? We can have lunch early.”

They settled him in, and the tension seemed to leave his frame. He was in his early sixties, Koshijiro thought, but his age had never shown until now. He moved slower, he slept heavier and longer, and he was not as boisterous as before. Worried, Koshijiro sent for one of Kyoko’s doctors. For the most part, Otou-san’s health was fair, but his heart was weak and they would have to keep an eye on him. Plenty of rest and a daily routine would help, and they did their best to make him comfortable. Otou-san dove into his art with full force, and more often than not, he could be found painting in the yard. He happily gave Kaoru any paper and ink she wanted to draw with, and allowed her to drum her fists against his back in a makeshift massage. He also got along well with Kyoko, who effortlessly charmed everyone in her orbit anyway. Most of his father’s paintings were sold, but if Kyoko expressed a liking for one, he would set it aside for safekeeping.

“Aha! I see the pattern now.” Otou-san clapped his hands together, after a brief survey of Kyoko’s choices. “You have a keen eye for the seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, winter.”

“Of course, and you depict them so well, Otou-sama. But do you have any preferences on what you paint?”

“Not particularly, though it’s better if everything I see remains still while I’m working.” He joked. “But that’s hardly ever the case. Such is life.” And to prove his point, Kaoru hurtled past him, running at full speed to escape a harried Osue, who was attempting to wash her face.

A few months later, they celebrated Kaoru turning three. The zori only lasted a few steps before she kicked them off with obvious relief and to Osue-san’s chagrin. Her pudgy hands held a long stick of chitose ame, which she eagerly crammed into her mouth.

“Yes, live a long, happy life, Kaoru.” Kyoko murmured. Her fatigue had been worse as of late, and she rested against Koshijiro’s shoulder.

When Kaoru dozed off too, worn out by the day’s activities, Koshijiro held her in his lap. Glancing about to make sure no one else was looking, he pressed a kiss on both of their cheeks, his wife’s cool one and his daughter’s slightly sticky one.

Now that she was old enough, Koshijiro had crafted a bokken to match Kaoru’s size, and she would follow along with morning stretches. Anything more would be too advanced, and she usually fussed when Kyoko had to pull her away. Eventually, Koshijiro noticed perforations in the rice paper, at about the eye level of a little girl. It then became a matter of catching her in the act. He listened carefully for a tiny pop, and after a moment, opened the door to find her staring up at him.

“Kaoru, did you do this?”

“No!” But she sucked in a breath and turned to run away. Koshijiro easily stepped around her.

“I’m going to ask again. Did you poke holes in the doors?”

She squirmed, her mouth petulantly twisting. “…it’s fun.”

“But it isn’t very nice. It worries me and your mother when we have to fix them. And we don’t like being mad at you. Can you be good and promise you’ll stop?” He extended his pinky finger towards her.

“Hmph.” She pouted but she linked her tiny finger with his and they shook on it.

“That’s a promise.”

Her voice was small and uncertain when she asked. “Do you hate me?”

“No, of course not. I never could, and Okaa-san feels the same way.” As the words left him, he suddenly remembered his own childhood voice, declaring that he would never be anything like his father. Gods, he must have caused Otou-san a great deal of pain and he’d never realized until now.

When he spoke with Kyoko, she insisted that they have a conversation. “You need to talk with him alone. There’s still time to make things right between you. As long as you’re alive, you can have another chance.”

He decided to do so, one morning. Otou-san was in his usual spot in the yard, trying to capture the autumn scenery with his paints. He shuffled towards the porch, spared a glance at Kyoko. She narrowed her eyes at his stalling, and urged him to keep moving with quick waves of her hand. Suppressing a sigh, he moved to stand by his father.

“That looks lovely.” He lamely nodded at the painting. What was he doing?

His father laughed. “Thank you. I know you’re not as passionate as I am about this, but I appreciate it. Is something on your mind?”

“I spoke to Kaoru about the holes in the door, and she reminded me of the past.” He slowly said. “I remember some of the unkind words I dealt to you when I was a child, and I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. As you said, you were a child and our situation was…unexpectedly complicated. But I never blamed you or your mother.” He set his brush down, resting it on a small ceramic dish with murky water. “I think if Miyo had been with us, like when you were younger, it might be easier to talk with each other. Maybe, she’d still be with us.”

The wind swept through, and a lull fell over them. Koshijiro cleared his throat, swallowing the sudden lump there. “Kyoko says people live on in the stories we tell.”

“She’s right.” He paused. “I never told you how I met your mother.”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Well, it wasn’t romantic. I fell asleep by the river, while sketching. I only meant to have a nap, but when I woke up, it was morning and Miyo was standing over me. Then, I kept seeing her all the time, while I was in town. Our paths crossed frequently after that. I was happy whenever I saw her, and disappointed when I didn’t. When I found that she was looking for work, I hired her. And after that, I only fell deeper. I was sure…that we could live happily together. But Otsuna and Kunitake were jealous. I knew they were, but I raised them like my own after my cousin and wife died. I did my best, trying not to choose. Miyo never told me she was pregnant with you, and when I met you, you were almost a year old. But I couldn’t let you either of you go again. You probably don’t remember much, but despite the circumstances at the time, the famine and uncertainty, those were some of the happiest days of my life.”

Something gave in his chest at his father’s words and sober expression. Otou-san was not perfect by any means, far from it, and yet…he was only human in the end. “That time is vague in my memories but I was happy too.”

“I am sorry though. I never meant for you to be hurt by your siblings, and I did speak to them multiple times. Their harassment is a failure on my part. I don’t know where I went wrong, but please believe that I never encouraged their behavior.”

“I believe you and that it’s not entirely your fault.” He assured. “There comes a point when immaturity is no longer an excuse and I doubt they ever found it. Years ago, I would have thought it difficult to uproot the resentment I have. But I can now. I do forgive you and I think I understand you a little better now. Even more so because I have Kyoko and Kaoru.”

Otou-san looked as if he was about to cry, and he was at a loss for what to do. Almost as if on cue, the door opened to signal someone was on the porch. Kaoru darted towards them, with a wide smile. “Jii-jii!” She twirled in place, her little ponytail flying. “This new ribbon is pretty, right?”

His father nodded, voice light. “Of course! It’s the same color as a rose. And you’re pretty from head to toe. And what does your Otou-san think?”

They both turned to him, and Koshijiro cleared his throat. “Yes, Kaoru, it’s very nice. Did Okaa-san buy it for you?”

“Uh-huh. We match now! Tou-san, come see.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards the house amidst his father’s laughter. Kyoko had tied her own rose-colored ribbon in her bun, and she lifted her head from her sewing with a smile when they rejoined her at the table.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

“You’re welcome. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“Then, that’s good.” Their private conversation was interrupted by Kaoru, wondering where one of her books was.

In the evenings, Kyoko read aloud to Kaoru, who had claimed a spot to nestle between them in their futon. Koshijiro was embarrassed whenever he fell asleep to his wife’s voice, but those were rare, since Kaoru would poke his side and ask if he wanted to read next. She would try to turn the pages for him, intent on helping move their nightly story forward. She already knew a few kanji, including her name, and Koshijiro was very proud.

There was one issue that arose. One of the new books Kaoru liked was about a family, which had multiple children. The youngest was a newborn girl, and Kaoru seemed fascinated, her fingers lingering on the baby’s descriptions. Once Kyoko ended the tale, the inevitable question came.

“Kaa-san?”

“Yes?”

“Where do babies come from?”

“Hmm.” Kyoko pretended to ponder over the matter. “Well, they appear when an Okaa-san and an Otou-san wish very hard.”

“Oh. So I will wish.”

“Wish for what, Kaoru?”

“A little sister!”

“That’s such a nice wish.” Kyoko mildly replied. “Now, let’s go to sleep.”

Koshijiro fervently hoped that would be the end, but as the seasons changed, Kaoru was still loudly expressing her desire for a younger sister. It became a daily inquiry, and at last, Koshijiro decided to gently break the news to her, before going to bed.

“Perhaps, you should think of a new wish. A little sister probably isn’t on its way.”

“Why not?” She demanded.

“W-well…” He stammered, thrown off guard. “It takes two people to make that kind of a request?” Kyoko immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes shut and shoulders trembling with concealed laughter. “Two adults, like me and your mother.”

“Tou-san, then wish with Kaa-san.”

What had he done to deserve this conversation? “But when a baby comes, you can’t exchange it, even if it’s a boy.”

“A little brother would be okay too, like Hitomi-chan’s.” Kaoru conceded, referring to one of her older playmates.

Thankfully, Kyoko took over, still smiling from the aftershocks. “Kaoru, we waited a very long time for you. We wished and prayed and nearly gave up. I don’t know if we can be that lucky a second time. But if you’re feeling lonely, let’s invite Hitomi-chan and your other friends over more often. And there are other children who live nearby too. Maybe, there will be someone who would like a big sister. What do you think?”

“…alright.” Over her head, Kyoko and Koshijiro exchanged relieved glances.

***

Emperor Meiji ascended to the throne, and a power struggle with the shogunate seemed imminent. Nothing in the news was particularly uplifting, a prelude to the certain turmoil.

One wintry morning, he passed by Otou-san’s room and stopped. The door was wide open, though without signs of a struggle. In the front, his father’s shoes were missing, and a quick scan confirmed that the yard was empty. A sense of foreboding overcame him. He walked past the gate, looking down the road to find a set of shallow footprints. They led to a large tree, shielding any snow from covering Otou-san’s sitting form. As he approached, the foreboding grew stronger, and it was only confirmed when he gently placed his palm upon his father’s shoulder. There was no heat at all. Otou-san’s face was perfectly tranquil, his final moments of acceptance, and Koshijiro bowed his head.

“Thank you, and goodbye. I’ll take you to Okaa-san now.”

The funeral was surprisingly crowded, with many people offering to pay their respects. It was clear that Otou-san had been respected and loved, by not only his colleagues but also the neighborhood and his fellow artists. Noticeably, there were two figures who never showed, but Koshijiro did not mind. It was best that his wife and daughter wouldn’t meet his siblings. Preferably never at all. Otou-san’s ashes were laid to rest beside the simple grave of the woman he loved, and Koshijiro blinked back sudden tears at the sight of his parents, reunited in death.

Kyoko’s familiar hand slipped into his. “It’s alright. You can cry, if you need to.” She gently said.

“Forgive me, Kyoko. I don’t know why-” He broke off, his voice shaky. He didn’t know why his composure was crumbling at this moment, when he had handled the funeral arrangements so steadily.

“Shh. I’m here, and so is Kaoru. We’re here.” Her gaze shone with her own tears, and Kaoru clung to Koshijiro’s other side, brows drawn together. They remained in a close huddle, all the way home. The house was quieter, and sometimes, there’d be an extra bowl set out by accident, but like years ago, the grief was easier to bear with time.

That spring, he was on midnight patrol, lantern in hand. A distant clamor rerouted him, and he kept one hand on the hilt of his katana as he hurried towards the shouts. A couple of shadows were already fleeing, leaving four bodies. One emitted a weak rattling cough. He drew closer and the lantern’s glow illuminated the man’s bloody face. “Hayashi?!” He checked for a pulse on his friend’s slick neck. Rapid, but present. He stabilized Hayashi, just as his colleagues rushed over.

The story was that it had been a group of ruffians, looking for anyone to rob in this economic crisis. Hayashi did survive, though at the cost of a maimed right leg. He was despondent; such an injury meant an end to kenjutsu and his service to his lord. “I’ll be thrown away, who wants a cripple for protection?”

“Don’t say that,” Koshijiro tried to persuade him. “Focus on getting better first, before returning to work.”

“As if. Just leave me to die and go back to your own dojo.” Hayashi snarled. That only served to steel Koshijiro. He wrote to Maekawa and Kikuhara, requesting their assistance, and continued to visit with food and water.

Maekawa was there within the week, and spoke nothing of kenjutsu, just boisterously singing as he cleaned Hayashi’s row house. Kikuhara was unable to do anything in person, but he sent packages of books, paintings, and other things to pass the time with. At first, Hayashi shouted at them, to the point where he wore himself out. They took meals at his bedside if he wouldn’t move and changed his dressings, and although Maekawa was skeptical that they were helping at all, Koshijiro insisted they were. Hayashi’s strength was slow to build, given his initial resistance, but he left his bed in order for them to stop nagging, as he put it, and scowled as he ate. He no longer raised his voice or spoke of dying. Despite his perpetual bitter mood, it was progress.

Koshijiro believed they were going to finally get him out of the house, only to find that the door chained in place. Hayashi had left a folded note in one of the edges. Thank you for staying with me, but I need to find my own way in life again.

A search resulted in nothing. Maekawa expressed his characteristic confidence that Hayashi would be fine, wherever he ended up, and Koshijiro reluctantly accepted that he had to trust his friend would continue to live on.

His dojo was faring well; there were many who were eager to learn how to fight or have their sons learn. At seven, Kaoru relished helping out, and he tended to ask for her to demonstrate, especially for the newcomers. She was as old as he was, when he first started learning, and with her head start, she was very good at kenjutsu and knew it. She loved being in the dojo, and although Koshijiro was proud of her enthusiasm, she did fight with some of the boys who were prejudiced towards a female classmate and mistakenly believed she was weaker. More than once, he had to break up a tussle. Punishment was dealt equally too, he didn’t want to favor his daughter and he could handle her grumpiness afterward. If she wanted to spar those boys in a designated match, however, he never objected.

Kyoko was much more apprehensive. “I’m not saying she can’t be in the dojo. I don’t want to confine her; I want her to enjoy life.” She was very firm about that sentiment, given her upbringing. “But I’m worried she’ll be hurt. It’s different for women. Men are allowed to bear scars with pride, whereas we’re expected to hide them.”

“I understand, but she’s growing up and she knows how to pick herself up when she falls. Kaoru’s resilient, like you.”

“That’s kind of you to say, dear.” It was an evasive reply. She still wasn’t mollified and fretted over Kaoru’s bruises and scrapes. Kaoru complained about the thick ointments, that most of her injuries were accidents and in the increasingly rarer fights, the dumb boys kind of deserved it. Koshijiro silently agreed with the latter point, as he bandaged his daughter up.

The majority of his students were now outside the samurai class, and somehow, word must have spread because he had a spectator who lingered after one class.

“Are you interested in joining?” Koshijiro inquired.

“It would be an honor but no. I am here as a representative of Omura.” The man smiled. “Have you heard of him?”

“Omura Masujiro? The Choshu strategist?”

“Yes, I’m glad you recognized him. But are you are aware of the cause he fights for?”

“It seems you’ll tell me regardless.”

There was the usual talk about sonno joi, or the expulsion of foreigners. But one thing caught Koshijiro’s attention. “The samurai class has abused their power and wealth for far too long. What we want is to remind them that at their core, they are no better than anyone else. To level the field, so to speak, and put an end to the four class system. Think about it, and we’ll be in town.” He provided the name of an inn they frequented and departed.

The conversation kept surfacing in Koshijiro’s thoughts. He did not believe that foreign influence was totally beneficial. The consequences of famine, economic turmoil, and disease were too severe to be ignored. Hayashi was one of many who had suffered from the growing unrest among the people. But it was too late to close the borders again. The military was already incorporating Western technology, and Choshu was offering military training to commoners. Omura’s follower spoke of humbling the samurai. Abolishing the class structure…he could accept that idea. Takaoka was supporting Satsuma and Choshu, the leaders of the rebellion. They were gathering anyone who was willing to go to Kyoto and assist in the fight to end the shogunate. A number of samurai from Oyumi were going, including Koshijiro’s direct superior, but before he could leave, he had to speak to Kyoko and Kaoru.

Kyoko responded first. “Of course, I want you to stay and be safe. If you leave, you might never return. But…” She stared at her own hands, wrapped around her teacup. A few wisps of hair escaped from behind her ear, and he reached over to tuck them back. “You feel very strongly about this.” With an inhale, she firmly straightened and met his gaze. “Promise us you’ll survive.”

“I promise. Will you and Kaoru be alright?”

Their daughter hadn’t said anything yet, her eyes wide as she looked at them. Kyoko reached for her hands, drawing her closer.

“Kaoru and I will be fine. I’m certain we won’t be the only women left behind either. We’ll manage and welcome you home when you return.”

“We’ll be here, Otou-san, don’t worry about us.” Kaoru’s voice was subdued, but she attempted a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll be home again before you know.”

He had been very naïve.

***

His first experience with war could never be forgotten. From the march on foot to the first battle cry in earshot, it all stayed with him. Most of the early days blurred together, leaving the impression of sore feet and shoulders. But when they reached Kyoto, the adrenaline surged within him and his fingers shook as he loaded his gun.

One moment, it was quiet. The next, commands were shouted down the line, and then, there was cracking gunfire and smoke. The soldier next to him was struck by a bullet. The man in front was cut down, blood seeping through his uniform. Behind him, an enemy cannonball landed on people he couldn’t name but their screams of agony echoed forever.

It was madness. Every day was a fresh ordeal.

The first time he killed a man, it was with his sword. It had been a long day, and his opponent was too slow for one moment. That was all it took, Koshijiro’s blade sinking deeper than either of them expected. The man’s features slackened, and Koshijiro knew he was already gone. The body twitched several times, before finally falling as the sword was removed. Koshijiro’s feet were planted to the ground, which was gradually darkening in color.

I’m sorry.

The words died on his tongue, as a bullet flew past, the sound deafening and reminding him that to stay still in battle meant death. He couldn’t linger, he had to keep moving. He had promised Kyoko and Kaoru he would come home to them, and that became his anchor on the battlefield. Even if doing so meant that he had to feel hollow for all of the rest.

***

“Otou-san? Otou-san?”

Koshijiro jolted. Kaoru was standing before him. When had she approached? He hadn’t noticed.

She beamed at him. “We’re having lunch now.” The sunlit yard stretched behind her, and he gripped the edges of the porch.

He had been home for a week, yet nothing felt real. He should be happy, he was alive and not in bad shape. Many men had not returned at all. But he felt like part of him had been left behind on the battlefield, drifting aimlessly and pulling the rest of him with it until a loud noise startled him and then he was on edge. It wore him out; he was constantly tired, despite waking well after sunrise. And there were the nightmares. He didn’t feel right.

Things had changed in Chiba too. Osue had succumbed to pneumonia in his absence, and he had already paid numb respects to the faithful old woman. Kyoko was understandably melancholy, not helped at all by how her illness had taken a turn. She was on bedrest, and her medicines had increased in quantity. Neither of them were sure how well they were working.

“We met a woman who teaches kenjutsu.”

“You did?”

“Her name is Chiba-san, as in the Chiba clan. Kaoru and I were buying groceries, and she was in her uniform. She was kind enough to invite us to her afternoon lesson. Kaoru really enjoyed it, so I feel more at ease.”

“Then, you can attend her lessons more often. It would be good for Kaoru.” He hadn’t been teaching, he wasn’t ready. Kyoko understood, but Kaoru clearly missed it. Even though she liked Chiba-san’s lessons, he overheard the two of them talking, while they thought he was having a nap.

“Is Otou-san going to be okay?”

“I don’t know yet, Kaoru.”

“He doesn’t talk about the war. It must have been scary.”

“It would be better not to ask. There are some things your father can’t share with us, that he wants to shield us from.” Kyoko evenly said. “When it’s time, he’ll share.”

“And what if he never does?”

“Then, that’s alright. We’ll be here to support him, just like always. He’s still your Otou-san, no matter what.”

“Oh. I get it now.”

His sight flooded and he doubled over. Kyoko and her infinite patience! And his innocent daughter, whose feelings were hurt. Here he was, being pathetic. He didn’t step out to acknowledge them, but he resolved in his heart that he would try to return to normal.

He wrote a routine for himself, including meditation and what to think of to pull himself back to reality. He was out of bed before his wife and daughter, to clean the dojo and equipment, before reintroducing kenjutsu back into his life. But he couldn’t use a real blade anymore. Never again, not even to keep students. He couldn’t let go of the sword, but he could forge a new relationship with it, to protect who was important to him. He began drafting new kata, on defending and disarming. The work anchored him even further, kept him from falling too deeply into listlessness.

Kyoko and Kaoru were encouraging, every step of the way. His wife woke him from the worst nightmares, and she intuitively knew when to give him space and when to be near. She always made her presence known, never startling him. When he returned to work, his satchel hid little notes in her handwriting, heartfelt reminders that pushed back against his dark thoughts. Kaoru was determined to make him smile once a day. Her good cheer was infectious, as she took over in leading their daily stretches. Upon finding her mother’s notes, she added her own, complete with the signature she was practicing. One of her first sewing projects was a handkerchief for him, a fine dark green with three leaves, and she presented it with such pride, his weariness lifted.

It wasn’t always easy. Some days, he faltered, folded in on himself. It wasn’t until months later that he could think back and realize how low he had been. He wasn’t certain if he’d ever feel like that again, but he learned to recognize the triggers and cope.

Now that the Emperor had moved to the freshly renamed Tokyo and there was peace at last, properties were up for grabs. The more Koshijiro heard, the more he leaned into the possibility. There was excellent medical care in the capital, and plenty of work to be had. The influx of people also meant more potential students. It was a time for change, and when would another opportunity like this occur again?

The paperwork was quickly finalized and they packed their belongings. By year’s end, they were settled into their new home in Tokyo. Koshijiro had commissioned renovations and additions, and though the house was larger than needed for a family of three, he and Kyoko discussed accepting boarders to pay off the debt. But the bathhouse was worth it, to the delight of Kyoko and Kaoru, and he liked his dojo very much. The wood smelled fresh and fragrant, and he pivoted in the open space. The light poured in, washing over his face. This was his school, the one he had yearned for all these years. A school of swordsmanship that would use the blade to protect, never to kill. A school that would represent a vow for the present and a wish for the future.

Kamiya Kasshin. The living heart.

***

At first, he thought the Kamiya plot had moved, because there were only supposed to be three graves, for his parents and Kyoko. So the fourth had puzzled him for a moment, before he realized whose it was. Oh. Well, this was very strange, to see his own grave.

“Kenkaku Koshimichi Koki…?” He muttered. The Buddhist name he had been granted for the afterlife felt like it belonged to a different person entirely.

Fortunately, there weren’t many weeds. The ones that were present gave his right shoulder enough work. As he was finishing up, a kind couple offered to scrub down the headstones and light the incense. They made small talk, that they were newlyweds and he had married into her family. They refused any monetary payment, and with clasped hands, they were soon on their way. Alone, Koshijiro knelt.

“I’m a little early, but I thought these flowers would be nice. And sorry, that Kaoru isn’t here with me.” It would be nearly eighteen years ago, that she was born. “I’d rather celebrate her birthday when she’s home. We’ve missed out on that, the past two times.”

The wind ruffled his hair. It was getting longer, he needed a trim.

“I’ve been working on adjusting Kamiya Kasshin, for a one-handed variant. Not just for me, but for Yutaro and those in similar situations. It would also be good for anyone who’s been injured.” For that matter, injured people weren’t far from his mind. “Even though I’d like to be there, fighting with them.” He stood, brushed off his sore knees, and gave a last smile. “I’ll be back for Obon, with Kaoru and everyone else.”

***

After multiple appointments, Kyoko finally spoke the truth aloud. “I’m not going to live much longer, am I?”

Dr. Gensai slowly nodded. “Yes. I wish I could do something, anything.”

“You’ve done so much already, ever since we moved here last year.”

Kaoru worked her way under Kyoko’s arm, half-crawling into her lap. “Okaa-san.”

Koshijiro was barely listening, the world closing upon the clinic’s room. Nothing seemed real at that moment.

As the days passed, the neighborhood pitched in. His police colleagues covered extra shifts in his place, and their wives kept Kyoko company while he was working. He received plenty of groceries with a hand wave in regards to payment, which he never got used to. There was always something on the table for dinner. An acquaintance by some degrees, the apprentice of an artisan who had admired the work of Kamiya Keiichiro, offered to paint Kyoko’s picture, free of charge. The ink portrait was very somber, unlike his wife, but Kyoko appreciated the gesture. To Dr. Gensai and the rest of their visitors, she seemed accepting and strong.

However, when it was just the two of them, she was afraid of dying.

“I don’t want to go. I need to live, just a while longer, until Kaoru is a little older.” She sobbed, and it took all of Koshijiro’s willpower not to break down. He held her and didn’t speak, his throat burning.

Kaoru was on her best behavior, ensuring her mother was warm and had food. She braided both of their hair at night and chose Kyoko’s clothes in the morning. She read aloud, stumbling on a few unfamiliar words and making up for the little mistakes with her own interest in the novels.

Sometimes, his wife was too fatigued by the pain in her abdomen. Her hand shook when she drew her fingers through Kaoru’s ponytail. It was too easy for her to be out of breath. But she was focused on one task in particular, and he found her carefully writing when she was able.

“It’s our family book.” She showed him the familiar cover of the volume that told the stories of their pasts. She had been updating it over the years. “The next few pages are for Kaoru, for when she’s a young woman. I’ve already written your pages, for when you feel troubled.”

“Kyoko…”

“I only want you to be well. And I’m sorry.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes and gave a short laugh. “Oh no, not again.”

“No, Kyoko, don’t apologize.” He drew her trembling form into his arms and breathed in the scent of her hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve fought a harder battle than many ever will, and even now, you handle it with grace in front of Kaoru.”

“I don’t want her to worry about me, but I think she knows anyway. She’s a good girl, our daughter. She’ll be a lovely young lady someday.” Her tone was bittersweet with longing. “My kimonos have been set aside for her?”

“Yes, for when the time is right.”

“Mm. Hopefully, they won’t be too out of fashion.”

“They’ll suit Kaoru well. I saw the blue one with the cranes, the one you wore when we met.”

“That was almost twenty years ago, right? I still remember that day, I knew you were kind and honorable. I think I loved you from the moment I told you my name. I never expected to have this, any of this. But I’ve seen the cherry blossoms each year with you, my husband who I’m very proud of. Every day with you has been wonderful.”

“I haven’t been at my best every day. Most days, perhaps even half.”

She shook her head, mouth curving upwards. “No, really. Every day.” She brought her hand to the side of his face, and he leaned in to kiss her.

By autumn, she was in the hospital again. She was deteriorating fast, yet she held onto Koshijiro’s hand as the doctors came in and out. She was too weak to leave her bed, and he held back her hair when her nausea was too powerful to keep at bay. The worst was when she didn’t seem to recognize him or Kaoru, rapidly blinking at them when they greeted her. Her confusion was frightening, and he always ushered Kaoru out, saying that Okaa-san needed her rest. But she was sharp enough to notice.

“It’s so hard to see her like this. I wish I could do something!” She exclaimed, kicking a stray pebble in the road.

“I feel the same. I’d rather it be me in her place.”

“Otou-san, you shouldn’t be in the hospital either.” Kaoru corrected, slumping. “All of us should be home.”

He couldn’t argue, and he took her hand as they departed.

The weather chilled, the leaves bright with color. Flowers were in rare abundance, but they managed to procure an armful of pink dianthus. Kaoru strode into the hospital room, petals falling in her wake.

“Okaa-san, we’re here to visit!”

“Hello.” Her voice was barely audible but her expression was warm.

Koshijiro was relieved she was lucid. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

“No, I just woke up. What time is it?”

He told her, as Kaoru arranged the bouquet by the window.

“Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” Tears welled up in her gaze. “You have such a good heart, Kaoru.” She swallowed hard, intent on making her words count. “You’ve been so helpful, so sweet and strong. I’ve told you as much as I can, but if it isn’t enough, know that you’re never alone. Listen to Otou-san, and remember that he wants what’s best for you. There’s always the book, if you need it.”

“I know where the book is. I just want you.” Kaoru quietly replied.

Kyoko was too overcome to speak, cupping Kaoru’s face. Koshijiro sat at her other side, wrapping his arm around her. They huddled close, their conversation meandering; what mattered most was that they were in the present together, for as long as it could last. Eventually, Kyoko’s breathing deepened and her eyes struggled to stay open.

“We’ll be back later.” Koshijiro promised, hesitantly extricating himself.

“See you soon, Okaa-san. Love you.” Kaoru kissed her cheek, and Kyoko gave a fragile smile.

“I love you too. I love you both so much.” Those were her last words, before she fell asleep.

By the following evening, she still hadn’t woken. A number of white-clad hospital staff filled her room, exchanging words that swept over his understanding until someone explained. Kyoko was comatose. He was going to send Kaoru home, but she stamped her foot and insisted on staying. One of the doctors offered a spare office for her to sleep in, while Koshijiro remained by Kyoko’s side. It would not be long before the end, he was warned but he would not budge. He wouldn’t let her go while she was alone.

Her weak pulse fluttered under his thumb, stopping for long seconds before picking up again. His dear, persistent Kyoko. He cupped her cheek and bent his head close, uncertain if she could hear him, but he whispered into her ear. “It’s alright, Kyoko. We don’t want you to be in pain. It’s alright.”

It was ultimately a blessing that Kyoko did not linger. Before midnight, she slipped away. Koshijiro pressed his lips to hers, in one last kiss. Then, he went to Kaoru.

She stirred awake when he touched her shoulder. “Otou-san?” Her eyes were wide with apprehension.

“She’s gone.”

“Can I see her?”

He could only nod, and he led her into the room. Kaoru climbed onto the hospital bed, and stifled her sobs into Kyoko’s neck. He held her cold hand, engraving the memory of her skin into his mind. They remained there until the very last minute.

***

The funeral was accompanied by a light rain. His arms were burdened with the container of Kyoko’s ashes, and his shoulders hunched unconsciously to protect what was left of his wife from the weather. Kaoru walked beside him, quiet and matching one of his paces with two of her own. The stoic procession marched to the cemetery, and Kyoko was buried in heavy silence.

Time passed by sluggishly. The house was too quiet, and he resorted to kenjutsu, to an escape. If he kept his body occupied and moving, he would not have to think about how empty he felt.

“Otou-san?”

The timid question stopped him mid-step, and he turned to see his daughter standing in the doorway.

“Um. I tried to make lunch. Do you want to eat yet? Because you didn’t have breakfast…”

His gut reaction was to decline, he had probably lost his appetite forever. But he stared at his daughter’s round eyes, the quiver in her chin as she waited for his answer.

No. I can’t give up, I’m all Kaoru has now, and so, I must keep up my strength.

“Alright. Let’s have lunch.”

The onigiri were misshapen, lopsided triangles. There was probably a little too much salt, but to his fatigued body, the flavor wasn’t bad. The rice was definitely undercooked though, and the only sound in the room was the crunch of grains between teeth.

Then, there was a sniffle. Koshijiro lifted his head, to see Kaoru frowning and wiping away tears, even as she chewed. “Sorry.” She warbled. “It doesn’t taste good.”

“Kaoru…” He reached over the table, to awkwardly pat her head. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I’m your father, it’s my duty to provide for you. But I’ve been neglecting you. I’m so sorry.”

“Mm.” She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her sleeve across her face.

“Don’t worry about cooking anymore. I’ll hire a new housekeeper to take care of that. I’ll also open the rooms to boarders so we can pay off the rest of the debt. Soon, I’ll continue teaching.”

“Can I be a student again?”

“Yes. The position of head student will always be yours, until you can teach with me.”

“And then?”

“And then, you’ll be assistant instructor. After that, head instructor. The dojo will be yours, and I’ll write it down so no one can take that away from you.”

Kaoru nodded. “Otou-san?”

“Hm?”

“Can I talk about Okaa-san?”

“Your mother loved stories. I think she’d like nothing more than for you to tell stories about her.”

She slowly nodded. “Will you?”

“Perhaps not right away. But even if I don’t speak, she’s always here.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And here.” He pointed to the same spot on his daughter, and she laid her fingers upon it in understanding.

“Okay. I can talk about her for both of us.”

He didn’t respond, but he patted her head again and they continued on.

It was not easy, raising a daughter alone. As much as Kaoru looked like his dear wife, she had inherited her temper from him. They did argue, over trivial matters in hindsight, but such discussions usually ended in Kaoru slamming the door to her room and for him to thumb through his designated pages in Kyoko’s book, rereading her overarching message of love and patience. He would not repeat the mistakes of his youth, and he would knock on her door, requesting that they talk. Thankfully, her anger usually blew over quickly and he made it a point to apologize to each other.

Kamiya Kasshin was ultimately a family project. Kaoru was the first student to try the new techniques, and from observing her as well, Koshijiro made necessary changes and adjustments. His daughter was a natural at kenjutsu, and she freely challenged him.

“Wouldn’t another step work for this kata? I feel like I need to get my balance back from the last turn.”

“That’s fine, but you might run into trouble if you’re in a tight space.”

“Well, that just means it’s more important to rebalance.”

“It seems the turn’s causing the issue. What if we move it up, earlier in the sequence?”

“Yeah, that could work too!”

He did hire a housekeeper, but the middle-aged woman was far stricter than her initial interview conveyed. She heavily disapproved of Kaoru’s love for swordsmanship, insisting that she rise before dawn and sleep late, to complete extra household tasks. But Kaoru was unhappier every day, and it came to a head when the housekeeper mentioned the dreaded word of “marriage”. Kaoru was late for practice and he was searching for her, overhearing the raised voices in the kitchen.

“Why would I care about some husband I haven’t even met yet?” Kaoru exploded. “I’m me and I should be loved for who I am, not because I’m ladylike enough!”

“Your education should have started when you were much younger. Now, I fear it’s too late to salvage.” She glanced over at Koshijiro, striding towards them. “Ah, here’s your father.” If she was expecting him to defend her viewpoint, he was glad to disappoint her.

“I need her in the dojo. Don’t delay her and for that matter, we will not speak of marrying her off. Kaoru is only ten.” He firmly stated. “End of discussion.”

“You spoil her far too much. If she were my daughter, she’d be a proper girl and run the house on her own. I’m not sure what your wife did-”

“And that is where you stop, because she’s not your child, she’s mine.” He coldly dismissed her. “Pack your things and I’ll give you your pay for the week. We have no more need of your services.”

She huffed and gave them nasty looks but didn’t say another word. Before noon, the gate soundly shut behind her.

“Well…that probably went as well as it could.” He said at last.

Kaoru laughed. “I thought it was great. Thank you, Otou-san.” She hugged him and he patted her head. Then, she pouted. “Does this mean we need to find someone new?”

“We can wait a while.” Soon after, they met Sekihara Tae, whose friendship was much appreciated.

When Kaoru was twelve, they had the pleasant surprise of a visitor. Kikuhara was traveling through, and he was interested in the school Koshijiro had described in a New Year’s card. He joined the class as an observer, then to help with basic forms. He began to follow along with the students, and he caught on quickly. After a month, he held his own in sparring against Koshijiro. Kaoru called the close match in Koshijiro’s favor, but they were happy with the outcome.

Kikuhara’s objective seemed to be complete too. He opened a pocket watch and examined the inside. “It’s time for me to go. I have someone to return to now.” With a smile, he turned the watch around to show Koshijiro a photograph of a young girl, no older than five. “My daughter, Midori.”

“A daughter? You…married?”

“No.” Kikuhara paused. “I haven’t told anyone else this, but she’s the illegitimate child of my lord. I was tasked to care for her, but the moment she was placed in my arms, I knew she was as good as my own. She’s very frail though, and she isn’t interested in kenjutsu, unlike your Kaoru. But she’s kindhearted, like her real father.”

“With no offense to your lord, you are her father now and I’m sure she misses you.” Koshijiro pointed out without malice. “If you need any advice on raising her, please let me know.”

“I’ll remember, senpai.” He joked. “I will be sure to bother you about teaching as well. I like some of the kata from Kamiya Kasshin, and its message is honorable. I’m interested in sharing it in Echigo, alongside my own family’s tradition. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“And I’ll call it…Kasshin Shintoryu Kikuhara?”

“Please don’t, you can just keep your family’s name for the school.” He was embarrassed.

“No, it’s a good name, and I’ll be happy to teach under its sign.” At the end of his stay, they saw him off with waves and promises of a future reunion, when Midori was older.

Years passed. He filled a book with the knowledge of Kamiya Kasshin, leaving it in the altar alongside Kyoko’s volume. Kaoru was promoted to assistant instructor after demonstrating mastery in the last kata, and she taught the youngest students while he focused on the older ones. They made a good team. The dojo was raucous with clashing bokken and conversation, and for some time, life was uneventful.

***

That changed when Kumamoto Castle was taken by the Satsuma army. Before the week’s end, the draft letter arrived, summoning Koshijiro to the warfront once more. He was standing frozen in the front yard and numbly rereading the notice, thinking of how he could hide it before he had a proper chance to speak to Kaoru, when she called out.

“Otou-san, what’s taking you so long?” Too late, her gaze landed on the official stamp on the envelope, and she immediately blanched. “Otou-san?”

“I’m sorry, Kaoru.”

“Why are you apologizing?!” She gave a nervous laugh. “It’s not like you chose to go.”

“In a way, I did when I joined the police.”

“Otou-san, don’t say that. I know you don’t really think so.” She touched his shoulder. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m more worried about you. You’ll be alone.”

“No, I won’t. I have the students, and Tae’s in town. And I can always bring on more boarders.” At his distasteful expression, she scowled. “Don’t say anything about protecting me, because I can defend myself. You know I can!”

“I’m only telling you to be cautious.”

“I am.” She grumbled.

He excused himself, to find two items. One was his tanto, and the other was his father’s. He handed the sheathed blades to her. “Keep one under your pillow, and the other in the secret compartment in the bathhouse.”

“Otou-san.”

“Remember to lock your room every night.”

“Otou-san, I’ll remember. But how are you coping? You’re being called back to war, you’ll have to…” Kill people again. The unspoken words hung in the air.

“I don’t look forward to it, but I will do my best to avoid a worst case scenario. With Kamiya Kasshin, I can disarm as many as I can.”

At that, she lit up. “So, we should train as much as possible. And I want to master the succession techniques before you go!”

That was a good idea. After lessons, they practice sparred, and Koshijiro pinpointed where she needed to improve. Not that there was much, but he wanted to teach her everything he could before leaving. The last afternoon eventually came; Kaoru focused solely on Hadome and Hawatari. She was on the verge of breaking through, and she recognized as much.

“I almost had it! And I knew where I went wrong too! One more time, Otou-san?”

“No, you’re tired. It’s already been over two hours, and I can tell you’re too exhausted to proceed any further today. We should stop here.”

She groaned, slumping. “But I wanted to master them before you left, so you can see.”

“Mastering these techniques shouldn’t be rushed, especially for my sake. You are close. So, not yet, but you’re getting better every time.” He wouldn’t be here to watch her progress though, after this day.

She must have thought so too, for she set her bokken aside and fiercely hugged him. He squeezed her back, hoping it could convey all of what he couldn’t say aloud.

The morning of departure was somber. Kaoru made breakfast, which he ate without complaint. He donned his uniform and hated that his daughter looked so sad when she saw him. However, she didn’t mention it, only asking if he had everything he needed. She trailed him past the front door, the frosted grass crackling under their footsteps.

“I’ll see you soon, Otou-san.” She said, decidedly using the temporary farewell.

“Yes. Protect the school while I’m gone, and go back inside, before you catch a cold. I’ll see you soon, Kaoru.” He clasped her shoulder, hoping to give some strength to her. Then, with great reluctance, he let go and walked alone. He closed the gate behind him, waited until Kaoru locked it again, and headed into town to join his regiment.

The journey to Satsuma was taxing, as they sailed towards Kyushu. He wasn’t as young as many of the other men, and when they camped on the southern island, he fell asleep once his head touched his pillow. The nightmares trickled back, becoming more convoluted every night. The return to the battlefield was dreaded by the other policemen, especially since they were only given wooden batons and swords. He couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved by the lack of a gun. He struck at shoulders, feet, anywhere that wasn’t lethal.

Months passed, as Saigo Takamori’s defeat forced him to flee and the Imperial army followed suit. The minor skirmishes with Saigo’s men culminated into a pincer attack on the Satsuma rebels. Koshijiro gritted his teeth and continued with striking through. To move forward, so this could be over as soon as possible. Suddenly, the line fell back, and he was perplexed for a moment, before the surrounding shouts alerted that there would be shelling. The order was to retreat, to gain as much distance for the explosions that would soon rock the battleground. Koshijiro didn’t even have to time to sheath his sword, the adrenaline humming under his skin, demanding to run as fast and far as he could. The men were tripping over each other and cursing, the fear and apprehension whittling their tempers.

A distant boom, then faint screams. Two steps later, it repeated, only closer. How much time did he have left? Koshijiro’s heart pounded out the tense seconds. A young soldier, barely older than Kaoru, stumbled to his right. Koshijiro switched his katana to his left hand and grabbed the boy’s collar. Using the momentum of his own body, he thrust the boy in front. “Take cover!” He bellowed.

Sound. It deafened him.

Force. His left arm, still outstretched behind him, twisted.

Heat. It seemed to split his skin open.

Pain. And that was enough for his eyes to roll back.

Forgive me, Kaoru-

***

He woke up, and he could hardly draw breath. He blinked. He had his sight. He was on his back, staring up at a white ceiling. The clamor of groaning men filled his ears. The smells of urine and blood were strong, and he didn’t dare open his dry mouth. He was in a hospital, a crowded one at that. For how long, he didn’t know.

I’m Kamiya Koshijiro, forty-five years old. I have a daughter, Kaoru, who is seventeen. We live in Tokyo. I work with the Tokyo Metropolitan police. I teach Kamiya Kasshin, the sword that protects.

There, his memory was intact. Although when he tried to remember what happened after the explosion, he couldn’t recall anything after the storm of sensation. He must have fainted. He twitched his fingers, his toes. No pain. He turned his head right. Well, his neck wasn’t broken, just stiff. Against his pillow, there was soft friction; the back of his head was bandaged. His right forearm bore the healing crust of a scrape, and he deduced he must have fallen on that side. But he could move his wrist and elbow joints, so there were no fractures. He checked the left-

Immediately, he jerked his head away. Shock kicked in. He didn’t have an arm. His left arm was gone. There was just wrapped white cloth, encasing the end of his shoulder. Then, why could he still feel it, down to the fingertips? He looked again, to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

He stared and stared and stared. He didn’t have an arm.

Distantly, he heard a nurse call out that he was awake, and footsteps approached. A doctor introduced himself before asking identifying questions. Koshijiro’s voice was raspy from disuse but he demonstrated he knew who he was. The doctor provided new details.

Koshijiro was in a hospital close to one of the harbors in Satsuma. A week had passed. The Imperial army was fighting on, with the last of the rebel forces weakened. Most of the province was back in the Emperor’s control and it would be a matter of weeks before Saigo surrendered. Reportedly, Koshijiro was found on the battlefield, alone and unconscious. When he was moved here, he had convulsed to reality and blood loss brought him under again.

Overall, he was in rough shape. The explosion had singed some of his hair off, and his skull had to be partially shaved. He had superficial burns on his back, that worsened on his left side. His right knee was swollen and abraded, and part of his big toenail was torn. His body bore minor cuts and bruises from landing. And he no longer had a left arm. The doctor actually had to remove more bone and tissue because what remained after the blast was not clean. But it was free from shrapnel and they could only do their best to prevent gangrene.

He was warned that there would be pain, that his body would not properly recognize that his left arm was gone. Multiple medicines were given to him, and his mouth gained a perpetual bitter taste. He slept in fits throughout his stay. All around him, other men were dying. He always noticed when another body was carried out.

A week passed, but he wasn’t quite healing. He forced himself to look at the dressings as they were changed, and they didn’t seem promising. He bitterly thought he couldn’t recover as well as he could in this place, but he had no say here. And then, one morning, he felt lethargic and his stomach sank in realization. A small part of him clung to hope that it would pass soon, but he forgot it as he became more and more delirious.

The hospital staff was saying he was feverish, and he groggily understood it was bad, because he felt so cold. Sleep was tempting. There was more medicine, more people hovering over him. He felt numb, it would be very easy to sleep forever. Too weak to struggle, his eyes closed.

He did not expect to dream.

He was sitting on the porch, the moon abnormally large and bright above. A quiet warm summer’s night. And he couldn’t see her, but he could feel Kyoko’s presence, as if she was standing behind him.

You’re so close.

I know. But not yet, Kyoko. I made a promise to you, didn’t I?

It was as if she was laughing, her breath warm against his neck. Then, please go home.

Yes. He couldn’t possibly disobey and he was swallowed once more by the void.

When he woke, his fever had broken. To the doctors’ surprise and awe, he had overcome the infection. He didn’t feel like it was miraculous at all; he had made promises and he intended to keep them. Once he heard his wounds were healed, he declared. “I’m leaving.” The response was dismissive, until he tried to leave his bed. He’d had enough of being in the hospital, he argued, and he’d heal more if he wasn’t restrained. That only sent him to another facility, with others in slightly better condition. From so much time on bedrest, he was frustratingly weak, and his legs shook underneath him when he attempted to walk around. But he pushed on, easily recalling a blue-clad figure with braids in her family’s yard, and conjuring a younger one, years later, who must be teaching in the dojo. Even if he no longer had one arm, he still had the other, his legs, and his head. That was good enough to get by. By the time he was discharged, the war had ended with Saigo’s suicide. His return home was overdue but winter’s approach undercut his pace. He was trying desperately not to get sick again.

The initial leg was frustratingly slow. He had no money, and any innkeeper dismissed his offer of labor. One benefit about his amputation was that it was noticeable, and kind strangers would grant him a night or two in a stable or on a fishing boat. But most people tended to avoid his gaze, so he did his best to keep moving. The new phantom pains were excruciating, his ghostly arm wrenching as it had in its final moments. Those incapacitating occasions, as well as his poor physical shape, forced him to rest often, to his chagrin.

He took one such break, on the wayside of a market street. He had managed to buy passage back to Honshu, though it meant he had to agree to a slight detour, since the port was not close to the main roads he recognized. This town was bustling with naval activity, thanks to the iron ships anchored in the dark water. The marine air was soothing, and the latest episode of pain ebbed with each deep breath.

“Ojii-san, where did your arm go?”

He startled, and in his periphery, a little boy stared at him with round eyes. There was a flood of emotion, but his most prominent thought was: I can’t tell this child it was blown off! “Well…” He searched for an appropriate thing to say. “I traded it.”

“For what?”

“So I could go home.”

A woman in her early thirties approached, holding the hand of a slightly older boy. “Sadatake! Oh, I’m so sorry.” The mother was so mortified, bowing her head multiple times. Her obi rested low, under the modest curve of her belly. “Sadatake, apologize to this uncle.”

“Sorry.”

“Please, don’t concern yourselves over it.”

She searched his face for a moment. “You look like you could use some rest and good food. Why don’t you come to our place? My husband wouldn’t mind at all.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“No, I insist.” She pressed her palm on her rounded abdomen and smiled beatifically. The underlying message was not to upset her. “And my husband’s heading this way right now.” She directed her gaze over his shoulder, and he pivoted.

What he saw stunned him.

The man had plenty of silver in his hair, and his right leg dragged with each step, though the sleeping toddler draped over his shoulder didn’t help. Those fox eyes had regained their spark and framed by creases, they widened in recognition. “Kamiya? Kamiya Koshijiro?”

“Hayashi.” He shook his head at the incredulity of the moment, and he gestured to the site of his recent loss. “After all this time, I would certainly like to talk to you.”

The family led the way to a modest house, near Hayashi’s workplace at a naval office. The boys were young, having turned three, five, and seven, and they had just finished celebrating the milestone thrice over. Hayashi was a long way off from his former devastated self. Koshijiro felt a mixture of relief and sympathy as he watched his friend mind the little ones’ table manners at dinner.

“Sadakazu, here, move your cup away so you won’t spill it. Sadanori, wipe your mouth.” Even as he was speaking, he was already carrying out the actions, inspecting his youngest’s face one last time to ensure it was thoroughly clean. Hayashi’s wife fondly watched the spectacle, as Sadatake ate beside her.

The comfort of having a meal at a full table was a balm to Koshijiro’s weary spirit. After the dishes were cleared and the boys were sent to bed, despite their loud protests, Hayashi poured out two cups of warm sake. Koshijiro inhaled the fragrance, appreciating the liquor.

“Been saving up this bottle for a while, and I’m glad I did. I haven’t had the chance to drink in a while either.”

He took a sip. Just hot enough and very good indeed. “I didn’t know you’d become a family man.”

“I didn’t really expect to be one.” Hayashi admitted. “During the Bakumatsu, I was here, watching the troops travel past and trying not to feel useless. But Akie’s family clan sided with the Satcho alliance, and that’s how we met. There wasn’t much of a ceremony, because we married against her family’s wishes. I don’t blame them; I can still hardly believe she’d pick me. But before I could scare her off, the boys came along. Now it’s twins, so I hope at least one of them can convince the rest to be calm and kind to their old father.”

Koshijiro laughed. It was the first time in months, he realized, that he had. “You’ll miss some of it when they’re this young.”

“You have a family, don’t you? A daughter?”

“Yes, Kaoru is in Tokyo. Kyoko passed away, seven years ago.”

Hayashi’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry. But you made her happy, anyone could see that. ”

Koshijiro chose not to reply, instead drinking from his cup.

“How old is your daughter now?”

“She’s seventeen.” He had missed her birthday. Discomfort spread through him.

“Damn, you’ll probably be marrying her off before the twins arrive.”

“Kaoru’s still young.”

“I was married to my first wife when I was younger than that.” Hayashi countered. “And it’s been months since you’ve been gone.”

Koshijiro frowned. “I need to return.”

“Ah, you haven’t changed much at all.” His friend grinned. “Maekawa’s in Tokyo too, right? Well, don’t tell him or anyone else yet that I’m here. I will, when I’m ready. Probably after Akie delivers.”

“I think they’d be glad to know you’re living well, but I understand.” The last of the alcohol was drained, and Hayashi thumped his back before urging him to retire. That night, he slept comfortably.

Before dawn broke, he intended to leave quietly, not to bother them anymore and to get a head start on his day. But he wasn’t as quiet as he hoped, for rustling noises carried over into the hallway. He tried to quicken his pace, but a door slid open.

“Gotcha.”

His sighed. “Good morning, Hayashi. And Akie-san.” The couple walked towards him with intent, Hayashi’s hand in his robe.

His friend clicked his tongue. “Good morning indeed. Were you trying to sneak away? How foolish, Kamiya. My wife’s hearing is not to be underestimated. Especially since we want to give you this.” He pushed a cloth bag into Koshijiro’s hand, the hefty weight studded with the metal ridges of the coins within.

“I can’t possibly accept. Please, keep this for your children.”

“They have plenty already. You, on the other hand, don’t have a naval secretary father, so take it.”

Akie added. “It’s a long road to Tokyo, especially when traveling alone. If you can find safety on a boat, a train, or even a cart, we’d be at ease knowing you have the means.” She then kept her voice low. “And I wanted to personally thank you. I know what you and your friends did for my husband, all those years ago, and it’s because of you that I have him. That I have my children and this life. I hope this is a fraction of what I owe you.”

His resistance crumbled. “…I promise not to squander it. In return, I hope you have a safe delivery.” He stepped out, to slip on his shoes.

Hayashi held his wife by the waist, to shield her from the morning chill, and raised his hand in farewell. “If you ever need anything else, let me know.”

“I will, and thank you. It was good to see you.” They bowed to one another, and he did not look back. His path was clear.

The days unfolded, one after another. At last, the surroundings became familiar, and every step took him towards the dojo, his school, and Kaoru.

***

In the first week of July, the Kyoto police informed them that Shishio and his followers had revealed themselves. Koshijiro was loath to miss an incoming message, and he remained at the station with the night shift, catching himself from nodding off until his sore neck forced him to trudge back to the empty house. The contingency plan was never far from his mind, even manifesting in his dreams. He was awake for good when the news came that Shishio’s ship was burning and falling to pieces off the shoreline. And then, there was another telegram within the hour.

“This one was specifically meant for you, Officer Kamiya.” The chief wryly said. “From your daughter.”

It was short but conveyed so much. WE WON. ALL SAFE.

If he was the type to dance, he could have danced all the way home. But he wasn’t, and ultimately, that meant he noticed that the lights were still on in Dr. Gensai’s clinic. When he knocked, Takani opened up, her eyes tired but offering a little smile when she recognized him. “Kamiya-san?”

“Yes, I have good news. The battle was won in Kyoto.” He showed her the telegram with pride.

“Really?” She exhaled in relief. “I’m so thankful. But it must have been difficult. I would like to see if they need care…”

“Then, let’s go. We’ll leave with the first train in the morning.”

“Just like that?” Takani laughed. “Well, I won’t argue. I’ll tell Dr. Gensai and get my supplies. See you in a few hours.”

He could hardly wait.

#rurouni kenshin #at arm's length #kamiya koshijiro #can you believe my version of koshijiro has returned before the hokkaido arc's

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goodproofingwater · 5 years

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Protection - KJ Apa x Reader

Word count: 2661

Request by: This spiraled from @andwizzlev’s request for protective, jealous KJ.

Warnings: domestic violence, violence, angst

You and Tom had been together for 6 months to the day when it first happened. The first massive argument that had led to him throwing plates across the room. You had thought it was some kind of joke at first, some kind of attempt to lighten the mood with something ridiculous but he had been deadly serious. The plates hadn’t hit you, hadn’t even really been thrown in your direction, but still you knew that a line was being crossed that day.

The following week had been the first time he left a mark on you. You had come home late from work, had been hanging out with the cast of the new show you were working on on their night shoots as you wrote, and he was less than pleased. You had expected him to be in bed when you returned at 2am, but instead he held you against a wall by your wrists and made you promise to never do something like that again.

And you hadn’t. The bruises on your wrists the following morning had ensured that you never forgot his words, and you were sure that it was your fault. You hadn’t even told him that you were staying, you should have mentioned that instead of just doing it. It had been that which had fuelled his anger.

You tried to put it out of your mind as you dressed for the teen vogue party that you were attending with him, but the bruises on your wrists still remained. They were his favourite to reapply pressure to now that he knew the effect that they had on you, and if it weren’t for his own boss forcing him to come to the party you wouldn’t be going either. He didn’t like the way other men looked at you, didn’t like the way you “flirted” with them.

He was of course talking about KJ.

KJ and yourself had been close since the day that you started working as a writer on Riverdale. He was kind, funny and always had a way to make work fun even if you were stuck in the writers room for hours on end. It had been wonderful until Tom started to pick up on it.

His work as a stuntman bought him to the Riverdale set sometimes, and it had only taken KJ passing you a cup of coffee for Tom to forbid you to spend time with him.

You hadn’t listened at first of course. This was your friend and your work colleague, but the next time that he came to set and saw KJ waiting by the writers room to show you something he had figured out on guitar he had held you against the wall again.

You hadn’t spoken to KJ properly in 3 months.

Slipping bracelets over the marks on your wrists, you attempted a smile at yourself in the mirror before he walked in, dressed to the nines.

“Ready?” He spoke, his deep voice making ice run through you, and you nodded, not wanting to say anything that was going to anger him anymore.

The car pulled up to the entrance of the party and frowned to yourself as you saw the cameras. You had once relished posing with your friends in front of the paps, pulling stupid faces and having fun, but now you just had to stand there. Any wrong movement would show your bruises, any wrong conversation or interaction would cause Tom to make the bruises worse, and so you had your standard pose - standing with your hand on Toms chest.

He slipped his fingers into yours as you plastered the fake smile on your lips, walking toward the camera and posing as you had expected, moving along the line as another car pulled up and you stood in front of a different set of press photographers. As you were standing there with your fake smile, you couldn’t help but glance to your left, feeling eyes on you.

“Oh my God is that..” KJ’s thick kiwi accent wrapped around his words and you felt a chill run through you. Not now. Not here. Toms fingers dug hard into your side as the redhead approached, and you winced in pain. KJ’s smile faltered as he saw it, his brow furrowing in confusion until his eyes fell on Toms hand.

Cole grabbed KJ’s arm and pulled him back for a photo with him and Lili, Camila joining them as they posed and had a laugh and you hoped that KJ hadn’t noticed. You had no idea what was going to happen if someone found out what Tom had been doing. He had warned you that if you told anyone he would be fired, he wouldn’t be able to provide for you and you didn’t want that, right? He was half of the reason you owned the beautiful house you did.

KJ glanced over at you again in concern between poses, and mouthed “We’ll talk later.”

KJ, seeing that you and Tom were at the bar, darted toward the tables that he knew that you were sitting at and swapped the placecards around. He wasn’t sure if he was right about what he had seen, but it had been so weird that you had just cut ties with him. You had spoken almost every day before, had hung out and helped each other with work, and he never even got an explanation.

He moved Toms placecard between him and Cole, leaving you to sit between KJ and Cami. He was going to get to the bottom of what was going on.

As you walked into the party, you glanced around at the decor in awe. As with all parties like this, you would sit down for dinner and then the tables would be cleared away, and Teen Vogue had really gone to town with the floral theme. Beautiful cherry blossoms fell from the ceiling, each corner adorned with trees themselves. The tables were laid with white cloths and blooms of cherry blossoms and tulips, the napkins matching the pantone of the flowers perfectly. Tom steered you with his grip like a vice on your hand, and you although you wanted to smile at the face that you were on a table with your friends, you couldn’t help but feel dread run through your veins as you saw the layout of the table.

“There must have been some kind of mixup,” Tom spoke, glancing around the table where people already sat, the only two chairs left seated one person apart.

“I think they’re trying to get some good photo ops.” Cole spoke, “They do it sometimes, mix up the couples.” The look on Coles face told you that this is not what usually happened, and his glance toward KJ was all you needed to understand what was going on. KJ had seen.

“Well it’s ridiculous.” He spoke, looking down at KJ, “Move over.”

KJ looked up with an innocent expression right from the Archie Andrews repertoire, “Come on man, lets not cause a scene. They will have sorted out the food and everything based on this table layout.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Tom spoke, and KJ’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching.

“Tom,” He spoke, laughing a little to alleviate some of his frustration and standing up, “Why don’t you just sit down in your assigned seat and we’ll raise it with someone later. It’s only for dinner. I’m sure you can be one seat away from your girl for three hours.”

You saw Toms shoulders squaring with KJs and you held your breath as you stepped back a little from the situation. Although Tom was a stuntman, KJ could quite easily take him in a fight, and it seemed as if Tom realised this as he moved past the man to sit between him and Cole.

“Well…” Cole grinned, “Welcome to the Riverdale table, my man.” He slapped Tom on the back a little harder than was probably necessary as he grabbed the bottle of wine and poured it into his glass.

You took your seat next to KJ and he smiled softly at you, Cami’s hand touching yours and gripping for a moment. KJ had obviously told the other three what was going on, and they were doing their best to keep her apart from Tom. She appreciated it, loved it really, but she couldn’t help but feeling like she would pay for it later. The anger in Toms eyes as KJ poured you your glass of wine said it all, and you were so scared that you could barely speak.

Two courses in, Tom got up to go to the bathroom, giving you a warning look that told you that if you were to say anything you would be in even worse trouble than you already were. You knew that you were in for it tonight, that this would be the time when it would step up from just gripping your wrists. You could already feel the sting of his hands against your cheek as he walked away and you almost jumped out of your seat as KJ touched your back as he leaned in.

“Woah.. babe calm down it’s just me.” He spoke, eyes darting from your own to Cami who was watching the bathroom intently, “Are you… are you alright?”

“I--” You spoke, desperately wanting to say something, to say anything that would get you away from this. You didn’t want to stay with Tom, you didn’t even love him anymore, but how could you get out of something like this when he was already hurting you so much, “I’m fine, I’m just a little jumpy today that’s all..”

KJ exhaled through his nose and shook his head, “Listen, I saw the way he was holding you when I spoke to you. I’ve noticed the way he makes sure you’re not in the same room with anyone else anymore, and when we tried to sit you with anyone else he almost got violent.”

“He’s just like that, he’s.. He’s a jealous person.”

“There’s jealous and then there’s abusive.” KJ moved his other hand to your own, squeezing softly and you felt your eyes well up as he looked at you with such concern, “Please… please tell me if he’s hurting you babe..”

You could feel yourself giving in, could feel your body moving toward KJ, allowing those strong arms to hold you and protect you, but you couldn’t.

“He’s just jealous.” You repeated, pulling away from him and moving to standing, “And this is none of your business.”

You walked toward the bathroom, needing to splash your face with water to bring yourself back, but you didn't even make it to the bathroom before you felt a hand pulling you down a dark corridor.

Tom pressed you against a wall, a hand on one wrist and the other around your throat, his fingers pressing your carotid arteries until you were seeing spots.

“You’ve been seeing him behind my back, haven’t you? Been spouting shit from this pretty little mouth to get him to fuck you?”

You shook your head as best you could while he restricted your air flow, your hands flying to your neck as he pressed harder.

“Don’t fucking lie to me bitch. They all know, I can see it in the way they look at me. Fucking call themselves actor--”

Before he could finish the word, his hand was ripped from your throat. Your head spun as you saw him collapse to the floor clutching his face, and an arm circled your waist, pulling you from the dark corridor. It was only when you were back in the light of the room that you saw who it was. KJ kept his arm around your waist as he guided you back to the table, sitting you down and then calling security over with two fingers.

Tom stumbled from the corridor, adjusting his suit as a black eye began to form on his features. He moved over to the table and grabbed his coat, glaring at you with so much anger that it made you shrink in your chair.

“We’re leaving.” He spoke, moving toward you, and KJ stood up, standing in between you and pressing Tom back by his chest.

“Nah mate, you’re leaving.” KJ’s voice was calm but there was a storm inside of him waiting to rage should Tom make another move. He wouldn’t stand for domestic violence in general, but to see you like that had tipped him over the edge. KJ knew you better than anyone around the table, knew what a beautiful soul you had and how funny and nice you were. You had been one of his closest friends since the start of Riverdale, had been the person he went to for everything and Tom had stolen that. KJ knew you deserved better, and he wasn’t about to sit around and let some guy hurt you regardless of what you relationship with him was.

“Are you threatening me?” Tom spoke, squaring up to KJ again and Cole stood up behind KJ, ready to back him up if necessary. Tom looked over KJ’s shoulder to see Cami’s arm wrapped around your shoulder protectively, and he let out a small laugh, “I don’t know what she’s told you, but she’s fucking crazy. Makes so much shit up it’s unreal.”

“Please… please stop..” You spoke from where you sat, but both men were too focussed on the other to even hear you.

“Mate i literally just saw you choking her against the wall.” KJ spoke, shaking his head, security now surrounding them.

“Yeah, well maybe that’s just how she likes it.” Tom spoke with a tone to his voice that almost made you convulse, and rage washed over KJ faster than anyone could stop him. He lashed out once more, getting another punch in before security grabbed hold of his arms. The guards dragged Tom outside, Cole pressing KJ back into his seat and talking him down.

“I’m not letting him fucking treat you like that.” KJ spoke, anger running through every syllable as he tried to calm himself down, “He’s fucking trash and you deserve so much better.”

Cami’s arm squeezed you as she placed a soft kiss to your hair, and after a few moments the room went back to it’s usual hum, this crowd more used to drama than most.

When the dinner was finished, you grabbed your coat and stood to leave, but Cami stopped you, confused. “Girl, where are you going?”

“I..I have to go home..” your voice was much more timid than you wanted it to be, the thought of what was going to happen when you got back to your house causing a shiver to run through you.

“No.. no you don’t.” She shook her head, “We’re gonna look after you tonight, alright? You can stay in my hotel room and then we’ll sort something out from there.”

Tears began to fall down your features and she frowned, running two thumbs under your eyes. “Oh no, come on… Please don’t be sad..”

She wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight and you soon felt more arms, all four of your friends holding you and making you feel safer than you had done in a long time. When you pulled back, KJ wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his neck and allowing you to cry.

“Hey...it’s okay babe.” He whispered, swaying slightly to the music as he held you close, fingers stroking your hair comfortingly and you let out soft, shaking breaths against his neck.

“I’m s-sorry you had to deal with it..” You pulled back, wiping your eyes and then letting your arms rest on his shoulders as you swayed together.

“Don’t apologise.” He spoke, pulling you forward and placing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I’m always going to be here to protect you.

#kj apa #kj apa imagine #archie andrews #archie andrews imagine #riverdale imagine #this is sad #lauren writes #one shot

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buddha-in-disguise · 5 years

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That Ultimates question!

I’ve seen numerous posts about the question asked of Chyler in regards to social media at Starfury Ultimates, May 2019. (Link will be at the end for her full answer if you haven’t read it or wish to refresh your memory).

The amount of disinformation as to who asked the question or what the question actually entailed is quite startling.

I’ve seen people say it was inappropriate, that the question should never have been asked. But before I get into this too much, I need to say the question was reviewed by a number of Starfury staff after the event and all agreed that it was a well worded question. These are neutral staff, who run these events for a living, so are perfectly placed on to what is or isn’t appropriate.

So my first point is this: one person asked the question, entirely on their own initiative. Let’s not blame someone just because you believe it to be true. It isn’t.

It was also talked about to others before Ultimates, seeing if it should be asked - and the driving force behind that question was truly about social media and hate. Not how it should be worded or to attack a group or people in particular.

So look, here it is. The photo of the handwritten question (that is accurate & not a mock up). This is posted with full permission.

So yes, Sanvers is mentioned, but in truth, we can easily say it was way beyond Sanvers on this question. Remember the way Chris Woods was attacked? Or how about Floriana. Both got horrific amounts of hate and that in turn led to some awful fights going on between sections of fans and it can and does still go on.

However, we can also say that once Azie was announced it became another horrible situation, and that was in part why this question was asked. I saw fans being attacked for supporting Azie, or for still supporting Chyler in her role as Alex, or still supporting the show and much more.

Let alone the hate that was spewed by fans towards the person posing the question was that was almost immediate on Twitter. Hate that could’ve had police involvement in some cases it was so bad. Yes possible police involvement was mentioned. That hate trickled down to anyone associated with the person who asked the question, the severity depending on the perceived closeness of that friendship. So I and my husband got some hate as well, albeit not to that level.

I personally got attacked by numerous fans over comments I made on my own timeline, that wasn’t directed at anyone beyond my own thoughts & opinions before Ultimates. I didn’t @ anyone or hashtag anyone or a fandom. Yet I got horrific almost immediate hate the moment I posted things. So did my husband. Both of us had posts completely misrepresented. In several instances people completely misread them and even when this was pointed out, we still got attacked.

I got DM’s telling me who I should or shouldn’t follow for months in advance of May from people I barely knew, or had never interacted with. All trying to sway my opinion on someone or something. Even when I politely asked these posters not do that, that I was getting dragged into something that had nothing to do with me, and that I really didn’t appreciate it - I’d get the replies of ‘yeah fine, we get it’ - only for them to carry on with more reasons why I should listen to them & agree with them.

Let’s just turn this around - If someone comes into your timeline or your DM’s & told you to stop posting about someone or something, or who you can & can't interact with, you’d be rightly annoyed.

I know we can’t always agree on things, but if there is one thing I am sure of it’s we should all use our own critical thinking on how we interact on social media. I absolutely do not agree with telling anyone how they should be around other users if I don’t like their friendship and especially wouldn’t say anything if I wouldn’t interact with them normally, or how they should post on your own timeline (unless it is outright bullying or racist, bigotry etc). That becomes authoritarian and in part egotistical if you turn around and say you can only listen to my opinion.

We can’t all like the same people or agree on the same things, yet too often this is taken as being an automatic attack on someone or a fandom, or group. The reality is, that is real life; we are all different, not robots to be commanded about how we think or act. That sort of expectation becomes more like a cult than fandom (and for goodness sake before anyone accuses me about making that comment specific to a fandom, I’m not).

So let me say from a personal standpoint; I was glad that question was asked, because I had seen my husband have aspects of himself attacked (especially being transgender and referred to ‘it’ more than once), or how I was pushed on how to behave, what to say or who to interact with, or just attacked especially behind the scenes. This was going too far. And yes - this was all from Sanvers fans in our instance. Not anons or alt accounts, but known active Sanvers fans. This is when I do mention a fandom, but it applies to more than one group. This doesn’t mean I’m dismissing others' experiences, but merely mentioning my own. If attacks were so bad after the question, that police involvement was a distinct possibility, that is what is not acceptable. These again were Sanvers fans and we can’t shy away from that.

Also I think it’s important we remember Chyler’s opening & closing lines on her reply, as it helps show how important it was for her to answer the question:

The start of her answer.

“So, so, I’ll be very honest with you, I’m very glad that you asked me that question, and this is a very big discussion amid our crew, in this season in particular, as far as our gaggle of gals has expanded. It includes Melissa, and it includes Azie, and it includes ah, Katie, and we’ve had multiple conversations about you know, about the fandom….”

The end.

“I love you all. And I really want to thank you for giving me this opportunity. I’m surprised I said so much.”

As for it put Chyler on the spot and she felt uncomfortable answering or it made her cry. If you go to enough conventions over the years, you know if Chyler didn’t want to answer I’m pretty sure she she wouldn’t have given the length or depth of answer she did. Reminder of her words: I’m very glad that you asked me that question.

I’ve seen guests plenty of times either politely decline to answer something (usually with; ‘this really isn’t a question I feel is right to ask or relevant to the panel’ or a variant of that, to answers that are brief & fairly basic). Chyler’s was neither of those.

Yes, Chyler did get emotional towards the end, but if you took the time to read what she said, it isn’t surprising. This was obviously something that was emotive for her, not because of the question per se, but because of what it meant as a whole. It was also asked at the Supergirl panel, not the Sanvers panel as that seems to be going around.

Plus refer to my earlier point, neutral Starfury staff had no issue over the question & thought it well worded.

I also have to ask: if this question had come from anyone else in the audience, would these kind of things be said? I truly doubt it would. For some maybe it wouldn’t change their opinion, but I really think that a lot of what has happened is not because of the question itself, but because of who asked it.

I say that in part because I saw Tweets flying around well before the question was even asked talking about who was in line to ask something, and variants of the theme of that it was bound to have a go at Sanvers fans, and how dare the bullies be given a platform to speak. So without even knowing what was going to be asked, people were placing their own opinion as fact out there on Twitter.

Another thing I should mention is that people are saying the question meant the Sanvers panel the following day became a moderated panel.

No. It didn’t. That moderation was announced by Sean before the Supergirl panel began, long before the question was asked or known. Again, don’t put your own bias on this. Why it was moderated had nothing to do with it, and placing that sort of accusation on people is not right.

Also when people say it wasn’t the right arena for the question to be asked. Why not? It’s a fandom event and the question was about fandom. This comes back to something I’ve mentioned before; if you don't like an answer to any question, it doesn't automatically make it that the question is wrong. In fact, if you simply say a question is wrong, even before an answer is given, it holds as well - it doesn’t automatically mean the question is wrong. Just as difference of opinion, no matter how unsavoury to you, doesn't mean it is bullying.

It’s also been said the question should never have been asked as it made attendees cry & get upset.

As much as I’m empathetic that some were upset, we can’t not ask questions purely because we feel it might not be well received by everyone there. We can’t know it will upset people to the point of crying, anymore than you can say it shouldn’t be asked. As I say, we have to genuinely ask, was it the person asking the question that caused that reaction, or the question itself?

If it was the question itself, what part exactly? Because as a question overall, without cherry picking out words to take them out of context, I personally feel it was valid and seeing Chyler answer as she did shows me it had merit.

Last but by no means least: It's obvious some people object to me and my opinion and that's fine. I accept people can't always agree on things. I just ask people don’t continue to come onto my account or my timeline to carry on discussions knowing we’ll never agree on something. That serves no purpose other than to browbeat someone and honestly, I don’t have the time or energy to keep repeating the same thing ad-infinitum. I post on my timeline, and don’t ask anyone to read it or retweet it. I don’t do it with any agenda beyond trying to spread kindness or awareness. If you don’t want to see my posts, by all means please block me. I don’t have issue with that, but if you or others continue to stalk my account, then you and you alone have that responsibility.

Link for Chyler’s answer:

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dangan-your-ronpa-imagines-blog · 6 years

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V3 Boys First Kiss Headcanon Part 1

I’m going to divide this ask into two parts because it’s honestly kinda long and for the moments I don’t really have anything for the other boys left.

Also, I’m not really sure if I made this like a headcanon or an imagine, so yeah that’s that. Hope you enjoy this part and I’ll try to post part two soon!

- Mod Kaede

Shuichi Saihara

Oh, he is SO not ready for this!

To say Saihara was nervous would be an understatement.

He’s never kissed anyone before! What if he messes up the kiss and you break up with him?!

No no, Saihara. You’re being inrrational…

It could still happen though.

He never read any romance books before either, so he didn’t exactly know how to put the whole… Romantic scenerie. He even asked some of his friends for help, namely Kaede and Kaito, his two ‘hopeless romantic’ friends, as the others so nicely put it. He also asked Amami since he seemed to know one or two things about romanticism.

“Awww, Shuichi! That’s so sweet! But just be yourself and everything will go fine!” “Haha! You called the right guy for the job, Shuichi! Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, is a master of romaticism, after all!” “Ah, I’m sure I can give you a few tips on how not to mess it up... I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Just don’t worry too much and you’ll be fine, you have your own charms.”

Yeah he kind of regretted have called them all at once, but they were kind of useful, a few more than others, actually...

After everything was done, he called you to get ready because he was going to take you to a nice dinner night at a fancy restaurant. Wow!

He came to pick you up and he was lookng more... anxious tan usual. His hands were also sweaty… More sweaty.

You guys got to the restaurant and ate a satisfying meal, Saihara kept on stuttering and blushing and it got to a point where you couldn’t even understand him anymore, he said he was fine though.

After dinner you guys went on a nice walk on the park, it was getting kind of cold so Saihara offered you his jacket which you gladly accepted.

More time passed and you guys decided to call it a day and he escorted you back home.

Once at your front door you held his hands and started to say how lovely the night was, Saihara couldn’t help but stare at your lips for a little. They looked so soft, they probably are...

It was time? I mean, it looked like the perfect time to do it, right? Oh, he could hear Kaede, Kaito and Amami chanting “do it, do it, do it” in the distance…

He leaned a bit closer, mustering up the courage to finally kiss you- but he chickened up. He wasn’t ready to do it. He’s not man enough to take the first step. He could already feel his three friends scolding him, mostly Kaito.

But as if reading his mind, you suddenly leaned closer to him and-

G a s p!

“It was lovely night, Shuichi! I hope we can repeat it soon!” And you closed the door.

Saihara was struck into silence, just staring at the door, eyes wide open, face glowing red. He couldn’t believe it! You kissed him! And- It, it felt really good, too…

...he would like to repeat that…

Kaito Momota

Oh, he is SO ready for this!

He has the whole night planned out! It was a perfect night!

Training, then eat some snacks, then training again, and then stargazing!

Heh, nailed it.

You’ve been dating for one month now and Kaito doesn’t even know how could he managed not to kiss you on the lips for so long!

But today was the day! You finally will get to kiss an amazing astronaut such as himself, the great Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars!

He’s going to impress you by doing One. Hundred. Push-ups! Isn’t that cool?!

You’re gonna be so impressed! And to top it all off, he’s going to Kiss you! And no, not on the cheek or the forehead, kiss you on the lips! And it’s gonna be the most perfectly smooth best kiss you’ll ever had!

His exact words.

This night is gonna be the best night of your life, with the best boyfriend you ever had, and with the best kiss as the cherry on top.

Or so he thinks.

Or so he thought.

When the night strikes, he calls you over to do your daily workout rutine.

And his fool-proof plan is set in motion.

Unfortunately, you can’t make a fool-proof plan if it’s made by a fool.

Instead of one hundred push-ups, or even his normally fifty push-ups, he does twenty because in the middle of it he felt exhausted, got a cramp, and lied there on the grass of his backyard while telling you to keep doing your push-ups whilst feeling ashamed of himself.

And when it was time for the snacks, he went to open the bag of chips only to accidentaly rip it open and make all the chips fall to the ground.

R.I.P Chips. You will be missed

And when the second training session begun, this time with sit-ups, he literally couldn’t even do one because he got a cramp on his leg.

So the night was going great.

But do not fret for our little astronaut! For it was time to do the one thing he couldn’t fail at.

S t a r g a z i n g!

It was also the last part of his ‘plan to give S/O the best kiss of their life and be the best boyfriend in the world’, so he had to do this one right!

With you sitting beside him, and the starry night sky above your heads, he knew it was the moment. Now or never!

“Hey, S/O, look at me for a sec.” he caught your attention. “Yeah? What is it, Kaito?”

You both were now face-to-face with each other. Your beautiful eyes staring at his. He moved closer, trying to keep on a straight face and maintain serious and compose. Trying but failing to keep his nerves in check, then - in a fit of energy - instead of going in for the kiss smoothly, like in the movies, he makes you butt heads- foreheads more likely. Really hard.

In the end of the day, you and Kaito ended up sitting on the sofá with icepacks pressed on your foreheads.

Sadly for the hopeless romantic known as Kaito, he didn’t actually got to kiss you - unless you can count bumping foreheads as a kiss - but there’s always a second time to try it! ...or a third time..

Rantaro Amami

Yeah, he’s chill.

I mean, he’s Rantaro “The Suave” Amami, the coolheaded, and charming yet cryptic boy who is desired for many girls and boys alike, what did you expect him to be?

What, did you expected him to be all stressed out and having inside fits of rage because he can’t kiss you because everytime he tries to some unexplainable thing happens that just completely kills off the whole mood he created to make his first kiss with you the best for the both of you? Pfft, as if.

….

Okay, maaaybe there is a tiny chance of him being a little, widdle bit mad by the apparent bad luck around your romatic moments. But he won’t let it show its face!

...In front of you, that is.

He just really wants to kiss you, and he knows you want to kiss him too- you said it once out of frustation after Ouma interrupted the pair of you by spilling panta on you!

Luckily, there is one person Amami can let all his frustations out with, aside from you, and that person is his bestie that knows how to talk about feelings without being cryptic about it or mentioning a dead relative- Kaede! His first and most trustworthy friend, the one who tried to befriend him when the others didn’t know how to approach him and his cryptics and shady words.

Also the one who sometimes helps him make the romantic scenery.

Kaede is well aware of Amami’s attempts to kiss you, and of said attempts being interrupted by the recurrent classmate appearing at the wrong time, or the current troubles a white-haired upperclassman’s luck causes.

So she has a plan to make you both finally kiss with no interruptions!

It’s very simple, really. But hey, it could still work and at this point, you’ll try anything!

It all happens at school, before the last period.

Kaede guides you and Amami to her research lab, once there you saw how Kaede had made everything look like a scene straight rip-off an old, cheesy movie.

“Alright! If you stay here while everyone else is in class, that’ll give you some privacy. I’ll also lock the door and make up some excuse for you guys so you won’t have to worry about anyone coming in and ruining the moment. You’ll be able to be all romantic and lovey-dovey! So wait here ‘til I come back, and once I’m back I wanna hear that you two finally kissed, okay?!”

Then she puts everyone’s favorite Clair de lune by Debussy on the disc player before promptly leaving and locking the door, and leaving two lovebirds midly confused.

“..I like it that she wants to help but... maybe she didn’t needed to lock the door,” “Hey, you never know anymore. With our luck, even Koichi could come through that door to drink, get wasted, and escape from his students.” “Haha, yeah… Kaede really did put a lot of effort in this, didn’t she?” “Well, you do say she’s a hopeless romantic, ‘sides, this looks really nice.” “Yeah, really nice..”

There was a moment of silence after that, only you and Amami staring at each other’s eyes lovingly, slowly getting closer and closer to each other’s faces, until they were only inches away of each other, your lips almost touching.

This was the moment he was waiting for. A moment of peace, with no interruptions, no classmates causing ruckus and getting you two involve somehow.

Just you and Amami, enjoying each other’s company as he caresses your cheek with one hand and finally closes the gap between you.

Kokichi Ouma

Alright guys what the actual heck-

There are so many things annoying him right now.

He tries to kiss you at school, he can’t. Why? Because some blonde bitch keeps bothering him with nicknames and whatnot.

He tries to kiss you at DICE’s hideout - that he thought was a good idea to begin with -, he can’t. Why? Because DICE members keep playing pranks on him and/or you because of some prank war between them that you happened to get caught in the crossfire.

He tries to kiss you at home, he can’t. Why? Because either he gets a call from DICE to attend some issues, or you are too busy with work to pay any attention to him, which ultimately hurts him.

HE TRIES TO KISS YOU IN HIS SLEEP AND ENDS UP DROOLING ALL OVER YOUR HAIR-

So yeah, you guys are not allowed to kiss, apparently. That’s how the universe wants it, that’s how the universe’s gonna have it.

But, oh no. What’s this? The great and dreaded Kokichi Ouma will not stand this kind of insult from the universe!

He is the Ultimate Supreme Leader, he is better than the universe, he is above the universe. He will kiss you even if that creates a dark hole in the universe and destroys the Earth.

Alright honey let’s not take it that far-

He has a plan. An eerily simple plan.

Ask the DICE members to stop screwing with his attempts to kiss you if they don’t want him to dispose of all of their rubber chickens, pies, masks, beautifully fashionable scarves and Panta for eternity because honestly, he is to this of this bulshit (cockblocking, how Miu calls it), and he’s usually the one making people feel like this, not the other way around, so this is new. He won’t let you see it though.

As for the kiss, it was rather playful. Kokichi’s way.

He made you chase him through DICE’s headquarters, as though you were playing Tag, at one point you lost sight of him and when you were about to give up-

B A M!

Tackled to the ground by your little purple gremlin, who was laughing and complaining about how easy you gave up on finding him, because apparently you started to play hide-and-seek at some point.

As you were about to tell him to get off of you, he saw his chance and kissed you- so suddenly!

You were taken aback by that, but didn’t pull away. A few seconds passed and Ouma pulled away from the kiss with a classic ‘nishishi’ escaping his mouth as he got up. Taking a look at his face, he looked satisfied, relieved even.

Was he really expecting that kiss so much?

Bonus for Saihara’s one:

In the distance, hidden in some bushes, the certain friends of a certain detective are watching over him.

“Haha! I knew he’d do it! That’s my side- Wha?! He’s backing off?!”

“Oh, Shuichi… Remember our training!”

“Hm. Guess he wasn’t read- Oh?”

“Oh?!”

“Oh! I knew they’d be the one to make the move! Go Y/N!”

“Looks like someone took the initiative.”

“I gotta teach Shuichi how to not chicken up when you’re making your big move, that’s for sure. At least he got what he was aiming for, though.”

“I think our job is done, let’s call it a day?”

The three nod in agreement before being going to a suddenly-planned stargazing night, suggested by Kaito.

#mod kaede #ndrv3 #drv3 #boys #request #shuichi saihara #rantaro amami #kaito momota #kokichi ouma #fluff #imagine #headcanon #danganronpa

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docholligay · 6 years

Text

Happy Father’s Day, Senator Hino!

A commission for @keyofjetwolf , who asked for the Bar AU, which can all be found under the tag “scenes from the red high heel” and Rei beiing pissy with her dad. I HOPE I DELIVERED. roughly 2700 words.

Makoto Kino did not know much about her coworkers, at least not much in the way of their personal histories. She knew that Mina and Haruka lived in the small apartment above the bar. She knew that Haruka gratefully and happily ate any leftover Mako happened to bring to work. She knew that Mina loved men, women, and the unaffiliated with either, but nothing so much as the sound of her own voice. She knew that Rei was irrepressibly grumpy and forceful, and that the bar was a kingdom of her own making, a place she could be queen.

“I signed you up for two community college classes.” Rei nodded at Haruka, who set the box of glasses on the bar in a thud. “The schedule’s worked so you have the time off and the textbooks on the stairs.”

Haruka shook her head. “I didn’t want to sign up for classes.”

“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to.” Rei turned her back and started setting glasses behind the bar. “It’s just basic history and reading. You won’t die.”

Haruka huffed, but Mako knew another thing, that Haruka seemed to also know: The matter was settled.

“What about me, Rei, you got any,” she popped a cherry in her mouth. “Skills, I need to learn?”

Rei looked at her a moment, scowl on her face.

Mina’s tongue popped out of her mouth, revealing a perfectly tied cherry stem.

“There’s no hope for you.” Rei walked off toward the office in the back, cell phone in hand. “You start Tuesday, Haruka!”

“You know you’re right!” Mina yelled at her. “Everything I’m good at, the law says I’m not allowed to do anymore, so I guess you’re stuck with me!” She looked over at Haruka. “You could still get out though.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Lots of shops lining up to hire me.”

That was the other thing Mako knew. Both Haruka and Mina had been in prison. For what, Mako didn’t know, and there had never been a good time she thought to ask Haruka, as they’d sat under the buzzing neon out front.

“What are you doing for Father’s Day?” She asked Mina, in a way that seemed safe enough to her. “I wish Rei would get a kitchen. We could make a brunch.”

“Oh, my folks don’t talk to me so much since the whole prison thing.” She grabbed a few lemons out of the fridge, readying them for the night. “You?”

“Mine are dead.” Mako said quietly, suddenly regretting she’d brought the whole thing up at all, wishing she’d picked a date on the calendar that was less loaded. Haruka set another box of clean glasses on the counter, and Mako looked over at her, not wanting to leave her out, even wishing the conversation was finished. “You?”

“Dad? My mom didn’t think that was important for me to know.” She said, walking away, back toward the safety of the dishwasher.

Mina chuckled. “Well, aren’t we a bunch of fucking Disney Princesses. Don’t worry, the bar’ll be full of girls with daddy issues that weekend, bring a net.”

Mako scowled at her. Mina could be so cavalier about people, and it bothered her sometimes. “What about Rei?”

Mina pointed her knife at Mako. “You like your job? Like not getting yelled at? Like Rei not finding a reason to to yell at the rest of us? Don’t ask.”

Mako shrugged and kept wiping down the bar.

“Yes, I’ll see you then. Goodbye.” Rei walked out of the office and took a look over the place appraisingly. “I need you three here late tonight or early tomorrow. This place has to sparkle.”

It could not be said of Rei that she normally ran an unclean bar, and she often walked through proudly just before open and rearranged chairs and brought forward the bottles in a perfect line, chewing on her pen as she reviewed cocktail menus and daydreamed about knocking into the tiny vacant space next door, just enough to expand her kingdom.

“My father is coming in tomorrow morning.” Rei answered the silent question as if it didn’t matter, and Mako looked over at Mina with irritation.

But Mina’s mouth was too busy hanging open to notice. “Your father Senator Hino your father?”

“Your Dad is Senator Hino?!” Mako nearly dropped the chairs she was holding.

“Well, her last name’s Hino.” Haruka looked up from the table she was wiping down, as if she had just explained to Mako that the earth moves around the sun.

“I forgot you were related to a Formula One driver and an idol.” Mina laughed as she leaned across the bar toward Rei. “Miss Tenoh.”

Haruka scowled at her, but found herself unable to raise an argument over the more-famous people who shared her name but not, so far as she knew, any sort of bloodline.

“It’s all right, muffin,” she blew a kiss to Haruka. “You’re the most famous Tenoh to me.” She touched Rei’s arm. “Can I ask why you’re inviting a man you hate, even more than an ordinary man, into your bar, which is only for women, because you hate men, but especially your father.” She looked around the room. “I mean, this is weird, right? C’mon.”

Mako also knew that these three had known each other for a long time, and was always a little annoyed when they acted as if she should have the entire story of their lives memorized.

Rei opened the safe under the bar and took out a fine linen envelope. “I have a present for him.”

She walked away from the three girls, who stood staring as she retreated into her office, some of them knowing the past, all of them knowing the present, and none of them knowing the future.

Mina called after her.

“Is the present being murdered?”

___

Senator Hino was a serious man, and Mako would have said that his bearing reminded him of Rei’s, the way he commanded the room, and probably every room, as if he owned it, and it was your own foolishness if you weren’t aware of that.

However, Mako had recently added ‘don’t talk about Rei’s father’ to the list of things she knew.

Rei extended a hand out to him stiffly, and they shook in the way that is half formality and half feat of strength.

Mako looked over to Mina and Haruka, who said nothing, their eyes darting around the room, seemingly waiting for the shot to go off, and Mako found herself more ill at ease than she had felt in all her months here. It was one thing, to deal with the drunk men who tried to slither through the door, she knew what the rules were and how far she could bend them. But to stand still as you waited to see what developed, knowing you were only allowed to watch--that was the greatest difficulty to Mako.

And it must have been similar to Haruka, who faithlessly grabbed the box of empty bottles and hurried out toward the alleyway, leaving Mina and Mako to watch.

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.” Rei had dressed for the occasion in a fine navy suit, with a red silk blouse that perfectly matched her red high heels.

“Business partners often must.”

Rei pressed her lips together tightly, but managed a smile. “Of course. My office?”

The heels clicked down the hallway like every beat of her heart, louder and faster, waiting for this moment as she’d waited since the day they had opened. Rei had meant so many things for this bar, for it to be a community and to contribute to it, and she meant to make them happen, now that she was done socking away money for her first great goal, in all her life’s grand goals.

She pulled out the chair for him to sit, happily poured him a glass of water, and extended her gift with both hands.

“Happy Father’s Day.” She put the envelope in his hands, so formal in its fine paper, his name in neat, dark, calligraphy on the outside.

He smiled at her as he opened it. “Oh Rei, I didn’t expect--” he stopped, looking at the bills in the envelope. “What’s this?”

“My last payment on the loan you gave me to open the bar.” She set down a piece of paper in front of him. “The deed to the building, ready to be fully signed over to me.” She turned at yelled toward the door. “Mako!”

He looked at her with a mix of surprise and dismissiveness, that look that had defined so many of their exchanges, when he could be bothered to exchange with her at all.

He’d given her that look, and nothing else, the day her mother died.

The rage burned and melted through her like lava, wanting to explode, wanting to let ash rain down over everything. But she was the queen here, and she held command, and so she did not need to fight, wasn’t that true? And to be queen was to be calm.

He looked at the envelope, and the deed sitting on the table, and back at Rei, saying nothing, just watching, appraising, his political rival and not his daughter. He rifled through the bills again, and smiled up at Rei.

“Five years early.” He opened his suit jacket and pulled a sleek Mont Blanc out of the inner pocket, pulling the deed closer to him. “Dedicated, practical. You do take after me.”

Rei snorted. “If I took after you, this bar would be open to whoever wanted to pay me.”

Mako walked in the door and shut it behind her with a firm slam, ready to fight. They stared at her, mirrored faces of anger and determination aimed like two beams, and Mako’s anger turned to confusion.

“Heyyyy…” she waved awkwardly.

“I don’t owe you anything now.” She towered over him, the table between them like a safety fence. “Sign it.”

She walked over to her desk and pulled out Mako’s notary stamp, which she had made a paid-for condition of Mako’s employment. Mako had thought it odd, at the time, but wondered if maybe a lesbian bar had the occasional call to solemnize legal documents, in much the way that a shipping store often sold money orders.

It hadn’t made much sense to her girlfriend, but Mako had faith Rei must have had some business reason for doing so.

Business can be a difficult word to define.

“Is this why you had me become a notary? Just for this moment?” She stared at the stamp. “Why not Haruka or Mina?”

Rei did not look to Mako, just kept her arms crossed and stared at her father. “They’re felons, they can’t be bonded. Stamp the deed.”

“This is the weirdest job I’ve ever had…” But she did not see fit to argue with Rei, any more than she felt a compulsion to tell the wind not to blow, and stamped the paper.

“Felons?” He chuckled. “Interesting choice of partners, my little Rei.”

“Right, I forgot if I work with criminals, they should steal millions, instead of a car.”

Mako was a straightforward woman, and she often struggled with the smaller emotional nuances and sarcasms that Rei and Mina battered back and forth. That teal haired girl who came in and stared at Haruka may as well be speaking Greek.

But she could, from time to time, take the emotional temperature of the room, and if there was a place Rei was going to be angry, she knew something else: It was better not to be there.

She would tell the story a bit more gallantly, later, but the truth of the matter was, she whipped out of the room, suddenly very excited about the prospect of cleaning the front window.

“You’ll leave this bar, because it’s my bar,” She picked up the deed. “And I don’t want you in it.”

“After all I’ve done for you--”

“This loan was the first and last thing you ever did for me that wasn’t a show!” She did not mean to allow the explosion, but the ash and ember felt clean and pure on her lips, fire burning everything that was rotted and ugly to the ground.

In truth, she did not even know that he had truly done it for her. In this one fact of life, she had remained ignorant. There were a dozen reasons at least he could have done it--shoring up the gay constituency without having to do anything for them, looking to be seen supporting women’s businesses, showing his political mates that he was a good father.

It may have been foolish, and Rei would never breathe it aloud, but she needed to believe that at least this one thing had not been a show. She did not, and would not, believe that he was a good man, or had ever been. But she needed to believe that on one moment of one day, he had loved her for herself.

Her father stood, buttoning his suit coat. “You know nothing about being a parent. Or in politics.”

“Maybe I will someday!” She snapped, and she saw the confetti of flame on the air, the one that defined her from the time she was small.

He laughed. “You, with a child?”

“Me, running against you for office.”

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes then, a candle wobbling in the wind, and Rei tasted his worry and it felt sweet in her mouth. She could win, and if not win, then challenge his authority in such a way that would break the back of his political supremacy.

He chuckled, but it was weak, more mist than smoke. “You’ll just waste your time.”

“That’s what you said about the bar. Get out,” She swung open the door. “And get ready, because I’m coming for you someday.”

He turned on his heel, fists balled, and stomped the straight line from the office of the bar to its entrance, where Mako studiously scrubbed the window, and Haruka pulled a few tables apart to wash.

Mina called out as he steamed through the door.

“Thanks, don’t came again, we hate men!”

The only response was a slam so hard it shook the plate glass window, as Rei stormed out of the office. She did not say a word, simply walked over to the bar, slammed a glass down on the counter, and pulled a bottle of smoked whiskey off the top shelf, pouring it roughly into the glass.

“You know usually that’s taken over ice.” Mina deadpanned. “As a recommended serving from the mixologist.”

Rei put the glass to her lips and took a deep drink.

Haruka stood up straight from the table she was cleaning, twisting the rag in her hands awkwardly. “Do you want me to go kick his ass? I can still catch him.”

Mako nodded, crossing her arms and ready for the first piece of logic she’d seen today. She was not sure, and less sure that she ever would be, why Rei and her father were at odds. But after a few months in this job, there were other things Mako knew: She trusted Rei’s instincts, and considered Rei one of the more decent bosses she’d ever had, and when Mako decided she liked you, her fists could come to your aid fairly swiftly.

Rei drained the glass and shook her head, tossing back her hair. “The Red High Heel is mine now. He’s out.”

Mina put her hand on Rei’s leg. “Do you need someone to call Daddy? Because I’m availa--OW”

Rei smiled as she withdrew the cocktail fork from the back of Mina’s hand.

“Mako, I was thinking about expanding to give us a kitchen.”

Mako smiled brightly. “You know I’ve always wanted--”

“You start culinary school coursework next Monday. I signed you up for the restaurant courses across town. There’s a bus pass, and apron, and knives in your locker in the back.” She set the glass in the sink behind her, smiled, and clicked her way back to her office, the footsteps sounding lighter on the old wood.

The girls looked at each other. Rei was Rei, and Rei was queen, and nothing could stop her now.

Mina put her hands on her hips, and yelled back to the office.

“You know I know that you’re only ignoring my development so I can be your trophy wife, right?!”

#a holligay joint #scenes from the red high heel

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anony-phangirl · 6 years

Text

Not Gonna Fall For You

Chapter 6: Visiting Cherry Blossoms

Chapter Summary: The family vacation is about to come to an end. That being said, it’s the day before they leave Japan, and of course, saving the best for last, Charles and Katheryn Sanders end up taking the gang to the cherry blossom garden… But things end up getting real bad for the fake couple.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1500 + 116 = 1616 in total

Warnings: Swearing, along with a kiss at the end of this particular chapter - for this chapter

A/N: Alright, so back to it then! BE PREPARED!!! IT’S THAT SCENE WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL EVERYONE!!! THIS IS NOT A FLIPPING DRILL!!! MAN YOUR STATIONS PEOPLE!!!! :00

First | Previous | Next | Masterlist

— — — — —

Roman was nervous.

He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that something might go wrong. After everything good that’s happened in that week, he knew something was gonna happen, he got the same feeling when he went to London with his family just before Virgil’s break up. So what could this have meant? He didn’t know what to expect, but he’s hoping that it couldn’t be all too bad.

A knock on the door brought him back to reality, making him look up at the closed door.

“Boys, you ready yet?” He heard from behind the door. It was Mrs. Sanders.

“Uh, no! Not yet mom!” Virgil replied as he wore a shirt. “Almost!”

It was currently lunch time and they were all about to go eat somewhere before going to visit the garden of cherry blossoms.

“You ready Ro?” Virgil asked, glancing at Roman who was putting on his shoes.

“Almost.” He replied, smiling up at Virgil before resuming to getting ready.

This was going to be a bit of a looong day.

— — —

Virgil let out a sigh of cold breath, leaning into Roman.

They were currently in the bus, on their way to the Cherry Blossom garden.

“Alright kids, just remember! We will be here for the entirety of the day. Up til dinner as we will be eating there.” Charles said, just as they arrived. “If ya’ll leave before anyone else, please do inform us.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

“Welp, we’re here kids! Be sure to enjoy!” Katheryn said, smiling at the four boys as they all headed towards the entrance.

— — —

Virgil snapped a few pictures as he and Roman walked down the path.

The garden- thankfully didn’t have a lot of people… At least not yet.

“This place is big.” Roman said, looking around.

“I know right.” Virgil said as he glanced at Roman, snapping another picture of the scenery with Roman in it.

This cycle has been going on for quite some time now, with Roman making small talk, and Virgil taking pictures.

“You truly have a talent for photography Virgil.” Roman smiled as he stopped walking in front of a lake.

“Thanks.” Virgil replied, a light blush on his face as he snapped a couple of pictures of the lake. Once he finished, he glanced back at Roman to see him admiring a flower. “Find something you like?”

Roman glanced back at him, a fond smile on his lips and that look in his eyes.

“Just a flower…” He replied, picking one from it’s stem. “Reminded me of you…”

Virgil felt himself flush as Roman handed him the flower, he hesitated, but accepted it as Roman placed it behind his ear. It reminded him of that scene from Hercules.

“Was that even allowed?” Virgil asked as they began to head towards a bench that they saw near the lake.

Roman shrugged in response. “Dunno, but you look prettier with it.” He smiled, taking Virgil’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“Why do you have to be so cheesy?” Virgil asked, covering his face with his other hand as they reached the bench.

“Well, as your fake boyfriend, I am obliged to treat you as a princess.” Roman responded as they sat on the bench, hands still clasped together.

“Is that why you carried me back to our hotel room when I told you I was tired after the Disney Sea trip?” Virgil asked, an eyebrow raised.

Roman nodded, before they looked out at the lake, silence taking over.

“Vi, do you mind? I want to take selfies with you…” Roman asked, glancing at him and breaking the silence.

“No, not at all!” Virgil smiled as Roman took out his phone.

A few more photos were taken, a couple with wacky poses and three where they were both laughing and one where they were just staring at each other, a certain look in their eyes.

Once they settled, silence fell between them again as the sun began to set. Virgil let out a sigh of content as he leaned into Roman, who smiled down at the slightly younger boy.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do this with someone I love…” Virgil spoke quietly. “I always thought that it would’ve been… Him…” Roman felt his heart break a little as Virgil paused. “But I’m glad it’s you…”

Roman smiled wider, wrapping an arm around Virgil as well. “I’m glad to share this moment with you too, Virgil.” Roman said before letting out a sigh of content.

And once again, silence fell between them. A nice type of silence that felt fitting towards the moment. Only, Virgil couldn’t shake his anxious thoughts away. He’d always tried burying said thoughts deep in his mind, but he can’t exactly shake this off anymore.

And yet, he didn’t want to ruin the beautiful moment that he’s sharing with his best friend…

“What’s on your mind, my prince?” Roman asked, facing Virgil.

Virgil moved away from him, looking into his sincere gaze before letting out a sigh.

“What- what’s wrong with me Ro?” Virgil began. “Am I lacking? Am I not enough? Why did he-? We were happy, so fucking happy and he just had to up and ruin that… And I just can’t stop feeling that it was me who lacked something! I hate him Ro! I hate him so much…”

Virgil found that he was shaking, and he felt something staining his cheeks, it took a while before he processed that he was crying. And Roman pulled him in for a hug.

“Hey, shh… You aren’t lacking in any way Virgil. Lucas was an idiot for hurting you. You are an amazing person, a perfectly imperfect person, that has selfless flaws and is only looking to mend a broken heart.” Roman spoke softly, gently rubbing his back.

After a moment of soft sobs and silence, Roman slowly pulled away to look Virgil in the eyes, golden brown meeting blue-green, as he wiped the remaining tears away.

“S- Sorry for- for ruining the mo- moment…” Virgil spoke softly, as he hiccuped a few times, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“Oh Vi, you didn’t ruin anything.” Roman gently said, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s completely fine. I don’t mind reminding you of how absolutely amazing you are.”

Virgil laughed, a genuine laugh, at that. “Yeah well, you’re not so bad yourself Princey.” Virgil replied as a smirk played on his lips, and his tears have stopped falling.

“Well, thank you, and did I mention that you are a beautiful crier?” Roman responded, making Virgil blush a little at the compliment.

“Oh shush you.” Virgil said, giggling as he playfully hit Roman’s shoulder.

“What? Not like it’s not true!” Roman chuckled, glad to have made Virgil smile again. “Okay, okay. Look, I’ll describe it to you…”

Roman then gently grabbed Virgil’s face, as the giggling and chuckles died down a little. Virgil felt his face heat up at the close proximity, while Roman brushed his bangs away to see both of his gorgeous eyes.

“Beautiful eyes…” He muttered, before snapping back to the task at hand.

“You have a lovely heart shaped face, with two close-lobed ears.” Roman began, his hands moving up to brush his hair behind his ears. “And an adorable button nose, with dimples to match whenever you smile that amazing smile of yours.” Roman said, bopping his nose before poking the sides of his cheeks, making him giggle again.

“Oh shut up…” Virgil interrupted, giggling a little more.

“What? It’s true! And your skin’s pale-complexion mixes well with the darkness of your hair.” Roman said, smiling at him as he glanced up at Virgil’s hair. “And I love the purple highlights that you’ve added to them.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned.” Virgil softly said, a small laugh escaping his lips again.

“Well, can you blame me? I love them… And not to mention those gorgeous blue-green eyes of yours…” Roman said, his voice getting softer as he stared straight into Virgil’s eyes, getting lost in the colors and the feelings hidden within them. “It’s like staring at a reflection of the sky from the sea, something I wouldn’t mind staring at for forever…”

“Did you really just- DEH that?” Virgil cut in, smiling at that.

“Maybe… But I’m being serious, about that. And your lips…” Roman said, his eyes moving down to look at Virgil’s lips. “Your pale pink lips, that any guy would be lucky to get a kiss from…”

At this point they were merely centimeters apart, and Virgil could feel the beating of his heart racing in his chest, he wasn’t sure what was happening, but he felt… Excited, and nervous. As he probably would if the guy he loves is about to kiss him… But he doesn’t know that.

“Virgil… May I..?” Roman softly asked, his voice only a little above a whisper. And with a small nod of agreement from the other…

Their lips met.

#ts-storytime #ts-storytime submission #ts-storytime 2018 submission #prinxiety #sanders sides #logicality #roman prince #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan quin

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Rating: T Words: 6k Chapter(s): 1/? Relationships: Otabek Altin/ Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Minor background relationships Characters: Otabek Altin, Yuri Plisetsky, Viktor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri, Jean-Jacques Leroy, Leo Nikolai Plisetsky, Original Character(s), Other characters to be added Summary: Two years after suffering an injury at the Grand Prix Finals, Otabek is finally ready to return on the ice to make his comeback. Or so he thinks… Follow the journey Otabek takes to prove himself to his family, country, and most importantly Yuri. His best friend who is kind of dating someone else, not like Otabek is jealous or anything… His focus is on winning the gold medal at GPF’s even if that means this could be his last time skating.

The whole world is waiting for you… ... “There has been quite a buzz about Otabek Altin’s returning to the ice this year. Returning? He’s never left Don’t flatter him too much. He’s 20 and has yet to achieve a gold medal. His time is up. Viktor Nikiforov has returned from his brief retirement at age 28, and he’s still going strong. Well, he’s no Viktor Nikiforov. There is no saying whether or not he’s going to take another nasty fall. Let us all hope not, for his dignity and for our sake…” “Oi, did you hear me?” Otabek blinked, hearing the sounds of the outside world rush into his ears. Up, he saw Yuri Plisetsky holding one of his earbuds in his hand, his face screwed up into an annoyed scowl. “No,” Otabek flatly admitted, eyes following Yuri towards the seat in front of him. For a minute he forgot he was sitting in the middle of a cafe on a lunch date with his best friend. Embarrassed to be caught how he was, Otabek shoved his phone deep into his pocket, accepting the warm cup Yuri handed to him. “I said I got your tea, now that you’re back on the ice, it’s better not to put that coffee shit in your body,” Yuri took a sip of his own cup, watching Otabek carefully pick up his drink, An idiot could see there was something was on his mind. He always did this thing where his eyebrows would furrow and he just stares off into space. Tch, he’s probably thinking about those dumbass critics, thought Yuri. His eyes trailed over to the street where pedestrians walked passed them. They were close, but Yuri will never be good at this comfort thing. “Look at them, they all look like idiots,” He commented. His comment got a small chuckle out of Otabek who followed Yuri’s gaze outside. He was grateful to be in Moscow to visit Yuri’s old hometown. His grandpa was welcoming, and Otabek loved Moscow just as much as St. Petersburg, though there is something bittersweet about visiting a supposed rival as they both needed to train for the first round of the new skating season. Bringing the cup up to his lips, then softly blowing at the lid, he took a safe sip. Otabek loved being around Yuri either way. “Is it good? I got us the same thing.” Yuri was now watching him. “Yeah, it’s good. What flavor is this?” “Ginger peach.” Otabek nodded, “I like it,” then another silence washed over them. The silences were never awkward, rather comfortable. They both had a way of communicating without using words. Tapping his foot repeatedly on the tile flooring, Otabek thought about the potential beat of his free program. With less than three months left until the first round, he was behind. Prior, Yuri told him Lilia would be happy to assist him in choosing a song for his program, but Otabek had to decline the kind offer. Nothing against Lilia, it was just that he preferred to choose his own songs, Lilia was more traditional. This was his chance to redeem himself after his injury. He was so close to winning gold at the Grand Prix Finals two years ago he could taste it. With endless support from his fans, family, country, and Yuri the medal was his. Both his programs were excellent, a bitter surprise to the moderators and judges who gave him the label as the skating dark horse. However, his luck ran out when he took a bad landing, twisting his knee to the point where it was impossible for him to go on. Later Katsuki Yuuri took home the gold medal, with Viktor taking silver and Yuri bronze. With no way of properly scoring Otabek’s program, he had to be disqualified and quickly escorted to medical. When he came through, Viktor told him Yuri was worried sick, fumbling on all his jumps and just barely touching the podium. Otabek had to do better this year. Not only for his own pride, but he had to make his country proud of him and Yuri. He snuck a glance in Yuri’s direction, the Russian was preoccupied on his phone. After this year, Yuri would no longer look at him with sympathy in his eyes. “Shit.” He swore. “Is everything alright?” “Yeah, it’s just. Fuck, this is awkward. I’m not going to be at the rink tonight, I’m going out.” Yuri bit his lip, quickly typing back to what looks like a response to whoever he was talking to. He had a torn look on his face. “Yuri, it’s fine. I’ll just go by myself. Probably practice a few jumps,” shrugging, he held the cup between both hands. “I can cancel. It’s not a big deal…” “Go. I will be fine.” Yuri tried to hide the disappointment on his face. Deep down he wanted Otabek to beg him to stay with him, “Okay,” he said. Sending another quick text. “How is he?” Pale flesh now tinted with pink, “it’s nothing serious. We’re just friends,” snapping like a Venus flytrap, Otabek lips were graced with a smile. “Use protection. I have condoms in my suitcase.” Pink now a deep cherry red, Yuri threw his head in his hands. Even at 18 anything involving sex was too embarrassing. This was about as bad as when Viktor tries to give him the sex talk by demonstrating on a teddy bear. Practically screeching in his hands with a mutter of profanities, he raised his head with tinted red now fading. “Why the fuck do you carry condoms with you?” Shrugging in his nonchalant way, “did you not learn about condoms in Sex Ed?” Forging innocence, Otabek took a sadistic pleasure in embarrassing his friend. “Fuck you.” “I have condoms for that.” For the second time, Yuri screamed into his arms. He did not give a shit if he was causing a scene. “Fuck off, Altin,” Voice muffled and refusing to entertain the Kazakh any longer. With a smirk on Otabek’s lips, he knew he won this conversation. ... Later that day when the sky was transitioning from day to night, Otabek was able to get the rink to himself for a few hours. A rather attractive woman worked out front. With a bit a flirting and a false promise to go on a date, she pulled some strings to let him skate, willing to take the heat from her boss. A sloppily written number on a crumbled piece of paper, and a goofy grin later, here he was. Tying the laces on his skates tight enough so they would not come loose. He also equipped his black gloves so his palms would not get scratched up from any falls. Confident enough to go onto the slippery surface, Otabek carefully stood on slightly wobbly knees. A full year off the ice was harder than it looked, not to mention the tightness he felt in his bad knee. The last thing Otabek wanted was his knee to buckle up when performing his jumps. So he took a few moments to stretch, making sure the bad knee was thoroughly loosened before stepping out in the rink. Buzz. Buzz. Phone vibrating from the new messages he has received. Otabek pressed the home button. Leo: Yo, Beks, are you still hiding out in Moscow? don’t even answer that, I know you are. Anyways, I’m heading to Moscow early, a couple of days before your competition. We need to hang. Otabek rolled his eyes with his leg still partially stretched out behind him, he sent a quick response. Otabek: why are you telling me this now? His phone buzzed again. Leo: because if I ask you now you can’t say no. Also, JJ wants to come. Otabek: I can’t stop him from coming out. I can also say no and just ignore your texts. Leo: Cold, Altin. So cold. Anyways, I managed to get all three of us passes into that exclusive underground club which is why I’m coming early. Dicks out, get some pot, we’re partying before the season starts… ;) There was always an interior motive when it came to Leo, not that Otabek mind. When he trained in America and met him they hit it off almost immediately, even though Otabek was cold and standoffish at the beginning. Otabek: I can’t promise the pot. Leo: don’t worry, I have it covered. Otabek: Leo, you can’t bring drugs through customs. Leo: DW, I know a guy… ;) see you soon! xoxo. Another roll of the eyes, Otabek placed the phone down face first. He was never one to smoke before or during the season, but with all the new added pressure to come back strong maybe letting loose with some recreational drugs would not be so bad. Speaking of which… Otabek removed his blade guards, laying them down on the edge while he took his perfectly balanced steps on the ice. To start off, he did a few turns just to get into the flow of things, allowing the blades to guide him across the icy surface. During his time off, Otabek missed this feeling more than anything. His time in Almaty was great because he was able to enjoy his family’s company, though something was always missing. Gaining momentum, he performed a lazy toe loop, carefully landing on the bad knee. Still stiff. Besides his DJing hobby, Ice skating had its way of triggering the dopamine in his brain, or whatever it was called. Human biology was not his best subject. This time a flip. In order to make a proper comeback, he was going to have to up his program. There was no way in hell he was going to lose the way he did when he lost to JJ in the GPF. If only he had more jumps to raise his programs difficulty. Wincing, Otabek slowed down promptly. His attempt at an axel did not fair too well with the bad knee. Nothing too painful, but this was his body’s way of telling him to slow down. He skated over to reach for his container of water. Sweat accumulating on his forehead even though the rink was at a comfortable temperature. Damn it, Otabek grimace. At this rate, his worthy comeback is as good as gone if his body keeps working against him. He had to make his country proud, even if it meant pushing his body beyond its limit. Even if it meant this season could possibly be his last. He at least wanted to end his career with a gold medal around his neck. With the newly formed dark cloud hovering his head, Otabek spent the remainder of his night practicing lighter techniques. ... His phone rang on top of his nightstand. Otabek murmured inaudible words, cracking open his eyes to check the time. The flashing red numbers on the digital clock read: 03:45. “Hello?” He groggily answered his phone, voice deep and lace with sleep. “You finally answered. Pick me up, I’m drunk and out of cash.” Otabek reached over to turn on the lamp, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. This was not the first time Yuri called him late for an after party pick up, and a drunk Yuri was never a fun Yuri. He was the type of drunk in which the alcohol enhanced the negative aspects of his personality. “Aren’t you with Vitaly?” Vitaly, Yuri’s kind of boyfriend. Not like Otabek was jealous or anything. Vitaly was a pretty nice kid when he was sober, which was 6 times out of 10. Not like Otabek could talk because he definitely had his fair share of drunken nights. “I don’t know where he went… look, pick me up. I’m freezing my dick off and I can’t go back to grandpa like this.” “How? I don’t have my bike. The shipment was delayed.” He heard Yuri slur out profanities in his native tongue. Otabek translated them perfectly. “You’re being a bad friend, Beka. I’m cold and hungry… did I mention drunk?” Otabek sighed, much too tired to deal with this. “I can call you a cab. The door will be unlocked, just try not to cause havoc on your way here.” “Thanks, Beks! Also, no promises…” The young Russian hung up, Otabek already arranging the cab. Once taken care of he fell back on the bed with his hands extended across the sheets like a starfish. What has he gotten himself into? No less than 20 minutes later, “Otabek! Open the fucking door! Oh, wait.” Yuri stumbled in, nearly knocking over the nearby lamp. Otabek entered with a fresh set of pajamas in his hands, and his emergency “ Yuri is drunk out of his mind and needs something to wear for tomorrow” clothes resting on the dresser for when he sobered up. “Otabek! You should have been there,” Yuri fell onto the couch, legs up on the top of the cushioned love sweat, “Vitaly took like 20 shots.” Otabek placed a chilled water bottle on the coffee table, listening to Yuri’s storytelling with open ears. Vitaly was a nice kid, but somehow Otabek felt uneasy with how irresponsible he could be, especially with another equally as irresponsible person like Yuri. Anyone would know not to leave a friend drunk and by themselves in a club. “Speaking of which, where is Vitaly?” Yuri made a farting sound with his lips, waving his pale hands in the air, “I don’t fucking know. I’m hungry as hell, what do you have to eat?” He got up and wobbled his way passed Otabek to the small kitchen area. Raiding the empty fridge and cabinets until he found a box of half empty cornflakes. This will do, Yuri shoved his hand in the box, stuffing the sugary flakes in his mouth. “Does your grandpa know you’re here?” Nikolai was rather overprotective of his grandson, Otabek could only imagine how worried the old man was about his wellbeing. Yuri shook his head, shoveling more flakes in his mouth while the rest fell on the wood floor, “I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him. Fuck, these are good.” “After you finish eating my breakfast, lunch, and dinner maybe you should get washed up and go to bed.” “Beka, you really need to learn how to cook. Your cornflake diet is bumming me out.” The Kazakh could not help but let out a mood-lifting laughter. He knew how to cook, how could he not when he occasionally had to prepare dinner for his siblings when mom and dad worked late. That did not mean he liked cooking. Cooking created messes, and quite frankly he was too lazy to clean up the mess. “What are you doing?” Yuri emerged from the bedroom with the pajamas clinging to his body in the right places. After a night of drinking and a meal of sugar he was tired and wanted to go to bed before he felt like a bigger piece of shit. He watched as Otabek prepared the couch with a pillow and thin blanket. “I’m sleeping on the couch, you can have the bed.” “Fuck no. You’re sleeping with me.” Yuri reached for the blanket, yanking it off the couch and wrapping it around his body. “Yura, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Sure, they slept together loads of times, they were friends, after all, now, it did not feel right to share the same bed with a drunken Yuri who had a sort of boyfriend who was big enough to rip Otabek a new one. He would rather stay alive, thank you. Yuri was persistent, not taking no for an answer. The blonde hijacked the blanket, racing off towards the bedroom like a child escaping their bath. Sigh, Otabek did not want to sleep in the cold now did he. “If we’re going to share the same bed can you at least move over?” “What do you say?” Yuri batted his eyelashes, cheeks, and nose flushed with red, showing his current state of intoxication. “Please?” He moved over, leaving just enough room for Otabek to slide in. Then he turned off the light and checked the time again. 05:25. At this rate, they were both going to sleep until noon. “Beka, you smell good.” They were facing each other on the bed, noses centimeters apart. Even in the dark, with the light from the full moon, Otabek could make out each of Yuri’s highlighted features, following the sliver of the outline of his shoulders rise and fall. “You’re going to feel like shit when you wake up,” blunt as always, Otabek neither meant that comment to be mean or malicious. “Can you hold my hair back?” “Of course.” “Then I will be okay.” They fell quiet as they always did. Otabek smelling the scent of alcohol and Yuri’s strawberry scented shampoo. A strange combination, but also one that provided him with comfort. Sure, Yuri could be irresponsible and hotheaded, that is what Otabek loves about him. “Are you still up?” Yuri answered with soft snores erupting from his body. Otabek smiled, happy Yuri was finally getting rest after his night out. Too bad Yuri’s rest came at the expense of his own sleep. Now he was wide awake. No matter, either way, he was going to be woken up once Yuri got up and all hell broke loose. With this time to himself, he could think of ways to keep the blonde from barfing all over his bathroom floor. ... “With only three months left until the new figure skating season, we are excited to see what the legendary Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki have to offer as newlyweds and competitors. Not to mention Russia’s finest Yuri Plisetsky. Let us not forget about the return of bronze medalist Otabek Altin with his comeback after that rather nasty fall. Otabek should have retired then and there like he offered anything without falling in the shadows. For someone considered the dark horse of figure skating, he always finds a way to leave a lasting impression.” Otabek listened to the podcast with both earbuds in his ears. The time was nearing 11:30. He has been listening to the podcast for the last two hours. Suddenly, he felt the left side of the bed dip then spring up. Yuri had bolted out of the bed and towards the bathroom where he proceeded to retch his guts into the porcelain bowl. Otabek followed, taking a knee behind the young Russian to help hold up his hair so no puke would get on it. Yuri’s face glistened with sweat, skin taking on a greenish undertone. Hangovers were a bitch, Otabek knew from experience when he first started drinking. Thankfully with age, he knew how to handle his liquor. Yuri groaned, feeling his stomach finally subsided with his head disgusting close to the toilet contents. He wanted to die, he really did. He was a shame to Russians everywhere. “Kill me,” voice hoarse, Yuri was as dramatic as Viktor when sick. “You know I can’t, Yakov and Lilia would skin me alive if I don’t bring their Russian fairy back.” Snorting, “they can go fuck themselves. I’m never leaving this bathroom.” Otabek hummed, twisting long blonde hair into a messy bun. The positives to having sisters were he knew how to do basic hairstyles like buns, braids, anything. Yuri thanked him, falling back to lean on the pale-colored wall. “I’m hungry.” “You threw up everything you had with your face in front of your own vomit and you’re thinking of food?” “Duh, I threw everything up which means there is no food in my stomach,” Yuri accepted the cup of water. Taking a hefty sip to soothe his burning throat. “You’re one of a kind, Yura.” “Shut up, let’s get some food.” “You ate all my cornflakes.” Otabek reminded while making an important mental note to go grocery shopping. When he felt comfortable enough to stand without toppling over, Yuri carefully hoisted himself up, head still throbbing as his eyes squinted from the sunlight coming through the blinds. “When are you going to cook for me, Altin?” Otabek crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe. “When you stop making me your personal uber driver when you’re drunk at 5 am.” “How about something realistic?” He had to think. He said something, though it was meant to come out more playful than how it did, “how about when I win gold at the Grand Prix Finals?” This was one of the moments when their competitiveness came out, reminding them both how they were friends first but competitors second. Pulling the clean shirt over his head, Yuri did not seem to take his comment as a challenge but more like a promise. “Then I can’t wait to taste Otabek Altin’s infamous cooking.” ... The rest of the day they both decided to take it easy. After having a nice brunch at their favorite cafe, they went to the local rink. It was nice for them both to be in Moscow. Yuri did not have to go to St. Petersburg to train with his coaches for another couple of weeks, and Otabek arranged a deal with his coach to go to Moscow for a month as long as he uses the time to familiarize himself with the ice before it was time for him to train seriously for the remaining months. Originally, Otabek came out to Moscow because Yuri invited him. He was able to find a cheap rental apartment for the time being to not be too much of an inconvenience on Nikolai, and they have been having fun together ever since. They both knew once the season starts it was going to feel different. Not friendship wise, because they will always be friends. Only now they did not have the atmosphere of competitors hanging over their heads. In the past neither could hang out much during the season. Only seeing each other during their downtime, when they snuck out of their hotels, or when they watched each other about to perform. Not to mention both their coaches were rather strict about curfews and rest, and with an overbearing Viktor on top of them. They were on the floor stretching before putting on their skates. Yuri looking on his phone while in a split (showing off as per usual), with Otabek doing a couple of toe touches and stretching out both knees. “Oi, do you want to come with me to Hasetsu? Katsudon sent me an invitation.” “I guess so,” Otabek bent over so his back was perfectly parallel to his legs, “when?” “For the old fucks Birthday.” Ah, he is talking about Viktor. “Does this mean I have to bring a gift? I’m bad at gifts.” “Let’s buy him one together. Buy him a toupee or something, or oil to moisture his bald spot,” Yuri mused, grinning to himself at his brilliant idea. Otabek stretched both knees for a final time just to be sure, “since his birthday is on Christmas would we buy him one or two gifts?” Yuri ignored his question, muttering something about how he should be his damn gift as it is a gift he’s agreeing to celebrate his birthday with him. Being with those two meant Otabek had to come by default to be his leveled head. “What time is your train to St. Petersburg?” Otabek asked for the sake of changing the subject. “Too fucking early. We need to do something together because I’m hanging out with Vitaly before I leave.” The Kazakh nodded, not exactly pleased to hear the mention of Vitaly’s name. “When are you leaving to go back to Kazakhstan?” “Two days after you. Cheapest flight I could find on a Thursday.” Yuri stood up, tossing his phone on the bench. That was his way of saying enough talk, he just wanted to skate already. This would be the first time in months they had the rink to themselves and he wanted to enjoy every moment of it without interruption. He slid out to the middle of the ice, waiting for Otabek to join him. “Hurry up, I can feel myself wasting away.” Otabek joined, circling around Yuri’s body without taking his eyes off of him. “How are you feeling?” Asked Yuri, eyes darting down to the bad knee. He tries not to mention it too much since it is a touchy subject, that does not mean he doesn’t worry about the well-being of his friend. He did not want things to be a spectacle like last time because this year they will share the podium together. “Fine. My knee hasn’t been bothering me too much.” Yuri took hold of Otabek’s arm, following his movements, “good,” he said. Green eyes burned holes into dark brown ones. Yuri turned quickly while switching arms, his footing moving gracefully with his hair flowing around him like a trailing sun. Otabek could feel his cheeks heat up, always breathless when watching Yuri skate, nearly suffocating with Yuri skating this close to him. “Beka, one of us will win gold this year.” There was a challenge in Yuri’s eyes, green burning with a red flame of determination. “I know. It’s going to be me, do you know why?” “Why?” Yuri watched his perfect toe loop, Otabek skating up close to him so their eyes locked. “Because my last name means gold. алтын.” He loved it when he got cocky, it just made Yuri want to work harder. Right now his biggest competition was him and Katsudon. Viktor may be legendary but he was getting old and far from a real threat. If only everyone else saw the fierce nature he saw when Otabek skates. He skated with his heart on his sleeve for the world to see. The world being Yuri. Daily Otabek kept pushing forward so he and Yuri could be on the same level and skate together. Now hand and hand. Even though they will not skate forever, forever felt far away when they were skating in the now. When they stopped to take a break, they leaned over the edge with their elbows nearly touching. Water dripping off his chin, Yuri wiped it with the back of his hand, “if you get hurt again I’m going to break your other knee.” Otabek slung his towelette around his neck, “I don’t plan on getting hurt again. I’m going to kiss a gold medal.” “Yeah, you’re going to kiss mine.” Yuri tossed his empty water bottle aside, hands on his hips while blades glided him back out. “Let’s go again, your footwork was sloppy as hell!” ... “Ugh, stop fucking calling me,” Yuri came out the bathroom with his phone near his ear, bypassing Otabek who was sitting on the couch working on mixes for his free program. Viktor had called to confirm Yuri’s arrival to St. Petersburg. He could be so annoying, taking his job as a coach too seriously then forgetting he is only coaching Katsudon and not him. “Don’t pick me up I don’t want to go out to lunch with you two.” Otabek, who was oblivious to the conversation happening around him, adjusted the dial on his board. Taken aback with a pair of striped socks pushing its way in his lap. Yuri did not acknowledge him, munching on a couple of crackers he found in the kitchen. “Whatever. I’m 18 I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Shaking his head, The Kazakh believes he might have made a breakthrough in his process. Playing back the track for the third time, it felt right. This was it. He removed the bulky headphone from his head, sliding them down so they sat on his shoulders. “Ugh…” Yuri exasperated, throwing his head back so his long blonde hair was hanging off the chair, practically touching the floor. Phone shoved in his pocket after the displeasing phone call, he took a couple of strands in between his fingers. Otabek was not paying attention, as he was too busy typing something on his computer. Possibly title ideas for his music. “Oi, I want to cut my hair.” “Why are you telling me this?” Yuri sat up, “because you’re my friend and I want you to cut it for me, asshole.” “I thought you were passed your rebellious phase. Let’s not have another welcome to the madness,” Otabek mockingly raised his fingers in the shape of a gun, making a shooting sound with his mouth as Yuri proceeded to flip him off. “Fuck off, that performance blew everyone out of the water.” Yeah, after they all passed out from shock. Otabek shut his laptop. “I thought you liked your long hair. It makes you look like a princess.” “Not when everyone keeps comparing it to Viktor. Besides, I want it cut to my shoulders. Only until the season is over.” “That’s fine and all, but I’m not cutting it.” Yuri’s lip poked out in a pout. He currently looked like a mix of a kitten and 5-year-old throwing a tantrum. Otabek could not look away, that face always finding a way to melt his heart. He got off the couch, pushing Yuri’s legs off with a defeated sigh. He will do it if it would get Yuri to stop whining. “I don’t have proper hair scissors,” was the Kazakh quick disclaimer so he would not be blamed for any sloppy cuts. Yuri went over to the dining table, taking a seat in the chair, “like I care. Just so you know, I’m going to record this.” “I’m starting to think you want me to get killed.” Otabek was referring to Viktor, Lilia, and Yakov. Yuri did not get the reference, opening his phone to his favorite social network, Instagram. With a press of a button, he was live. He could not deprive the fans of an ultra-rare Beka trimming. “Guess what the fuck I’m doing. I should say we…” the young Russian angled the phone so Otabek prepping for the haircut was in the camera. He gave one of his small waves, squinting to read the comments that were all in uppercase. He tied Yuri’s hair into a neat ponytail. “That’s right, Otabek here is going to cut my hair, isn’t that right, Beka?” “You should mention how I’m completely against this.” “But you’re still doing it,” Yuri said in a matter-of-fact tone. He saw that Viktor, Katsudon, Phichit, Milia, and some more skaters had joined the chat. “Alright, I’m doing it,” Otabek raised to show the scissors to the camera. With a couple of snips cutting as smooth as regular scissors could through the blonde locks, his hand now held the ponytail from the once proud owner of Yuri Plisetsky. “Maybe we could sell it on eBay,” he joked, passing the hair to Yuri to see. “Or maybe we could dye it gray and donate it to Viktor.” Yuri turned to face the camera, “alright, that’s all you, assholes. I hoped you enjoyed that.” Then, the stream ended. His phone buzzing with the multitude of comments, tweets, and text messages. “I still have to clean it up,” it felt strange to no longer feel the long hair in his hands, now it was the same length Yuri had it when they first became friends. His phone dinged. “It’s from Viktor,” Yuri said. Semi-Dead Viktor: YURIOOOOOO WHYYYYYY???? Otabek looked over his shoulder, “what did he say?” Yuri snorted, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips, “he loves it.” ... A helmet was tucked underneath his arm. After a delayed shipment of his bike, it finally arrived within the last two weeks of his stay in Moscow. Better late than never. Otabek was headed to pick Yuri up from his home so they could go on a cruise through town. It was more of a last minute decision. Yuri had gone out with Vitaly prior that night, most likely going to another club. Not like Otabek cared, he was not jealous of Vitaly in any way, but he wanted Yuri to be safe. Knocking on the door, Otabek stepped back to wait for someone to answer. “Who the hell is it?” Asked a voice from behind the door, followed by sounds of feet pattering across the hardwood floor. The knob twisted and open, revealing a rather disheveled Yuri at the door. His newly short hair poking out in multiple directions, with smeared make up streaks extending to the edge of his chin. “If I didn’t know better I would say someone had a great time last night,” Otabek knowingly teased, ignoring the light tug in his chest. “Shut up, nothing happened.” “I was hoping you would be dressed,” gesturing to the helmet in his hands, “my bike finally arrived.” “Why didn’t you text me? Shit, I would have been ready.” Yuri tugged him inside. “Ignore the mess. Grandpa is working on a new crafts project.” “How fun,” commented Otabek as he looked over the bits and pieces of wood lying around on a rubber sheet. They went to Yuri’s bedroom. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have to hear the noise,” he scavenged through his closet, draws, piles of clothes on the floor, anything clean or cool to wear. Otabek took his seat on the bed, watching his friend run around the room like a chicken with its head cut off. Deep down he felt bad for dropping by on short notice, but then again it made up for when he had to babysit a drunken 18-year-old. “So, where are we heading?” Yuri found a clean black shirt to wear, along with a pair of black jeans. He took the items and headed towards the bathroom. “No place in particular.” “How boring.” “Sorry, is riding a motorcycle with a friend not interesting enough?” Yuri stuck his tongue out, shrugging on a hoodie and layering a burgundy leather jacket on top to keep warm. “Do my hair?” “C’mere,” Otabek sat up, making room for Yuri to sit in front of him. He started off by braiding one side of his hair. “Vitaly didn’t like the haircut,” Yuri scrolled through his phone, hiding the slight frown growing on his lips. “Oh. Do you like it?” Otabek did not need validation from others that meant nothing to him. Yuri was another story, he wanted him to be happy which was why he did not argue too much when he was approached about giving him a haircut. Without hesitation, “of course! He was just being a dick. He was on his fourth shot when he told me,” Yuri dismisses the whole thing with a shrug, keeping himself from falling in the touch of Otabek’s hands in his hair. “Good, that’s all that matters. Finished.” Yuri peaked in the mirror directly in front of them, face lighting up with a smile wide enough to touch his ears. “Alright, let’s go!” Eager to spend a day with his best friend, Yuri nearly left without an important piece of his outfit. “Yuri?” Otabek coughed into his hand, pointing down at his bare feet, “forgetting something?” Yuri wiggled his toes, tips of his ears turning pink, “Oi! Stop laughing!” ... They were out for the majority of the day, driving past historical sites, all kinds of boutiques, and beautiful pieces of street art. The best part about driving out was being on the open road. Otabek driving, with Yuri’s arms hugging firmly around his waist. Just like that day in Barcelona when infamous Hero of Kazakhstan came to Russian fairy’s rescue. “Hey! Let’s stop to get a bite!” Yuri yelled over the wind roughly assaulting their bodies. Otabek parked the bike in front of a nearby bakery. “I can get us Pirozhki,” he counted out the change he had in his pocket. “Okay, I’ll stay on the bike.” Otabek watched him go into the bakery, removing his helmet to air out his head. Even after years of riding, he would never get used to the helmet hair. Buzz. Buzz. “Hello?” He answered the ringing phone, neglecting to check the caller ID to see who it was. “Otabek, I’m glad I was able to get a hold of you.” The voice sounded like his coach back home in Almaty. “Is something wrong?” Not trying to sound rude, but it was strange to receive a call from him unexpectedly unless something was wrong. “Look, I don’t know if it will be the best decision to have you skate this year.” …

#Otabek Altin #otabek #otabek x yurio #otayuri #Yuri Plisetsky #yuri #Yuri on ice #yoi #ao3 #fanfic

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