#this is a problem ive been seeing across the board with fandoms... especially ones with popular m/m pairings. so no not just the svs fandom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: Ride With Me (part three) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5200 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part three: Things are awkward between the Reader and head-wrangler Dean, and her nerve wrecking first day at Gold Canyon Ranch hasn’t even started yet. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Before the alarm even has the chance to awaken Y/N from her restless sleep, she turns it off and rises from her bed. As she hops off the small mattress, she hits her head against the top bunk and lets out a groan. Wonderful, she thinks to herself as she rubs her head and grids her teeth, just what I need at 5.30 in the morning. She flicks on the light, which stings her eyes the moment the rays hit them. For a second she glances around the ten-by-six room, of which most of the space is occupied by the two-story bed and a closet. Oh well, at least she has the room to herself. She would feel even more claustrophobic in the small space that she can call hers for the next six months.

By taking in a deep breath, she tries to calm herself down. Today is the first line of a new chapter in her life, the chapter in which she will prove to the world that she is not just some stuck up rich kid from upstate who is offered all life’s best opportunities by her parents. She does get everything she wants, alright, because she works hard for it. She has worked hard for her degree, she has worked hard to become a pro reining rider. And now she will work hard shoveling horse shit. Y/N isn’t a simpleton; she saw how interns were treated at the livery stable where she boarded her horse, back in Freeport. They tend to end up with all the chores nobody else wants to do; the dirty jobs. Come to think of it, she might have used an intern to clean up her mess every now and then, and boy, does she regret it now. If karma exists, today it will bite her in the ass.

With a sigh, she gets up, grabs a towel, her shampoo and makeup bag, and quietly heads for the shower without waking anyone. The warm water falling on her skin does not only cleanse her body from a damp and restless night, but also her mind. The intern expects today to be dreadful, but she needs to stop being so negative. Maybe you will get to go on a trail today, that would be fun, she reassures herself under the spray. You’ve got Jo to back you up, you will be fine.

You. Will. Be. Fine.

Nevertheless, nerves tighten knots in her stomach again, as it did when she stepped into the saloon last night. What if I won’t be fine? What if the workload is too heavy, what if I’m not cut out for this job? Getting tired of her own brooding, she washes out the conditioner and turns off the shower. After drying her hair, she wraps the towel around her chest and secures it by tucking one hem behind the other, then starts on her makeup.

This is her daily routine, no matter how early she needs to get up for it. Confidence is not her strong suit and looking as good as she can, gives her just enough boost to get by, especially on nerve-wracking days like these. After fixing her eyelashes with mascara, she hears a door creak open in the hallway; sounds like the rest of the crew is waking up too. After tightening the towel, making sure that it’s not coming off on her stroll back to her room, she opens the bathroom door. A young woman with dark wavy hair throws an old coffee filter in the trash. All she’s wearing is an oversized plaid shirt that reaches over her thighs. “G’morning,” the brunette greets friendly. “Hi,” she returns, somewhat hesitant, then extends her hand towards her as she takes a step in her direction in order to introduce herself. "I'm Y/N." “Casey,” the natural beauty replies, shaking her hand. Last night, she was there in the saloon, but Jo didn’t introduce them. Y/N assumed she was a guest, but now that she finds her here in the bunkhouse, she figures Casey must be personnel. While pouring herself a cup, she looks up at Y/N. “You want a cup of coffee?” “Yes, please,” Y/N obliges, appreciating a mug full of warm brew to help her wake up. "I'll throw on some clothes first."

As Y/N turns around to retreat back to her room to get dressed, the door closest to the kitchen area opens. When she sees the man at the door, her jaw drops and she swears to God that her heart beats twice as fast from the moment her eyes capture the person in the doorway. It’s Dean, but wearing distinctively less clothing. His worn-down jeans are the only thing he’s wearing, hanging from his hips, only held by a leather belt with a silver inlaid buckle. Y/N’s eyes glide up, noticing the happy trail running up his abdomen. My oh my, is that body a nice one. Proportioned, toned, and tanned from years of ranch work under the Arizona sun. Broad shoulders, strong arms. In her mind, it feels like she has been taking him in for at least a minute, but thankfully she only needs a split second to snap out of it, not wanting to get caught staring again. It’s only then when she realizes that she herself is draped in nothing more than a towel, exposing almost as much skin as he is. There it is, the first moment of the day when she wishes to be invisible. “Morning, Yankee,” he greets, his voice still raspy from sleep. “M-morning,” she manages to mutter. She then points at her room awkwardly, pressing the towel against her chest, after which she stammers something unintelligible and turns to self-consciously walk back to safety. His eyes burn in her back, and when she turns towards him as she closes the door, a suppressed smile that expresses both amusement and appreciation adorns his handsome face. Y/N only breathes out again when the door falls in the lock behind her. God, could you be more embarrassing? Good job on not making a total fool of yourself! She takes a deep breath and runs both her hands through her hair, trying to push the moment to the back of her mind, then drops the towel and quickly hoists herself in underwear, and after that a pair of dark jeans. Get yourself together, Y/N. Sure, he looks incredibly hot, but he is not the first good looking guy you’ve come across. He shouldn’t have this effect on you, Jo warned you about him, for crying out loud! Lecturing herself, she puts on her bra and a denim blouse, after which she steps in her boots. The shine has worn off, since she kicked through the dirt on her way to the bunkhouse last night, making them a little less conspicuous. Quickly, she blow-dries her hair, straightens it out with an ironer, and glances at the reflection in the small mirror. A nervous and insecure little girl stares back, the image having her sigh deeply and close her eyes on herself. On the corner of the bedpost, her custom-fitted Milano western hat waits. She brought two hats to Arizona, one being a navy blue Stetson that she has had for ages, the other is the black Milano, which her grandfather gave her before debuting at the State Championships. Ever since that win, it has become her lucky hat. She picks it up by the crown, moves it over her head, and then pushes it down on her hair, pulling the front dip down a little deeper over her eyes. There, much better. Just walk out there, pretend nothing happened. You’ve got this. After another deep breath to ground herself, she exits her room and joins the others in the living area. Jo, Benny, and Garth are there too, trying to wake themselves with some caffeine. Dean has settled on the leather couch, also sipping his coffee. He’s fully dressed now, thankfully. She’s not sure if she could have looked in his direction if he wasn’t.

“Hey! Slept well?” Jo wonders, pushing a coffee filled mug in her direction. “Yeah, fine,” Y/N answers, forcing a smile. Not at all, but no need for them to know. A quick glance at the clock above the stove tells her it’s 6.20; only ten minutes until this dreadfully slow day is going to start. “Is Ash up yet?” Dean checks with the rest. “What do you think?” Jo returns snarky. With a grunt Dean gets up, walks over to the door next to her and bangs on it loudly. “Ash!” A loud snore comes from behind the closed door, followed by nervous rummaging. “I’m up!”

With a chuckle, Dean returns to the living room, where Casey stood up from the chair. Wearing the same clothes as she did last night, she walks up to him. “I’m heading off. Breakfast with the girls,” she announces, after which she leaves a kiss on his lips. He answers her and closes his eyes as he does, stalling the motion for a second longer. Then they part and he smiles down on the gorgeous girl. “See you in the saloon tonight?” Dean checks. “You betcha,” Casey replies, staring him down flirtatiously, before she exits the bunkhouse. The wrangler pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, grinning content as he settles on the couch again. All this time Y/N has watched him, a bit perplexed by what just happened. Suddenly it makes sense why Jo didn’t introduce her to Casey; she’s a guest who just happened to have spent the night here, with Dean. When she directs her focus to Jo, the blonde cowgirl mouths ‘told ya?’ triumphantly. Chuckling, Y/N shakes her head. Jo was right, and boy is she glad that she told him to find his booty call elsewhere.

In the meantime, Ash has joined them and five minutes before their shift starts, the group of wranglers and workers head out. The moment Y/N steps outside, the heat that lingered despite the night hits her. Dear lord, she hasn’t lifted a finger yet and she’s already sweating. Before she can complain out loud, the intern looks up, instantly captivated by the landscape. Last night the veil of darkness didn’t allow the scenery to be appreciated, but now that the sun steadily rises in the east, warding off the clouds that float at the horizon above the Superstition Mountains, she is fully aware of its beauty. Bright rays of orange and yellow spread their light over their surroundings, draping all that’s in the sun’s reach with gold. Cows and their calves impatiently wait in their large stretched out pastures by the fence, moohing, eager for new hay. The dirt with a speck of red in it crunches under their boots as the smell of the country fills her nostrils.

Suddenly the intern’s first day at the ranch seems a little less intimidating. She can’t wait to be around horses again, to hear them rustle their noses through their roughage and hear them neigh the moment the stable doors open. The way their presence triggers every sense of her to take in as much as she can possibly absorb, purely to enjoy the bliss feeling of belonging. In a year’s time, only a few days passed without spending at least some hours around these majestic animals. Christmas was one of those moments, yesterday was one too. One day without them and she already craves for their touch, their interaction, their companionship. Something called homesickness. Not for Maine, not for her friends and family, but for horses. Home is where the heart is. There’s a lot of truth in those words.

“So, what is today going to be like?” she wonders eagerly, after catching up with Jo. “We start with feeding, turning the horses out, and mucking stables. Dean and I usually ride a couple of horses before breakfast at 8.30. After breakfast, we tack up for the trail rides with the tourists. A few wranglers go out with them, others stay behind to groundwork horses, clean tack, stuff like that. Lunch at 12.00, depending on the heat we take a break and get back to work at 2 PM,” the ranch owner’s daughter fills in. Y/N tries to memorize the schedule as well as she can. Her description of the day helps, though. It offers a grip on the situation, calming the nerves. “The afternoon is different every day. Sometimes we have extra trails, the vet might come in, or clients for the horses that need to be sold. When it’s quiet the workers do maintenance on the property while we train more horses. We feed the animals round at 6.30, dinner is served at 7. Final feeding round at 10.”

The humid air was already pressing heavily on Y/N. Getting through the day without passing out, is definitely going to be a challenge. Despite those circumstances, she catches herself looking forward to this day, something that she couldn’t imagine last night when she retired to bed. She directs her attention to the group again, when some of the workers fan out, heading for the hay barn next to the stables. Within seconds she hears the tractor start and watches Ash roll out the big old machine that pumps black puffs from the exhaust with every strike of the engine. A trailer loaded with hay bales is attached to the rusty tractor, carrying Benny as well, who found a comfortable spot in the back. “Keep up, Yankee!” Jo looks over her shoulder, waiting for Y/N to step to it. Quickly she follows the cowgirl, who on her turn is right behind Dean and Garth. Seems like they aren’t the only ones who got up early to get work done, because Bobby is already pushing the feed cart through the hallway between two rows of stalls, scooping pellets into the horses’ feeders through the bars. Some impatiently kick against the wood in an attempt to rush the old ranch owner, but he’s not in a hurry. Instead, he mutters something to the grey in the left row that is making a fuss. “Mornin’, y’all,” Bobby greets them, somewhat grumpy. “G’morning. What are we up for?” Dean consults with his boss. “Two rides. A slow ride in the morning and a mountain hack in the afternoon,” Bobby fills in, closing the lid of the bucket half full of oats, then turns to his new intern. “What time does your horse arrive?” he asks. “Around 2 PM, the driver would let me know if he would run late, but I haven’t heard anything so far,” Y/N notifies. “The first box on the right is unoccupied. It’s yours for the next six months, but I expect you to work for it,” he says, an encouraging sternness in his voice. “I will, Mr. Singer,” she assures him. “Alright,” Dean interrupts. “Y/N, you’re with me.” The authoritative way he speaks unsettles her a little, but she tries her best to hide it. She’s on his hip from the moment he starts walking through the barn, showing her around. “Tack room is on the right. Wash the bits clean before you hang the bridles away and always fold a cover over the saddle. Put back everything where you found it, otherwise Garth will rip you a new one, he likes the place neat. The cafeteria is over here, we all gather here for breakfast and lunch. Same deal, keep it clean. The coffee sucks, but it will wake you up in the morning.” Dean gives her a short moment to glance inside the small yet comfy hangout, which contains a wooden picnic table for ten, and a small kitchenette. Her eyes glide over the numerous photos on the wall of show horses, the ranch from a birds-view, and many other images, together with won belt buckles, ribbons, and a messenger board. “You’ll find the schedule of the day on there, also important phone numbers, to-do lists, memos, you name it. Check it every morning before you start and every evening before you leave. If a horse loses a shoe or needs special care, write it on the board,” he tells her, after which he retreats back to the hallway.

His flirtatious manors have disappeared after she flipped him off last night, just the way she wanted at that moment. But now that he has this coldness over him on the work-floor, Y/N isn’t so sure if this is what she was after. Is he a sore loser? Is that the reason why he’s so reserved all of a sudden? Or is he keeping personal and business separate? Confused, she follows him as the wrangler heads for the horse boxes. “These are all training horses, some owned by us, some by clients. They are turned out in small groups, except for the stallions, which are turned out alone in the high fenced paddocks. Learn their names and description quickly, we can’t have a mare in a pasture with a stallion, and believe me, you wouldn’t be the first to do such a thing.”

On the other side of the barn, he lifts the heavy bar out of the hinge in order to open the tall doors. Behind them lays several acres of land, split up in pastures and paddocks, their gateways surrounding the outdoor tack up area in a U-shape. In the center, a Joshua tree reaches up to a clear sky. The old specimen must have been here for a while, since it has grown to a stunning height of at least thirty feet, offering shade to whoever needs it. To the right, a round pen is situated together with a large outdoor training arena. The yucca tree as well as the wooden fencing, are illuminated by the warm rays from the rising sun. Y/N tips her hat forward to protect her eyes from the brightness, enjoying the view. It’s a gorgeous sight and she wonders how long it has been like this. The tree almost seems sacred in this setting, an old soul that has been watching over these lands for decades, maybe even centuries. In the far distance, a herd grazes on the slopes leading up to the Superstition Mountains. “Those are our trail horses. We’ve got about twenty of them. They stay out in the fields twenty-four seven and only come in for rides,” Dean tells her, after which he goes on with the tour, pointing out each while naming them in a rush. “Stallion paddocks, pastures, round pen, arena.”

He heads back inside, expecting the intern to be right on his heels, but she hesitates, still absorbing the information. For a split second he observes, because she isn’t the only one who is taken aback by the view. Her silky hair falls down from under her western hat, the profile of her nose, lips, and chin outlined by the morning sun. The place mesmerizes her, just like it did when he first saw it. In fact, one of the first memories he can recall is sprinting through the barn towards the sunrise, his mom requesting with a gentle voice not to run, because it might spook the horses. He listened and halted in the large door frame, gazing at the enormous tree in front of him. He couldn’t have been more than four years old. Pushing the memory away, Dean lifts his gaze back at his intern and gets back to business. “C’mon, we ain’t got all day!” Y/N snaps out of it and approaches him, clearly not at ease and he regrets striking such a tone instantly. He can’t help it, though. Of course, he needs to be tough on the rookies, he has to if he wants to determine if they are right for the job or not. Ranch life is hard work, not to mention that they are handling horses and cattle weighing a thousand pounds each. A small error can have huge consequences, and since she’s under his supervision, he wants to prevent mistakes at all costs. But is it just that? If he’s honest with himself, is he really being an ass because he’s the boss? Or does he have to admit that he’s still slightly annoyed by the fact that his ego got damaged by this fierce new face? Normally he would shake off a rejection - not that he had many - yet she brought out of balance. Why is that? He gave it some thought, especially the way she responded to him right after she entered the saloon. Those lingering stares they exchanged, the way she got all flustered when he surprised her with his eyes. It didn’t go unnoticed, so the harsh ‘no’ when he went over for a chat still feels like a slap in the face. Somehow, it didn’t add up, because he could have sworn he felt a connection. It occupied his mind to a degree that he was still thinking about the woman who shot him down while having sex with Casey.

Forcing himself to get a grip, he continues to walk down the alley between the stables, footsteps echoing under the high ceiling. Jo and Garth already started preparing the horses for their free time outdoors, strapping protective boots to their legs. Bobby’s daughter takes a bay quarter horse out of his box after which she opens the stable door for a beautiful palomino as well and leads the two horses outside. Iron horseshoes click on the paved grounds rhythmically, soothing like a metronome. “Each horse has its own halter. Some wear leg protection, which you can find in these bags,” Dean continues, taking a pair of overreach boots out of a canvas bag hanging from the stable door, along with a halter. He opens the stall without making eye contact with his intern, focusing on the horse that curiously comes closer to meet him. Uncomfortable, Y/N waits for his next instruction by the door. Should she speak up? This time she reconsiders her words carefully, but she cannot stand the tension that is hanging in the already humid air. “Dean, about last night…” Her voice is so hesitant that it triggers the wrangler to turn and face the young woman, his expression shifting from annoyed to something much more gentle. In comparison to the deliverance of her message yesterday, she seems timid now. “I know I was a little… blunt, when I told you to go find your luck elsewhere. The thing is, that I really need to focus on this job and on my placement here, do the best I can. I don’t want to mess this up or get sent home early. I can’t afford distraction,” she explains, trying to smoothen things out. Observant Dean returns her gaze while he gently pulls the halter over the horse’s ears, securing the snap of the throat lash to cheekpiece. He doesn’t mean to, but a small smirk fights it’s way up to the surface. He’s got to say, he respects her for keeping her eyes on the ball. Bobby was right; she is a go-getter. “Where is this coming from?” he wonders, voice much softer than it has been all morning. “Well, I kind of had the feeling you are giving me the cold shoulder,” she confesses, uneasy.

Again silence, this one at least as awkward as the previous one. How many hours ago have they met each other? Not even ten? And yet, despite being a little insecure about it now, she seems to be able to express herself quite well. It’s an aspect that stands out, one that Dean likes. She doesn’t beat around the bush, that’s for sure. “You might have a point,” the wrangler admits. “But I need to be tough on the interns. It ain’t a cashier job at Walmart, this line of work can get dangerous. Do understand that I’m your supervisor and that it’s my responsibility that you--” Whoa whoa whoa, stop it right there. Rewind and play again. He’s her what now? “You’re my supervisor?” she repeats in shock. Dean nods, confused. “Yeah, didn’t Bobby and Ellen tell you that?” She shakes her head and buries her face in her hands as the embarrassment washes over her like a tidal wave. She cannot believe she wasn’t aware of this! “N-no, they didn't…” Y/N stammers. First, they forget her at the airport and now this? God, this place has communication issues! “I’m so sorry. What I said, that was just downright disrespectful,” she apologizes, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, shrugging it off. “Can you get Argo? He’s in the box next door.”

She nods, not entirely at ease just yet. Nevertheless, she steps to it, takes the halter and splint boots, and enters the stable to the right. Not being in the same box offers time and space to revise strategies, because she doesn't feel like the conversation has come to a solid end. Good grief, she feels like such an idiot. For someone who takes the job seriously, it was a pretty dumb move to talk back to the one person who is going to be her guide and mentor during this placement. He barely said a word before she treated him so rudely! He came up to ask if she was looking forward to her first day, for crying out loud! She has got to say something, anything to make it right. Before she can continue, though, the wrangler beats her to it. “Look, I might have come on a little strong. I didn’t mean to put you in a compromising position. If I did--” “No, it’s fine,” Y/N insists. “I think last night went down a little different than we both anticipated.”

The wrangler keeps a hold of her gaze for a second and then nods, deciding to settle with that. She’s right; they both could have handled the situation differently. It’s good that they cleared the air, though. He usually enjoys bossing rookies around, but with her, he’d rather take a more gentle approach. “I’m gonna take you thinking I’m a distraction as a compliment, then,” he comments jokingly. Y/N looks up from her work as she puts the halter on the chestnut, chuckling lightly. Dean smiles at her response, her little laugh lifting the weight off his chest. Their eyes lock as they observe each other through the bars separating them, both very well aware of the slightly different vibe in the air. Dean - who was left somewhat disoriented after her decline - seems to have found his footing again. She can see it in the small crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, in the dimples of his cheeks when he smiles. Damn, that smile. And there it is again, that sparkle. A shimmer in his eyes, like holding a beautifully cut emerald gemstone against the light. “I was warned that you can be very distracting,” she returns, correcting him. Jo walks past to fetch more horses to turn out, glaring at the pair as she passes by. Dean catches her ‘what the hell are you up to?’ stare, which he replies to by raising his eyebrows and intensifying his trademark smile. “Let me guess. Jo told you all about how I spend my evenings?” he replies to her comment, almost a whisper to prevent his cousin from listening in. “And your lunch breaks,” Y/N adds, well aware of the value of the intel. He cringes at that, then chuckles, busted, as he clasps the lead rope to the halter, after which he bends down to strap the overreach boots to the lower leg just above the hoof. He never thought the day would come, but his experience with women isn’t exactly working in his favor right now. Is he keeping his hands busy trying to hide the embarrassment? “Seems like I’ve built myself quite the reputation,” the cowboy concludes.

She watches him through the barred wall, considering if she should say something. After all, she doesn’t want him to feel ashamed. What he does in his own time is none of her business. So what that he sleeps around? That doesn’t make him a bad person. Why should she even care? And yet, she can’t deny that when Casey kissed him back at the bunkhouse, jealousy tucked at her heart. “No, you haven’t,” she reassures, trying to take away his embarrassment while pushing down her own thoughts. “I promise I won’t jump to conclusions anymore, okay?” “Alright,” Dean agrees to that. “And you’ve got my word that I won’t treat you differently from now on. Despite that you were busting my balls yesterday.” Finally at ease, she smiles, glad that they both find the memory amusing now. When she looks up at him again, the curved line of his lips evens out a little. “Despite that - and please don’t take this the wrong way,” he adds on a more serious note, the short pause hanging between them, the moment intensified by his kind eyes, “I believe that you’re somethin’ special.”

Surprised by his words, Y/N stares back at him. It’s not a joke, is it? Nor is it innocent flirting. She barely knows the guy, but she can tell he’s being sincere. Unlike yesterday, Y/N accepts the compliment, because this time she truly believes it’s not just a way to seduce her and lure her to his bed. He means it, and something tells her that he hasn’t said something like that to many girls before. That’s what she wants to believe, at least. The flustered smile that his words ignites should give him even more confidence than he already possesses, but it does the opposite. With any other girl his eyes would remain fixed, letting his gaze do the talking for him. He would have let his content smile grow larger, he would keep his head up, stand straight with his shoulders back, not a speck of insecurity to be noticed. But not with her. With her, he averts his attention to the horse next to him, gently running his hand through the gelding’s mane, unable to keep his posture. Why does he do that? He was doing just fine the first time they locked eyes last night. Hell, he stared for so long, that she didn’t know what to do with herself. He was in control, until he settled down on that barstool next to the cowgirl. Until she told him ‘no’. Until she took the reins.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part four here

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mustangsan · 7 years ago

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Convivencia | Chapter iv: komorebi > On FF.Net and AO3

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist Pairing: Roy Mustang/ Riza Hawkeye | Royai Genres: Romance/General Universe: manga/2009 series verse Warning/Notes: - Status: In-progress Summary: origin: Spanish (n.) lit. “living together”, in the sense of living or working closely with other people with whom you share feelings, desires, or a common purpose. Roy and Riza through the years, from the beginning to the end.

Utwahay, 1899

“Pawns can only move forward one square at a time,” he repeated her instructions as he placed the black pieces in a neat line on the second row of squares, “except for their very first move. They can never move backwards, and only capture one square diagonally in front of them.” The last pawn was placed in a white square, and he rubbed his chin, eyes directed to the ceiling. “They can’t move when there’s a piece directly in front of them, and can get promoted when they reach the other side of the board.”

Roy retrieved two tower shaped pieces from their box. “Rooks can only move forward, backwards, and to the sides, but they can move as far as they want.” The boy placed them on the first row, each on one square of the corners.

He ran his thumb over the next pieces, ones that resembled horses. “Knights are different from the rest because they can move over other pieces.” After placing each piece beside a rook, he continued, “Two squares in one direction, then one at a ninety degree angle. An L shaped move.”

“Bishops are like rooks; they move as far as they want,” the apprentice set said pieces down on the board. “But only diagonally, and they must always stay on the same color from the start of the match to the end.”

Only two pieces left. “The most important piece is the king, but he’s the weakest, for he can only move one square at a time in any direction.” He placed the piece on a white square and moved over to fetch the last remaining piece. “But it’s okay, because the most powerful piece is always by his side to protect him.”

With that said, he placed the queen on the last empty square of the board and nodded to himself. Now that he remembered the basics, he could play more with her without problems.

komorebi; origin: Japanese

(n.) sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.

He groaned in frustration, flexing his fingers and trying to ease the slight ache in his bones. This latest essay Berthold told him to write about the whole concept of equivalent exchange had rendered him a few headaches and maybe two restless nights, and after four days of planning and two entire days of writing, his seven pages long work was finally done. And just in time, Roy thought as he stretched his limbs above his head. It was due the next morning and it would be delivered fresh out of the oven.

The boy lifted the paper off the tabletop and closer to his face, twisting his lips slightly at his handwriting. He had written it all in a reasonably calm pace, but still the words were drawn in a scrawl in which each letter was long, thin and uneven. A T wasn’t the same as the other; two equal letters were different from the other. Riza’s handwriting, in comparison to his, was considerably smaller and rounder, each letter was about the same size and two equals hardly differed from the other. Girls and their ability to have prettier handwriting. He just wanted one that didn’t look like a medic’s unreadable scrawl, and his did, much to his chagrin.

For the first time he felt comfortable under the influence of Utwahay’s overwhelming heat, and for onc,e he didn’t need to unbutton his shirt or roll up his sleeves. It was mostly thanks to the fact that winter was mild here in south, unlike in Central in which it was simply too cold some days to leave the house with only two thin layers of clothing. Just the other day he had received Chris’s reply, and she asked him a bit about everything; if Master Hawkeye was treating him right, if he was safe, if he was studying hard, and even asked about Riza seeing as he had talked a lot about her when he went over for the holidays. And he found some time to write another letter and send it out, with details about his master’s odd mood, a few information about the town, and even less things about what he was learning (no point in saying too much to her since she didn’t understand an ounce about alchemy). He wrote more about the quiet blonde girl that he wanted so badly to earn her friendship, he admitted, and the way they were getting along surprisingly fine despite her shyness and their palpable differences.

The frown on his lips got more prominent once he stopped and realized that, perhaps, his aunt would get the wrong idea.

But the letter was way out of his reach now and she would have teased him regardless of all the things he did or didn’t say. That was Chris Mustang, teasing him about the girls that openly voiced their infatuation with him or any girl that interacted with him at some point, really. Riza would be no different.

Riza, by the way, had more things in common with him than he expected. She was quite smart and knew how to hold a conversation that interested the both of them, though she never started one herself. It was always him, by the table when eating or mindless chatting while doing their things on the low coffee table of the living room, and they surprisingly could concentrate well enough on their books despite the small talk that flowed with little effort. One day he helped her tend to her plants, and on another, she said she read around one fifth of the books her father allowed her to put her hands on. Right now, he had the opportunity to sit and read with her, but he needed to find her first.

Roy already knew she was quiet. Sometimes it was hard to forget she was sitting right across from him, but there were days that she was nowhere to be found. Absolutely nowhere. He had checked her room once, peeked inside for a matter of seconds actually, and she wasn’t there. He had even considered asking her father for her whereabouts, but he didn’t want to see what Berthold could do when interrupted just yet – in fact, he never wanted to see that. It was bad enough that the man at times snapped at him or her, and when the words were directed at her, Roy had to stand in the sidelines and watch as she averted her gaze and fell silent under her father’s tirade.

And then she disappeared to who knows where when given the chance.

It was nearly impossible to find her afterwards. The girl was just so small and thin she could fit in the space between the cupboard and the wall back in his home, and trust him, he did search for her in every odd place that crossed his mind, such as the chest in their library and behind a fully open door, squeezed between the wood and the painted pile of bricks. Roy scratched the top of his head as he stood in the middle of the kitchen and glanced around him like she could materialize from thin air at any moment. Where had she gone this time? Did something happen that he wasn’t aware of? Did Berthold get mad at her while he was writing his essay?

It was ridiculous how concerned he felt for her. Maybe it was her personality, or maybe it was her lithe and fragile looks, maybe, and most certainly, it was a mix of the two that had him on the edge whenever she was out of sight for too long, especially when she was in the house. She could be outside, trip and fall and end up with her knee scratched; it sounded much better than being verbally abused by the very man that was supposed to love her unconditionally. Roy shook his head with a sigh and leaned his hip onto the counter, finger rubbing the center of his forehead and lips now tightly pressed together. It was better not to think about that, he told himself, there was no proof that the man really did say awful things besides the occasional snapping.

There was a thud on the upper floor and his legs were moving as soon as his mind registered the noise. Wood cracked beneath him as he shot up the stairs, and once he was at the top he spotted Riza’s figure, outlined by the bright light seeping into the hallway from the window, quietly closing the door of her bedroom. Roy was standing before her in a matter of seconds, looming over her and refraining from grabbing her upper arms in fear that she would disappear from his sights again.

“Where have you been?” He hissed, hoping not to disturb the man in the room across from hers. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Warmth spread across her cheeks, and she cast a glance at the now closed door. “In my bedroom.”

No, she wasn’t there, because he had checked, not that he would tell her that. “Don’t do that again,” he told her in a softer tone, shoulders slumping in defeat. What if one day she ran away and he thought she was simply hiding? Roy suppressed a shiver and followed her downstairs, thinking of what to say next. Riza sometimes had a guilty look on her face whenever he expressed some concern. It didn’t fit her well.

Riza had a book tucked under one arm, he noticed and instantly perked up at the opportunity he had been given. “You’re gonna read?” He hopped off the last step as she nodded her head and hummed in agreement, and he grinned widely at her. “Great! Wait a second.” After a speedy walk to the library that lasted a handful of seconds, he returned quickly to her side with a book of his own and patiently waited for her to pick a place where they could read.

The moment she went out the back door he frowned at her back, but still silently followed her as she approached the tall oak trees at the end of her backyard, fearlessly stepping over the roots and walking deeper into the portion of trees. It was much cooler there and it wasn’t as bright, only few slivers of light slipped through the thick green canopy, highlighting small portions grass and dust that floated in the air. Soon they reached a small clearing, and upon glancing over his shoulder, Roy realized that they weren’t that far from the house, and right across from them a dark blanket was set on the grass, a lonely canteen of water placed over it as its only companion.

He came to a stop and whistled. Riza went ahead towards the dark blanket and left him by the edge of the clearing. He returned from Central just recently and it seemed like during the month they spent apart she had lost some of the familiarity that they built up on the past months. She had been a bit more open before the holidays. Still, he wasn’t too bothered about it, because Roy knew that in a matter of days they’d be back to the stage they were before and would only progress further.

Finally, Roy joined her on the blanket, opening his alchemy book to pick up from where he left off with a little less enthusiasm than he should display before his master’s daughter. Everything about today, from the temperature to his current setting, made him want to lie down and sleep, and he wondered if he would manage to compensate later on some other day if he went along with that mindset. Some birds were chirping nearby and the gentle breeze rustled the canopy overhead, creating a comforting tune as the grass around them danced under the narrow columns of light that made their way through the leaves. Dust swayed in the breeze and sparkled under the bright sunshine like crushed crystal and he knew that if he focused too much on it, he’d be out in seconds. The only way to make everything perfect than it already was would be if there was a creek nearby and the sound of its running water reached their ears.

Riza was slowly thumbing through a book full of pictures that he discreetly tried to decipher from the corner of his eyes instead of reading the material provided by his teacher. Don’t get him wrong, he was trying to study, but the words were blurring together and by the time he reached the end of a paragraph, he had no idea of what he just read and had to start over. The boy hadn’t slept so well due to the essay he had finished mere minutes ago.

Roy set his book down and laid on his back to stretch until his joints popped, then rolled over on his stomach and inched closer to Riza to spy on the drawings on the pages. It was a compilation of instruction manuals to build different objects. There were countless chairs and desks and other different kinds of furniture pieces until pictures of toys took their place. Little trucks and cars caught his attention until they as well were replaced by other kinds of things. Roy observed them halfheartedly until she stopped on a particular page and smoothed it out with a palm.

A slingshot. He couldn’t imagine why she’d want something like that, but judging by the way she was eyeing the pages with much interest, he chose not to question it and figured that he’d find out sooner or later. Roy read along to the instructions as much as his bleary vision would let him, but his eyelids were drooping much too quickly and soon he had his cheek on his crossed arms. The gentle wind played with his dark hair, which only made him feel all the more drowsy.

Scenes from past moments played in his mind until they blurred together and he was dreaming. He could see Riza kneading the dough of a bread she tried to bake from scratch and failing, the product a solid mass that was hardly chewable, and the one time he had helped her tidy up the house by tackling on the library and spending most of the day there because he had insisted on dusting every single book in the room. And then he saw when they sat together in the living room drinking tea in one of the rare days in which rain graced the town of Utwahay.

“Roy?” Her hesitant tone roused him from his sleep and he blinked his eyes, glancing up at her until his vision stopped swimming and he could see perfectly. Just recently, he had managed to get them to first name basis, and still she seemed a little reluctant to do so, because time and time again, she’d told him that her father had raised her to be polite.

The boy smiled slightly in embarrassment at being caught taking a nap and slowly sat up. Bringing a hand up to rub his eyes, he briefly wondered for how long he had been asleep. It could have been hours that felt like minutes, or minutes that felt like hours. All that Roy knew was that her book was now closed and her fingers were playing with a small pebble. “Yes?”

She glanced down at her hand and bit her bottom lip before looking up at him again with less shyness swimming in her brown eyes. “Does it snow in Central?”

Her question was simple and innocent enough, but it struck him with the realization that she never asked about his hometown, and Roy had no idea why. He’d half expected her to ask so many things, because she had never been there much likely, and he doubted she ever left Utwahay. Although her actions sometimes contradicted it, she just seemed like the kind of girl that was curious about things.

“You’ve never been there?” He asked just to make sure and she slowly shook her head.

“Dad says it’s dangerous to leave.”

Roy nodded, but he had to disagree. Considering the situation regarding Amestris’s neighboring countries, Central was one of the safest places to be, alongside the eastern portion. Utwahay was close to Creta and Aerugo, which was not exactly a nice location... But he was not about to tell her that. “I see. It snows from time to time, and when it does it’s about one or two feet. Nothing like the northern cities.”

She nodded slowly and released the pebble so she could wrap her arms around her bent legs. “I’d like to see it.”

“The Snow? Or Central?”

“Both.”

He smiled slightly. “You will. I’ll show it to you.”

Roy knew that Master Hawkeye would never allow Riza to go on a trip with him as her only companion, but still, he made that promise. Even if it took him years, even if he was in his twenties, Roy would come and take her to Central so she could meet his family and visit all the parks, all the nice places and hopefully get to see the city covered in white.

That promise, however uncertain it was, made her smile at him until her eyes creased, and he knew instantly that it was worth it.

#fullmetal alchemist #fma #royai #royai fanfiction #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fanfiction #mine #collection: convivencia

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