#there's no way those two kids would have found their happily ever after in 1916 Moscow

[ailendolin]

Random SFTH headcanon: after running away from the Royal Ballet of Moscow, Alexa and Janusz board the Silver Line and end up staying with Benjamin's family after the events of The Strange Noises From The Hole In The Wall where they don't have to dance or clean if they don't want to but are always encouraged to have fun and laugh as loudly as they can.

[softschofield]

the convoy boys (before and) after the war, part two - malky ♡

part one (rossi and cooke): x

parry/malky: x

moodboard: x

malky is the one to struggle the most after the war, though none of his friends ever know until he off-handedly and sweetly mentions the full extent of his trauma and they’re all taken aback by the pure horror of it. 

he’d been one of the few to come from a happy home: his whole family living in two-up-two-down row houses on the same street in newcastle-upon-tyne, his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins; a neighbourhood who knew and loved him, stores run by people who’d watched him grow up, a family that numbered half the city; christmases where the whole neighbourhood would bring their dining room tables out onto the street for one big party if the weather was fair, and where they’d cram into each other’s houses for singing and dancing and joyous, clumsy piano performances if the weather was snowy. 

those christmas gatherings were noisy, beautiful things; his parents would let him have a little glass of brandy, and it would fall to him to watch over the younger children and play with them, and often a cheer would go up somewhere near midnight and he’d be encouraged to plod out a few bad piano songs with his half-year training (that his parents had pooled their savings into) so everyone could sing along; and once it got late and the adults started to get drunk, malky would find a spare seat on the couch and watch the chaos with a shy, happy little smile and feel the warmth in his heart at the sight of all these people he loved and who loved him. 

his childhood was warm, and soft, and happy, and crowded. he was never lonely, but he was also never alone, and so he came to love and value quiet, peaceful moments by himself. he found a love for pressing flowers, one that came to mean calm and softness, and his bedroom was always filled with flowers, and he’d walk for hours along the river and through meadows and woods. when he was sixteen, he started working at a book binder’s for a half-deaf, grumpy old man, and that peace, that being able to just work at something in the quiet for hours at a time, became something he loved with all his heart. 

when the war came around, he was still living in his childhood bedroom with his parents. he’d never had any reason to want to move out; he was happy, and to all the neighbourhood he was still the baby of the family. he wanted to do his duty, in a vague, half-formed, guilty sort of war - he wanted to help his country, wanted to have an adventure, wanted to make new friends. but he never really expected to enlist, knew it would break his parents’ hearts. 

then conscription was introduced in 1916, and he had no choice. he was called up, assigned to the worcestershire regiment at random, given a few months of training that tore at the soft skin of his hands that were never made to fire a rifle, and shipped off to france as a replacement. 

almost immediately he and rossi formed a bond. malky had never had to go very far out of his way to make friends - in newcastle, you fell over them almost by accident wherever you went - and he was a little overwhelmed at the front. that first night, with shells rumbling in the distance and boys murmuring in the dark around him and little fires hidden under raincoats to avoid being seen by german planes, malky wandered between the little groups aimlessly. he’d catch the eye of someone, and smile hopefully and start to walk over to them, only to have them turn away and go back to talking to someone else. he’d hover over a group and try to think up something to say, and be snapped at. he wandered, helpless and dispirited and blushing, until a boy sitting by himself beside a little fire called him over in a gruff, quiet voice. there was nothing wrong with him, no reason he’d be by himself - he could have been the centre of a group if he’d wanted to be. but, evidently, he didn’t want that. 

and so, malky and rossi became the founding members of the convoy boys - because rossi, patron saint of waifs and strays, of the unwanted and the mocked and the outcasts, had called malky over. he’d mostly expected to be annoyed by the boy, to just keep him company for the evening until he got more settled in and could stand on his own two feet; and when malky first sat down beside him at the fire, where rossi was fiddling away at a part of a radio from headquarters, he’d hardly looked at him. but malky, gentle and unexpectedly witty in a delightfully deadpan way and northern to the core, had quickly established himself as an equal, and from then on it was malky and rossi. 

after that, they’d adopted others into their little group and taken them under their wing - cooke, too insecure and too desperate to prove himself to easily make friends; butler, too stand-offish and idealistic; jondalar, for obvious reasons. jondalar quickly became a leader of the group, and even he didn’t entirely realise that malky another of them - he was more than happy to settle into the background, to let others take centre stage, but he was no less one of the three leaders, one of the hearts of the group: he was the comforter, the one who gently soothed and patched up small wounds, the one who listened when someone had to break away from the group and stumble into the dark and weep about home and all the horror and trauma looming over them, the one who held them when they needed a soft, tender touch.

and then, after the war, he realised that while he’d been doing that for everyone else, no one had been doing it for him. he suffered afterwards in a similar way to kilgour - but while kilgour was aware of his own trauma, while he tried to hide it with cheerfulness and big smiles and the complete dismissal of his pain, malky was genuinely unaware that there was something wrong with him. he tried to go back to his old life, tried to slot right back into that world of noise and warmth and claustrophobic, stifling joy. his friends, his family, his cousins, his aunts, his neighbours - they were all over him, and for the first time in his life, he realised, with such a flash of horror that it made him sick, that he didn’t want to be touched. that he flinched at the sound of a train horn. that his heart was always thundering and frantic. that there were dark rings under his eyes. that the flowers on his walls made him feel hemmed in, and that he wanted to reorganise his bookshelf at 3am because he had to do something, anything, had to open a window, had to clean, had to repaint the dining room walls.

and it wasn’t that he felt he had to be someone for all the people who had known him - it’s that he honestly, genuinely, did not realise he was suffering from trauma. he thought that, now that the war was over, he could move on, and start a new chapter, and go back to smiling, to evening walks in summer, to giving piggy back rides to his young cousins. he thought he’d be alright. 

while he was in this confusing state of turmoil, this state of smiling happily through the day and not understanding the mess he became at night, he kept up his letters to his friends. sweetly. cheerfully. religiously. it’s a nice habit, he thought; i don’t understand it but i feel like i’m coming apart at the seams and this is the only thing holding me together, he meant. one by one they stopped writing him back, but that didn’t matter. he kept sending them.

he got his old job back at the book binder’s. didn’t last. he’d sit down at his desk and look at the clock and it was 10am, and then he’d just stare at nothing for a few minutes, losing himself in a soundless haze with his pulse in his ears, and he’d blink and it was 4pm. the old man fired him after a week and he stumbled out onto the street in a tearful daze. 

and that’s how his life went for months: happy, smiling, cheerful, and frantically tearing apart down the middle while all he could do was watch. blindly trying to stitch himself back up with soft coloured wool that just fell to bits at his touch, and stirring himself into a horrible frenzy of confusion and fear and sunshine.

then came the letter from cooke, telling him to come down to london. then came parry. then came healing. 

when he returned to newcastle, he was still broken - but he understood that that’s what it was, and his smile was a little more genuine for finally having a diagnosis, for knowing that life itself wasn’t fracturing, for knowing there could be an end to it, for knowing there’s hope. rossi was the only reason he was staying in newcastle, because it wasn’t terribly far from scotland and it made him feel close to him even when only silence greeted his letters. when rossi made the move to london, malky followed him. he smiled around at his childhood bedroom and breathed in the smell of it one last time before he closed the door, and he lugged his suitcase down the staircase and left it by the front door - and that evening, the whole street is alive with celebration. 

his parents cry, but they know that if it will make him happy, if it’s right, then he has to go - and all the neighbourhood will miss him, but they don’t lament it: they turn it into a celebration of a new chapter in his life. lanterns are hung throughout the street, and the tables are brought out, and people wheel their pianos out, and the warm evening air is alive with music and laughter, and everyone wants to dance with malky - most of all his kid cousins, which is an adorable sight - and he’s smiling and laughing just as much as he’s crying, and it’s happy. 

and as night falls, he hugs everyone he loves, and tells them he’ll visit and write every week and send photos, and his mother tells him she’s proud of him and hugs him the longest, and as he picks up his suitcase and walks to the train station, the whole street goes with him - skipping along at his side, and singing, and cheering, like a huge procession through the streets of newcastle. people come out of their homes and poke their heads out of windows to watch - and there’s malky, at the head of it all with his suitcase and a hundred people who love him all around him, and he’s laughing and sobbing at the same time, and it’s magical. it’s beautiful. it’s family. it’s home. 

they wave him off at the platform and laugh and cheer and blow kisses, with kids sitting on their parents’ shoulders and a little yapping dog perched on someone’s head, and then the train is pulling away, and he leans out the window to wave at them for as long as he can; and once he can’t see them anymore, he sits back in his seat and just cries - not only because he’s going to miss them, but because he’s so happy, he’s so overwhelmed, he’s so full of love. and when the crying stops, all that’s left is a dopey smile on his face and red, swollen eyes, and his chest full of warmth and light as air.

all his friends meet him at the station in london, and they’re just as much a home as the one he left. he gets a job as a baker and he loves it: his customers line up early every morning to get his pastries, and also to talk to the sweet, bashful baker with the shy, kind eyes and happy smile; in turn, he loves all his regulars and always comes out to the till to serve them and chat with them and wish them a good morning at work. he’s the highlight of their day and they his, and his friends just listen with befuddled, patient expressions where he gushes quietly about what his customers are up to - because malky is the one none of them tease. he’s too gentle for that. 

and he’s happy!!!! he does a lot of quiet healing (much of it at scho’s cottage in cookham when he mentions he’d love to see the countryside, and then it just becomes a tradition to go there once a month), and arranges flowers in his flat to clear his head, and takes up knitting as stress relief and knits blankets for all his friends, and he’s happy. and i love him. so much. 

[oswaldsirius]

07. Family

Pairing: Sirius/Celeste

Word Count: 1916

Summary: A full house and a happy heart. What more could either of them ask for?

A/N: And finished! I’ve really enjoyed doing these and exploring more aspects and moments of their relationship and lives. Even if I do not want to decide to do it the week before the birthday again. Hope you’ve enjoyed reading them as much as I have writing them! And possibly see you next month for another round of birthday fics!

-

           Setting down the cakes, Celeste smiled as she listened to all the sounds around her. Their garden was overflowing with family and friends, murmurs of conversation punctuated by the merry shrieks of children. It was a beautiful spring day so almost everyone had voted to be outside. A handful were still inside, helping finish up the preparations but they’d be out soon enough.

           “Please tell me you aren’t putting candles on that.”

           She laughed as warm arms wound around her from behind despite the grumpy voice. “Not this year,” she promised.

           “This year?” Sirius huffed.

           Leaning into him, she didn’t say anything, but she’d decided to forgo candles for him now. Even if he was cute grumbling over them.

           “You didn’t have to make one this year.”

           “They’re not for you,” she said honestly, turning around to face him.

           He gave her a funny look. “We’ve done this before and it hasn’t turned out well.”

           She shrugged and hugged him back. “It’s tradition.”

           Sirius laughed after a moment, kissing the top of her head. “Whatever you say, Cherry,” he murmured. “Are you giving them the bath later?”

           “If Fenrir doesn’t turn the hose on them first.”

           He kept laughing, hugging her tightly. “He’d better not.”

           He’d done it to the older kids last summer when they were ‘too rowdy’ but they all knew he’d only done it to have more fun with them. Especially since he was the one that had riled them up in the first place.

           “Papa!” two voices squealed.

           Celeste tried to pull back from him, but Sirius didn’t let her. He also barely budged as two small bodies collided with his legs. Neither of them needed to look down to see who it was, but they both did. “Girls,” she said softly, “what are you doing?”

           Maia gave her a huge grin, but Chara kept her face pressed against Sirius’s leg. “Catch Papa!” Maia chirped happily.

           They shared a small smile before he let go of her to pry both daughters off his legs. “Come here,” he said, hefting one under each arm.

           Maia shrieked, flailing, and Chara finally giggled, kicking her legs a little as he didn’t let go.

           Sirius leaned down to kiss Celeste and murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

           She smiled but doubted that. The girls would keep him occupied for a time and someone else was bound to catch him. The guys from the army always seemed to eat up a lot of his time whenever they met up. It was a common occurrence since his retirement.

           Looking over the garden, she easily found the members of the Black Army that had come. She’d told them they didn’t have to, but they’d all insisted, and they’d all come. She heard the door open and saw both Adhara and Heze coming out holding plates, Luka only one step behind them. She had been promptly shooed out of the kitchen by the trio when she’d gone for the cakes, told that they were fine.

           Judging by the piles of cookies on their plates, they’d done more than fine. But the treats were swiftly abandoned on the tables, quick hugs given to her before they both raced across the grass to join Sirius and their sisters.

           Her heart tugged at the sight of all of them. It was hardly new but….

           “Have you decided?”

           Glancing at Ray as he came up beside her, Celeste knew what he was talking about. But she didn’t answer immediately. “I feel like I could still do good there,” she said slowly.

           “You’ve done a lot of good already, Celeste.”

           She knew that. She watched the games unfolding in front of her, watched as the children attempted to mob their father. “All I ever wanted was this,” she said softly. “A home and a family to love. Adhara and Heze are already in school and Chara will be next year. They’re all already getting so big and I feel like I haven’t had any time with them at all.”

           “That’s a lie,” he pointed out. “You and Sirius both have spent most of your time raising them. You especially before the old man retired.”

           “Don’t call him that,” she said automatically, swatting his arm.

           Ray merely smiled at her.

           But she knew he was right. He’d been nothing but understanding as they’d had children, letting them take the time they needed and even going so far as letting Sirius set up a secondary office in their house to keep working from home. Or maybe it had been Ray’s idea, knowing how much Sirius had wanted to be home with them. Either way, Ray had been more than generous in giving them the time they’d needed and accepting it when Sirius had finally stepped down as Queen.

           “Celeste, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with your family,” Ray said quietly. “None of us are going to judge you if you want to retire or take a leave of absence or whatever you want to do.”

           Tears pricked at her eyes and she quickly blinked to stem them. Today wasn’t about crying, even if those words meant more to her than she could say.

           “You don’t have to tell me today,” he continued. “It’s a party for them. We can talk later.”

           She watched him for a moment as he stepped away. “Ray?”

           He turned back to look at her.

           “You’re all my family too,” she said softly.

           He gave her a small smile. “We know, Celeste. You’ll always be family. All of you.”

           Damn it, he was really going to make her cry. Looking over the garden again, she turned to the house. She needed a moment to pull herself back together. She knew he hadn’t meant to and she also knew most people would misunderstand if they saw her. Best to go inside and find a quiet space for a moment.

           She slipped inside and moved deeper into the house. The small library on the main floor would be perfect, it was tucked away enough that she’d be able to-Celeste paused at the stairs, looking up them and changing her mind. She hurried upstairs and went to one of the rooms at the end of the hall.

           The room was quiet, only the gentle sounds of breathing filling it. Sirius liked to tease that they slept as deeply as she did, not even the ruckus outside enough to wake them up. But they’d both been grateful for it, given how loud the house could get on any given day.

           Crossing her arms on the railing of the crib, she leaned over to rest her cheek on them and smiled as she looked into it. Adhil and Rigel were asleep, both with one chubby hand curled into the other’s clothing. They were enough to make her heart melt, with their messy crops of dark hair and rosy cheeks. Even in sleep, they were the cutest babies.

           “Celeste?”

           “Shh,” she said softly over her shoulder and smiled ruefully. Of course, he’d seen her leave and had followed. Not even the kids were enough to distract him from keeping track of her.

           Sirius joined her at the cradle, running his hand over her hair and then along her back. “Are you alright? You haven’t had to take time for yourself in years.”

           “I’m fine,” she assured him. “It wasn’t that.”

           He rubbed over her lower back before curling his hand around her hip. “You were talking to Ray about leaving the army,” he said quietly.

           “I was.” There was no point hiding it; they’d talked about it off and on in the months leading up to the twins’ birthday.

           He didn’t push because he knew she still wasn’t sure what to do. But she knew he’d stand by her decision no matter what it was. Just like she had when he’d decided to take over Canis Major again. “Should we wake them up?” he asked. “They’re missing their party.”

           Celeste smiled and finally looked at him. “It’s your party too.”

           He shook his head. “My birthday isn’t important compared to theirs.”

           This again? “They wouldn’t have a birthday if you didn’t.”

           “Are we going to do this every year?”

           “Possibly. Depends on if you let me give you a present or not.”

           Sirius gave her an odd look before his dark eyes moved into the cradle. “You already have, Celeste,” he said quietly, his gaze returning to her. “You gave me them.”

           Her breath caught and she stared at him. “What?”

           “Their birthday is two days after mine,” he murmured. “What greater gift could I ever ask for?”

           “I didn’t…I mean, that wasn’t planned. You can’t have them as your birthday present!”

           “Yes, I can,” Sirius said softly. “The greatest gift I never expected. The only gift I’m every going to need.”

           She was gaping at him; she knew she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

           His entire expression softened and he cupped her face. “All of our children are gifts, Cherry. More than I could ask for. More than I ever dared dream of. We have six wonderful, beautiful children and they’re all the gift I ever need.”

           She’d come up here to try to stop herself from crying yet here she was, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks.

           “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “You know I can’t stand it when you cry.”

           “Y-You….” Celeste sniffed before throwing herself into him, burying her face in his chest but it didn’t quite muffle the sob that left her.

           “Shh,” he breathed. “Shh, my lady.”

           He was only making it worse! Her hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him as she let her emotions run where they would. He gently rocked her, murmuring softly to her, and her heart ached at the love in his voice. They’d been together for over ten years and yet he was still making her love him even more.

           She didn’t resist him when he tipped her head back, blinking away the tears clinging to her lashes. “Sirius,” she mumbled as he smiled down at her.

           “I love you, Celeste,” he said, holding her gaze, “and the family you’ve given me.”

           He leaned down to kiss her before she could say anything and it was as sweet as his words. She mumbled a protest when he dropped a second quick one on her upturned lips. “I love you too,” she whispered.

           “Mama!”

           “Dada!”

           They both turned to look at the pair of happy cries that came from the cradle and saw both boys were awake. And using the rails of the cradle to stand. “Look at you,” Celeste cooed.

           They both gave her wide smiles that completely melted her heart.

           Sirius chuckled, kissing her forehead before he let go of her. “Alright, you two,” he said, reaching in to lift them both out, “are you ready for cake?”

           Celeste smiled as they babbled at him, Adhil patting Sirius’s face with both hands while Rigel grabbed on to his shirt. “Sirius?” she said before he could leave.

           Three pairs of bright eyes looked at her, the twins still smiling and the ghost of one on Sirius’s face.

           “Happy birthday,” she whispered.

           He smiled back at her. “Thanks, Cherry.”

           She followed him out of the room, listening to the happy babble the twins were making and Sirius talking back to them. They’d had so many of these quiet, normal moments in their years together and she was looking forward to having so many more.