#young woman except instead of letting her have her formative summer where she trains me and bonds w me and wins a competition w me

[foccaccia]

does anyone have recommendations for fictional media that has like. actual lesbians in it. not like supergirl Two White Skinny Girls, One Blonde and One Brunette Kiss media, or "its implied lesbianism!!!" but just regular fucking lesbians

[forthegothicheroine]

Okay, here’s my proposal for a new Lair of the White Worm adaptation.

Let’s call it Bram Stoker’s Lair of the White Worm. Probably a tv movie, I’m not sure how much I can possibly stretch this out. Or a Netflix movie? Is that what we do now?

The protagonists are Lillah, a young Edwardian gentlewoman, and her half-Burmese cousin Mimi. We can make them cousins by marriage if we’re leaning into the romantic tension, or keep them blood cousins if we reason that wouldn’t have mattered at the time.

Their family is renting out a summer home in the countryside near a quaint village whose only tourism draw is about their fairytale of a great white dragon, and there are murals about town depicting it. Lord Edgar Caswell owns the great estate, and he’s a kindly, eccentric old man who seems absent minded about everything except silly steampunk electrical experiments and his visiting guest, Lady Arabella March, with whom he is clearly smitten.

Lady Arabella is Bad News. She is never seen in anything other than a long white dress wrapped with an endless train. She’s mean to everyone, especially Mimi. “Please don’t be offended,” Caswell says. “Lovely Arabella can be a bit...antiquated.”

The cousins decide that Lady Arabella is clearly a con artist and do a bit of ill-advised detective work by sneaking around the manor. They find, among other things, a chest that bears the name of Franz Mesmer. They overhear Lady Arabella yelling at an exotic animal salesman who tried to show off a mongoose- “Get that cursed little wretch away from me!” Unfortunately, Lillah is caught alone by Caswell. He’s not actually Arabella’s dupe-  he’s her high priest! She lives like a queen amid the worshipful village, and the stars are very nearly right to perform the great ritual that will allow her to assume her dragon form once again! Caswell can’t have Lillah knowing all this, so he hypnotizes her and she falls into a swoon.

Mimi finds her cousin unconscious on the estate grounds, and though she is taken back to her own home, all she can do is murmur “The white worm...the white worm...” Maybe she dies, maybe she lives, the test audience can determine that. Out for either vengeance or rescue, Mimi studies the murals in town and sees that in the center of the snake tail’s coils, there seems to be, painted very faintly, a woman in a long white dress with an endless train. That must be a coincidence...or is it?

The truth all comes out on the night of a village fete, where Caswell reveals his new electrical inventions, which he promises will restore the town’s glory once more. The townsfolk celebrate and sing some ominous folk songs. Mimi steals a gun from a hunter showing off his game, and manages to sneak up on Caswell and Arabella. In a resulting struggle, she wounds Caswell with the gun. Arabella lets him die quite callously, then gives a speech about how the true rulers of the earth will reclaim their land, and gets sexy-threatening towards Mimi. It appears that the electrical contraptions are instruments for harnessing lightning to spark her resurrection! She comes close to killing Mimi, but then the lightning starts and she has to run to the right spots to make use of the electricity! Mimi now uses the gun and her strength to attack the machines. The lightning hits the side of the manor instead of Arabella directly, and a mountain of stone bricks come tumbling down upon her.

In the epilogue, we see Mimi (in black if Lillah died, with Lillah by her side if she lived) buying the mongoose from the salesman.

[canariie]

baby, it’s cold outside

Rating: K+

Synopsis: “Well, he is a Hitsugaya after all,” Rangiku mused as she lit more candles. “Nothing will stop him with it comes to Momo.”

“Evidently so,” Toushiro grumbled. “I just wish it didn’t have to do with pushing me out of the way.”

...

It’s winter and it’s too cold for Toushiro’s son, leaving the white haired captain sleep deprived & at his wit’s end. 

Word Count: 3270 words

Setting: established relationship, many decades after the last Bleach chapter

Prompt: Hitsuhina Week 2021 Gift Exchange for @go-n-ef

Authour’s Note: I am so sorry that this is late! Thank you to @rays-of-fire-and-ice for being patient with me & allowing me to submit after the @hitsuhina-week gift exchange day!

@go-n-ef requested hitsuhina fluff with family, which IS MY JAM (if that is not obvious by now haha). I hope you enjoy it! :)

This is building off of a similar notion of Momo & Toushiro’s powers balancing each other, which I had introduced in an earlier Hitsuhina week 2021 submission, under the blue moon, except fast forward to a future where they are together & have more additions to their family ;) 

Enjoy!

---

“Taicho! Can we turn up the heating? It is frigid in here!” Rangiku groused as she entered the office. Little puffs of chilled air escaped her lips, almost as if winter had entered indoors. “If it continues like this, I’m going to have to wear a winter coat inside to work.” She doubled up her scarf and plopped herself down behind her desk, shivering in place.

“Good morning to you too Matsumoto,” the white-haired man said dryly, briefly looking up from his stack of reports. “Glad you could make it before noon.”

“It’s much harder to get out of bed now that the snow is piling up,” Rangiku defended herself, tightening her scarf. “If you increase the heating, maybe I’ll consider coming in earlier.”

“We’ve already used up our company’s expenditures for the month since somebody decided to spend it on an office party,” Toushiro retorted. “I suggest you bring in more of your own candles to work if the cold bothers you so much.”

The vice-captain huffed under her breath as she started rummaging through her desk for her scented candles. As she peered through the drawers, she cast a glance at her captain who was diligently copying down his notes. However, only her trained eye of being under his supervision for so many years could see that there was something wrong with him. From the tight grip on the brush, to the hunched shoulders and and the more prominent scowl on his face— Hitsugaya-taicho was in a foul mood.

Rangiku raised a delicate eyebrow at him. “What happened Taicho? You have bags under your eyes so black, you look like a panda.”

Though he had grown much taller and was closer to his matured adult form, he still couldn’t help the habit of sending an icy glare at his lieutenant. In normal circumstances, he would have reprimanded her for such a comment and told her to get back to work. However, they had worked together so long, Toushiro knew that she wasn’t going to let anything go.

His eyebrows furrowed together as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Unfortunately,…I did not sleep as well as I would like,” he grumbled. A moment passed as he got his bearings together, before he muttered to the side, “I ended up being pushed off onto the floor.”

The look on her face was far more understanding than what Toushiro had anticipated. “Did you and Momo have a fight? I know she’s pregnant again and a bit hormonal but even that’s a bit much for her,” she quipped as she pulled out a candle from her drawer to light up.

Toushiro sighed wearily. “No, it’s nothing like that…”

There was a slight chill in the air as Toushiro closed up the veranda to their patio. Winter nights were his favourite time of the year as the world seemed quieter and more peaceful. No longer was there the hustle of the day where any minute could ring the alarm for battle. Instead, all the residents of Soul Society would light their candles and retreat inside, closer together in the warmth and refuged away from the frigid cold. It reminded him of his long night walks through the snow when he lived in Junrinan, a much simpler time when he felt like the only soul awake.

He could not enjoy the weather as well as he would have like for it had been a long day of back to back meetings with different divisions, leaving Toushiro without a break. So, by nighttime, he was more than looking forward to collapsing on the futon and sleeping next to his wife.

He entered their bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb Momo who was already deep in slumber. Since she was pregnant with their second child, she fell asleep much earlier than him and would usually be passed out by the time he came home.

Another difference to his pregnant wife is that her reiatsu was much stronger while she slept. Momo had always exuded warmth, even from an early age. It wasn’t just her bright personality but her natural temperature was warmer than normal—as if the summer sun followed her wherever she went. That’s why it was only when she left their village that Toushiro’s reiatsu became unbalanced without her warmth to counter it—which almost ended up freezing his grandmother to death.

There was still a small part of Toushiro that feared he would do the same again, though he was much older and more in control of his powers. So, it gave him peace whenever Momo would stay the night at his place; after they got married, it alleviated his fears knowing that her warmth could fight his natural coldness—especially when they had their first child Natsume.

Toushiro walked over the crib to check on his son who was fast asleep with a small fist clutching his blanket, his little chest rising and falling gently. Though Natsume was about 2 years and already walking eagerly around, the white-haired man couldn’t stop staring at him in astonishment. Toushiro was happy that his son had inherited more of his mother’s features with his black hair and warm spirit. One of the few things he received from Toushiro were his emerald eyes, though he would have preferred Momo’s warm brown eyes. But it still sent a swell of pride knowing that he had a child with the woman he loved.

Toushiro slipped into their futon, moving himself behind Momo to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her against his chest. He inwardly cheered that he had finally reached his “aged” form—initially while he was not a fan, one perk was his ability to hold Momo who now seemed much smaller in his arms.

He buried his face into the back of her neck, taking note of the jasmine smell in her hair. With her in his arms, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was deep in the middle of the night when Toushiro woke up with a jolt, his eyes blindly searching around the room. Taking it for a bad dream, he instinctively moved closer towards Momo until he felt something intervene in between. Attached to Momo’s back was Natsume, fast asleep with his little fists holding onto her long hair. Somehow through the night, the boy had crawled from his crib and onto the futon in between his parents. The white-haired man felt his heart swell to see all his family together in one place. Toushiro moved to pull the covers over the three of them when he felt something like a barrier in between.

“What’s going on,” Toushiro murmured. He tried again to move closer but the barrier seemed stronger, pushing him away and fumbling off the futon.

Slightly annoyed, Toushiro picked himself up and pried the baby from his mother before placing him back in the crib.

However, this repeated for several nights with Natsume crawling out of bed and attaching himself to his mother. Even at a young age, his spiritual pressure was strong enough to ward off Toushiro—leaving him banished off the futon and to sleep on the floor.

“Well, he is a Hitsugaya after all,” Rangiku mused as she lit more candles. “Nothing will stop him with it comes to Momo.”

“Evidently so,” Toushiro grumbled. “I just wish it didn’t have to do with pushing me out of the way.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’ve tried it all! Blocking his crib with cushions, adding a space heater, placing his futon right next to Momo’s. Natsume still crawls in between and forces me off the futon!”

“Taicho…” Rangiku started slowly with trepidation, not used to seeing her captain all out of sorts. “Have you ever just thought…of buying a larger futon?”

He stopped in his tracks.

No, he had not. Something as simple as that had slipped his mind.

It must be the lack of sleep if his vice-captain thought of a better idea before him.

“You know, Matsumoto—you might be onto something.”

---

And that’s how the top two 10th division officers found themselves wandering through the town before settling on a futon store.

“Matsumoto, let’s be quick. We don’t want to leave the division for too long,” Toushiro warned, wary of being spotted out & about on company time. Though Kyoraku-soutaicho was much more laidback than the previous general captain, the tenth captain didn’t want to be risk being penalized.

“Nonsense, Taicho!” Matsumoto quipped. “This is of utmost importance—we are talking about your sleep here! We must resolve it, so you can be happy and the division—can ergo—be happy as well.”

“You just want to skip out on work,” Toushiro muttered dryly, but followed her inside with the bell chiming above their heads. The shop was a small intimate one, with stacks of mattresses lining up the walls, and leaving only a tight path towards the desk in the front.

A stout clerk was organizing papers and sent a dismissive glance up at Toushiro before glancing back down at his work. A moment lapsed where the two officers looked at each other before Rangiku moved to the front, sweeping her hair aside and batting her eyelashes. “Hi, I was wondering if you could help us with a mattress purchase,” she asked sweetly.

The clerk looked up again, and stopped in his tracks—making Toushiro roll his eyes. The captain was far used to the way that men behaved around his lieutenant and he had stopped trying to interfere a long time ago.

“How can I help you?” the clerk asked eagerly, not used to such attention from a beautiful woman. Rangiku smiled. “We were wondering if you had a futon, maybe a king size one, that would have a lot of room for two people,” she asked as she leant over, cradling her cheek in her palm.

“You two?” He looked them both up, taking in Rangiku fully before throwing a glance at Toushiro. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “She’s out of your league.”

“What…?,” Toushiro gritted his teeth. He was far from amused and had half a mind of pulling out Hyourinmaru and freezing this obnoxious man on the spot.

“I mean, it wouldn’t make sense if you two were together,” the clerk explained with a blasé attitude, sorting through some papers on the desk, oblivious to the rising fury on the white-haired captain’s face.  

“Hahaha he couldn’t handle me!” Rangiku laughed, clutching the sides of her stomach.

“Matsumoto!”

“I’m kidding of course, Taicho! Don’t need to be so uptight about it,” she lightly slapped his arm but it did little to move the stormy cloud that rested on his features.

--

“I don’t understand how those kinds of people could run these stores,” he muttered darkly as they returned back to the office. After Toushiro had frozen the nosy clerk quiet, the manager had appeared and with obsequious flourish, offered same day delivery at a reduced half price.

Rangiku dropped her bag on her desk before flopping on the couch. “Well Taicho, if you turn up the heat, then I wouldn’t say such things!” she commented as she tucked in herself with a shawl and blanket around her shoulders. “I’ll be better behaved when it gets warmer!”

Toushiro was about to retort a profane remark back when the door slid opened to a jubilant Momo holding a sleeping Natsume in her arms. “Hello Rangiku-san, Toushiro!” It was like a wave of summer wind as she walked in, exuding a welcoming warmth. She was dressed in a bright yellow maternity kimono, lined pastel pink cherry blossoms that Rangiku had bought for her. Her long hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon that did nothing short of highlighting her radiant smile.

“Momo-chan! It’s so good to see you!” Rangiku cheered as she immediately hugged her. “It’s too cold in here and Taicho won’t increase the heating!” Momo laughed at the glare that Toushiro sent the blonde’s way. “I’m glad I can be of assistance then!”

Toushiro watched as the two continued to embrace each other, with the sleeping baby tucked in the middle. After a couple moments, when he saw that his vice-captain wasn’t letting go of his wife, he cleared his throat. “Matsumoto, that’s enough—don’t suffocate her.”

The blond woman let go but remained with her arms around the shorter vice-captain. “Momo-chan, you should stay here! We could use your warmth in the office!” she exclaimed, pulling Momo by the couch.

She chuckled, “I thought I would stop by and check on you all! Hirako-taicho sent me off since there were too many division officers retreating to our office.”

Toushiro was about to interrogate her of which people were exactly coming close to his wife when the door was briskly opened again.

“Good day Hitsugaya-fuukutaicho!” the men chorused outside. Momo smiled widely at them, already used to this sort of behavior from her division. “I hope you all are doing well despite the cold,” she chirped as a few of the men sighed in content, like they were near a campfire. “It’s always a joy when Hitsugaya-fuukutaicho graces us with her presence,” one seated officer responded, the others nodding their heads enthusiastically in agreement.

Toushiro scowled at the gawking of his company men as they scrambled over each other to come closer to the edge of the door, and nearer to his wife.

“If you have time to be standing there, you have time to do the extra drills—outside,” he commanded. The lot turned to their captain to see his eyes flashing ominously ice blue. “Leave. Now.”

The two women watched with bemused expressions as the men scurried off, leaving the door wide open. The captain reverted his attention back to his paperwork, a deep frown etched onto his features.

“Rangiku-san, can you take care of Natsu-chan for a bit?” Momo whispered. “He fell asleep about an hour ago so he shouldn’t wake up soon.”

The blonde smiled at her, “Of course! Anything for my favourite nephew!” Momo handed the baby, carefully as to not disturb his sleep, into Rangiku’s open arms. She kissed her son on the forehead, affectionately brushing his hair. “Stay asleep Natsu-chan and don’t give your Aunt any trouble,” Momo whispered. The boy made a slight purring noise, but other that than made no other sign of waking up soon.

“Let’s leave your parents alone, Natsu-chan,” Rangiku said softly before quietly moving out and closing the door behind her.

The white-haired captain watched with a raised eyebrow as his wife sauntered towards him, a knowing smile in her eyes, before settling herself bestride on his lap.

“Ahh, I’ve wanted to do this for so long! Without your coolness, all the extra reiatsu has me burning up,” Momo mused as she snuggled closer, her arms encircling his waist. “I’ve missed you, Toushiro,” she murmured into this throat, sending shivers down his back.

He could only agree as he kissed her forehead, dropping the ink brush to brings his arms around his wife. “I’ve missed you too.” Pushing back the bangs from her forehead, he pulled back to look over her face. “How are you feeling?”

“We’re both in excellent shape!” Momo flashed him a dazzling smile and he couldn’t help but follow with his own. “Isane-san said that it’ll only be in a couple of weeks’ time that we get to meet the baby!” She looked down fondly at her belly, holding it maternally. It really had been so long since he last held her like this, and the warm reiatsu was slowly melting away his earlier sour mood. It was also a peaceful repose to have some alone time with his wife—which he didn’t realize how much he had needed before.

“However well I am, we must talk about this.” Momo pulled back as she gestured around him with her hands, the ring on her hand sparkling in the light.

Toushiro furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

Momo traced her fingers below his eyes, the sensation reminding him of being near a lit candle. “Shiro-chan, you haven’t been sleeping well. You look so exhausted and I’m worried about you.” Her bottom lip stuck out as she pouted. “Is it because of my reiatsu?”

“Of course not!” Toushiro sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “The warmth doesn’t bother me at all,” he admitted wearily. He was quiet for a moment as he debated internally what to say. “Natsume…has been crawling into bed and has been attaching himself to you. He’s also formed a barrier against my cold reiatsu so it…pushes me out of the futon,” he grumbled to the side.

Momo blinked before giggling. “Toushiro, are you sulking?”

“I am not,” he said petulantly. But the look in Momo’s eyes said she didn’t believe it. “I’m…afraid that I will be too cold for the both of you,” he admitted softly, not meeting her warm brown eyes. “If my son doesn’t want to be near the cold, who’s to say that the baby will not want to be near me.”

“Oh Toushiro…” Momo cradled his face with her hands, sending warmth throughout his cheeks as she tilted his head down towards her. “Your reiatsu may be of ice but that doesn’t mean your heart is like that.” She moved forward to kiss his cheek. “I love you for the coolness that you bring, and Natsu-chan does too—as will the new baby.” Momo moved his hands back around her again as she leaned against his chest. “My safest place is in your arms—and there is nowhere else I would rather be.”

She stroked his skin, lazily drawing patterns under his collarbone. “We work as team, Toushiro. My heat balances your coolness and vice versa. Without you—I would probably end up melting people,” Momo joked. He smiled at the visual, knowing that she was exaggerating to alleviate his real fears. However, with the warmth of Momo’s reiatsu and her tucked in his arms, he could feel a surge of relief flood through his whole body, easing the anxiety that was at the back of his mind.

He pulled her closer in. “Thank you Momo.”

They stayed like that for a while, with his chin on top of her head and a hand on top of her belly. Toushiro could feel a strong power moving inside, almost like they were appreciative of the cold rieatsu.

“Also, Toushiro, it’s winter now so of course Natsu-chan wants to sleep next to me!” She smiled brightly at him. “When it’s summer, you’re going to have me and the kids holding on to you to stay cool!”

He chuckled, but felt lighter inside at the prospect. “So I assume it was still worth it to get the bigger futon.”

Momo suddenly turned bashful, reminding Toushiro of when they had first start dating. She fingered a lock of his hair in her hands. “Well,” her smile turned puckish. “Natsu-chan is still asleep…we could go test it out.”

Toushiro raised his eyebrow, not used to seeing this side of her. “What are you trying to imply, Momo?”

She blushed. “I’m saying, we have some time for the two of us…”

“To do what?” he teased.

Momo pouted at him in exasperation, “I mean…” she pushed herself up and whispered in his ear. Toushiro’s ears turned red.

“Matsumoto!” he called out. “I’ll be taking my break now!” Momo giggled as Toushiro stood up in one swift motion, with her cradled in his arms, as he moved them both to their private quarters.

---

Authour’s Note: I headcanon that external & internal factors affect Toushiro & Momo’s reiatsu. For Toushiro, probably with winter, his reiatsu & powers are much stronger, which would probably make him colder to others. Momo on the other hand, can withstand this and would probably enjoy it more because, when she’s pregnant, she’s warmer than normal— allowing them to perfectly offset each other when they’re hotter and colder than usual :)

And again, I think there will always be some anxiety with Toushiro freezing the people he loves to death, especially if he were to have his own family. I think with Momo he has some ease, but with his children, it can still be anxiety inducing — especially if he’s worried that he would be too cold with them.

Safe to say, Hitsuhina needs each other!

[drwcn]

#9 【Carbon in the Steel】

cql au: everyone is an orphan except wwx; dark!twin jades

The Brothers Lan 

There was once a little house, on the outskirts of a farming village beyond the tiered rice fields south of Meishan, far, far away from Cloud Recesses. Both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji remembered that house. It was the house Father had built for Mother, and it was there that they were born. 

It sat at the base of a hill where many tall bamboo trees grew, and in the garden, there had been gentians, indigo and violet, that bloomed beautifully every summer. 

Lan Xichen would dream sometimes of that house and of the wonderful days in those early years. 

Father, look! 

Excellent form, A-Huan. Very good. Much improved. Now, remember to keep your balance on your front… 

These days he could no longer recall Father’s face. His voice though, Lan Xichen still remembered as clear as a bell. On the other hand, his brother Wangji did not remember much of Father at all; instead, it was Mother’s smile that he could never forget. 

Mother, can A-Zhan and I stay with you and Father tonight? 

P’ease, Mo’her. 

Lan Xichen remembered hugging his baby brother like a doll and strategically weakening his parents’ resolve using his baby pout and big puppy eyes. A-Zhan was always a trooper, so cooperative, so excellent at looking like a perfect toddler.  Stoic though. So stoic for a baby. What a weird kid. 

We had a bad dream. 

Bad dweam.  

Those were obviously lies. They never had bad dreams then; those would come much later, when their reality became worse than any nightmare they could ever imagine.

Jiujiu never needed to tell them that Mother and Father were dead, or what death was. They’d seen plenty of creatures die: the village’s cattle they butchered for the new year, the spinster's kittens that didn’t survive the winter, and the pheasants they caught and roasted for A-Zhan’s birthday. 

Father had been a lifelong vegetarian, so eating meat didn’t agree with his stomach, but he never enforced such rules on his sons. In fact Father didn’t enforce any rules on his sons, except to show kindness where they could and to be true to their hearts.  

Father probably didn’t anticipate just how difficult it was to be kind when the world had been so wholly unkind. Nor did he anticipate that he would die in such a violent and sudden manner without even so much as a goodbye.

I don’t remember what were the last words Father said to me. Wangji would confess to Xichen one day. I don’t even remember what Father looked like. 

They were by the marsh catching lobsters with jiujiu when it happened. Mother suddenly appeared and spoke words that were foreign and frightening - Gusu Lan, cultivators, siege, pursuit, escape. Go. Now. She didn’t hug them or kiss them. Lan Xichen remembered Wangji reaching up towards her to be picked up and the confusion and heartbreak in his eyes when she pushed him back into jiujiu’s waiting arms.   

A-niang...

At a certain point, jiujiu must’ve done something to them, because neither Wangji nor himself remember any part of their journey out of that village. When they woke up, they were somewhere high up and deep in the mountains. His little brother had looked at him and he had stared back and they both knew then that their parents were dead. Curled in their jiujiu’s arms, they cried themselves into another fitful sleep, and all the while, jiujiu didn’t wake up once, too exhausted by the endless days of travel. 

To them, jiujiu - like all adults - was old, but it was not until they grew up that they realized that Zhao Zhuliu at the time of their parents’ demise had been no more than twenty years old, barely more than a boy himself.  

~

Life with jiujiu was quiet, but after some time, they were able to find a sliver of happiness. 

Zhao Zhuliu was a quiet man, always had been, and that didn’t change just because he now had two young children on his hands. But he loved them, his sister’s only blood left on this earth; by god, he loved them beyond reason. 

Jiujiu was not a talker, but he was never distant, and though he was strict in his training of their cultivation and their swordsmanship, he was never harsh. So yes, life was quiet, but at least for a while there was a roof over their heads and food in their belly, and they never had to wonder where they would be tomorrow…

When jiujiu failed to return from his night-hunt, Lan Xichen knew that something had gone terribly wrong. 

Lan Xichen was the older one; he was thirteen. Practically an adult, he told himself. If jiujiu never came back, then he was just going to have to take care of Wangji. 

Whatever it takes. 

His brother was not a needy child, but when he turned eleven, he seemed to have found his appetite and ate everything Xichen could get his hands on. Fishing was the easiest and hunting a big game lasted them a while if he could preserve it just right, but even if he collected berries in the mountains and wild herbs in the forest, he still needed grains, still needed new clothes for the winter, and still needed oil to light a lamp at night so Wangji could continue to practice his calligraphy. 

He did try; you must know. Lan Xichen did try to do things the right way, but there was only so much money he could earn by book-keeping at a shop, or running errands for merchants, or even waiting tables at an inn. He was a child, and desperate, and nobody would pay him a dime if they could get away with a nickel. 

It didn’t take long for Xichen to learn that the fastest way of earning money was often the most unsavoury and that he wasn’t above reaching for those means. There were no lengths Lan Xichen wouldn’t go to keep his brother safe and happy, no asset within his arsenal of skills and attributes that he wouldn’t hone and weaponize to make himself stronger. He got good at stealing, got great at cheating, and grew accustomed  to killing. Every so often...if there were other offers available, well...Wangji would never need to know. 

Morals do not matter if Wangji went hungry. I can’t let Wangji go hungry.

And, once a year, Lan Xichen would buy a box of osmanthus pastry, like the kind Mother used to make for them - flakey and fragrant, rich but not overwhelming - and he and Wangji would sit together under the stars and finish the box all in one go. 

“Happy birthday, didi.” 

Chewing slowly on the osmanthus pastry, Wangji would smile, and it would all be worth it. 

“Thank you, xiongzhang.” 

~

Then, three years after jiujiu was taken, a startling news broke out over the lands. 

After years of internal strife, the dirty politics of Lanling Jin finally fractured the once glorious reigning sect. Jin Guangshan’s many children and their scheming “little mothers” formed factions and allied themselves with subsidiary sects all vying for control over Lanling’s seat of power. (小娘 xiao’niang = little mother, what one calls one’s mother if one’s mother is not the legal wife. The “real” mother of any children would always be the legal wife, while their birth mothers are ‘little mothers’.)

The details of Jin Guangshan’s demise was not entirely clear, but eventually it was his third son Jin Zitao who became the new Sect Master Jin. Being only eleven years old, it was clear to anyone who had eyes that he was a puppet, completely controlled by the whims of his regent mother, Jin Guangshan’s once favourite concubine, and the ancient respected Qin family who had promised their daughter Qin Su to be his bride once they both come of age. 

People had praised Qin Su’s stepmother, Sect Master Qin’s second wife, for securing such an advantageous marriage for a daughter not even of her own blood, stating that with the Dowager Madame Jin’s clever mind and Sect Master Qin’s seniority and experience, surely the murky pond of Lanling would become peaceful once again. 

The bigger question now was with three of the five major sects being led by minors - Qishan’s 14 year-old Wen Yuefan, Yunmeng’s 13 year-old Jiang Wanyin, and Lanling’s 11 year-old Jin Zitao - who then would become the next Chief Cultivator. Qinghe Nie seemed the most obvious choice at first glance, for they were the fiercest warriors, but given Sect Master Nie Heqiu’s most recent close encounter with yet another qi deviation, it seemed perhaps the real day-to-day leadership role was fulfilled by his first son Nie Mingjue. At seventeen years of age, he was certainly older than his contemporaries, but still a far cry from what was required to be His Excellency.  (温越凡 Wen Yuefan = Wen Qing’s courtesy name) 

Naturally, all eyes were drawn then towards Cloud Recesses, whose previous chance at obtaining the seat of Chief Cultivator had been dashed when its sect master at that time, Qingheng-jun, mysteriously vanished more than a decade ago. Now it seemed that Gusu Lan’s fortune was about to change yet again, when what once should have gone to Lan Cenrong now fell to his younger brother Lan Qiren. 

News of his rise to power had spread far and wide, until every man, woman, and child knew his name. Until Lan Xichen heard from a gossiping bar-keep at a tavern. Until Lan Wangji heard from the children playing on the street. 

One morning Lan Xichen returned to their temporary home to see Wangji sitting in front of the breakfast he’d prepared (when did he learn to cook???) and a purse on the table filled with silver coins and small gold nuggets.

“Wangji...where did you -” 

“I don’t want you to go out at night again, xiongzhang,” said Lan Wangji bluntly. 

Taken aback by Wangji’s tone and his implications, Xichen quickly gathered his wits and tried to maintain control of the conversation. “That doesn’t answer my question; where did you get the money?” 

“I also went out last night, after you assumed I fell asleep and left.”  

Xichen’s blood went cold. “You...went out? Out? In the middle of the night?! To do what?!” 

Lan Wangji’s stoicism did not waver. “What one usually does to get paid at night. What you’ve been doing for years.” 

In three long strides, Lan Xichen strode up to his little brother - his baby brother - and yanked him up by the collar. Grabbing his arms with both hands, he forced Wangji to look him in the eye as he exclaimed in a mad panic, “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!!” 

God, Wangji, what have you done, what have you done - how could I let this happen - I should’ve done better - 

Wangji did not blink, but after a long terrible silence, he said, “No. I didn’t. I just followed you. I saw.” 

“You saw…” 

There had been a man who eyed him with interest. Lan Xichen wasn’t looking for business - hadn’t been looking for months - but winter was coming and Wangji was growing so much he would need several new sets of robes. Xichen hadn’t been working as many hours as he’d been previously. He needed to train, to cultivate - they both did - so that one day they could do what needed to be done. The core melting technique was not to be trifled with lightly, jiujiu had warned them. They needed time to practice, to perfect it, time that couldn’t be used to earn income. 

While yes he could steal and yes he could kill, Lan Xichen realized early on that those two options often caught the attention of local authorities or worse the local cultivation sect, especially if his activities were too frequent or too conspicuous. Sometimes it was just easier… 

“The money, then?” 

“Don’t you recognize the purse?” 

Xichen turned around. He did. He did recognize that silk embroidered draw-string purse. It belonged to the man from last night. He had taken money out of it this morning to pay Xichen for his time.  

And when they parted ways, Xichen had gone to a public bath house to get rid of any incriminating evidence on his body before going home to his brother. That was his routine... had been his routine for years… 

“I shoved his body down a well. That should buy us enough time to get out of this town. You weren’t planning for us to stay that long anyway right?” 

“Wangji…Wangji -” Lan Xichen turned away. He couldn’t face his brother, who now knew what he knew. 

“Xiongzhang, don’t do this for me anymore.” Lan Wangji’s hand found his own, squeezing it tightly. 

“It’s - it’s really not a big deal.” Lan Xichen tried to laugh it off. “I don’t do it that often. Really - I am your older brother, it is my duty to -” 

“No. No more. From now on, if you go out, I go out. I’m old enough -” 

“You’re thirteen, a child!” 

“So were you.” 

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know I’m done waiting.” 

Lan Wangji was talking, of course, about their vengeance. It was what they spoke of on most nights when they couldn’t sleep. For mother and father and jiujiu, they swore they would not rest until they razed Cloud Recesses to the ground and burned the core out of every last one of their disciples before slitting their throats.  

Wangji came around to face him again and stared him down with his brows furrowed tightly above bright determined eyes. “It’s not fair. The Chief Cultivator was supposed to be Father! The heir of Gusu Lan is supposed to be you! Instead - instead...”

Tears welled up in his little brother’s eyes. “They hurt you, ge, I saw. I saw.” 

Choking with shame, anger and a pain he couldn’t describe, Lan Xichen pulled Lan Wangji into a crushing hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Wangji. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. I’m...” Words failed. As Lan Wangji cried into his chest, Lan Xichen looked up to their leaky roof and their bare, striped walls, and wondered what the ethereal Cloud Recesses would look like. All that should have been theirs, should’ve been his, belonged to someone else. 

Lan Qiren is Chief Cultivator now. He’s still holding jiujiu captive. He needs to die. The people who killed Father and Mother; they all need to die. 

“You’re right, Wangji, you’re right. No more.”

“So you won’t leave at night anymore?” 

“I won’t. The world has taken everything from us, I think it’s time we take what we are owed. Once we are strong, we will save jiujiu and avenge A-die and A-niang.” 

“And if people try to stop us?” 

“Then we will destroy them and anyone else that gets in our way.” 

[fallout-lou-begas]

Questions for OC Creators

Shamelessly stole this from @tarberrymentats​‘ post because I’m always a sucker for behind-the-scenes character inspiration and meaning stuff, so if you steal this in turn, feel free to tag me!

(I’m also stealing Halk’s usage of lovely art by @yesjejunus​ for this one 🖤)

Agnes Sands, Courier Six of the Mojave Express

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Agnes was an opportunity to create what felt like a very unorthodox OC, and it’s an opportunity that has certainly paid off. She’s not young, and she’s not a particularly pleasant or easygoing person to be around, but she’s also not the endearingly tragic loner type or a badass army-of-one. She’s not “spunky” or “fun” and isn’t the kind of Fallout character who’s necessarily motivated to do every quest, meet every companion, accomplish every thing. She’s not an important person; being an important person is anathema to her, and the looming, overarching themes of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ are these ideas of the hard limits on unlikely heroism, and how you really can’t fly that far on circumstance and luck. I’m very excited for everyone to see how it goes when the going gets tough.

Furthermore, the design and writing process for Agnes was very informed by finding justifications, reasons, and origins for all of her personality traits, skills, and various hang-ups. The result is a character that feels, to me, so deeply real and well-rounded and alive, that Agnes is a person who has lived every one of her 34 years of age, and that in each of those years were key developments that molded her into the person she is. When I write her, I feel like I know her because of how intimately I’ve researched and come to understand the life she’s led. I don’t want to say it comes effortlessly, but there’s a very genuine, sculpted depth to her character that I’m proud of, and it forms the bedrock of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’.

It is also very important to me that Agnes is a trans woman, and is a trans woman who looks the way she does with a strong jaw and a big nose and long face and a wide body and hairy arms and so many other “masculine” features, because I wanted to create a character with a very real, visceral, visible transness to them, and for this transness to be a meaningful part of her character that informs her relationship to other people and the scarce world of the Mojave Wasteland instead of just an auxiliary character trait. She is no less of a woman for existing the way she does, but I simply wasn’t interested in creating a character or interpreting the Mojave Wasteland in a way that wouldn’t meaningfully grapple with what it really feels like, to me, to be a trans woman.

B) What inspired you to create them?

Many of Agnes’ character traits actually come from mechanical and specialization decisions that I play in game. I often joke that Agnes “just plain sucks,” but it’s true that in my Fallout: New Vegas game, I have encumbrance set to a measly 25 lbs without backpacks (necessitating her shoulder-slung duffel bag), use a directional flashlight instead of the Pip-Boy light (necessitating the shoulder-mounted flashlight), play with dramatically decreased total S.P.E.C.I.A.L. and skill points per level (which is why she’s so bad-to-average at most things except key specialties), and so on. This was the most obvious level of inspiration, and much of Agnes’ personality and backstory is reverse-engineered to justify the aspects of her character suggested and represented by her mechanical stats.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Epiphanies have come over time, but ultimately I more or less hammered out Agnes’ whole “story” upfront. I have a detailed character bible saved away that covers not only her entire life pre-courier, but the story beats of her experience as the courier thrown into the center of the events of Fallout: New Vegas and the seismic geopolitical power plays leading up to the second battle of Hoover Dam. So, uh, stay tuned for each new issue of IKROAH!

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

I wouldn’t say that I’ve meant to meaningfully change her appearance over time, but as I’ve been working on the comic, I’ve simply gotten better at drawing and the result has been an Agnes that more consistently looks like how I want her to look. One deliberate change to her appearance has been that her hair is a lot fluffier and voluminous than it used to be, just because a few other peoples’ fanart of her would be like that and I really liked how it looked.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Hard to say. Agnes has such a defensive, prickly, and particular personality and is so shy and anxious that she’s someone very hard to get along with in general, regardless of who you are. Cass could only ply her through a combination of drunken genuineness and total embarrassment that razor-cut right to her trauma. I don’t think I’d have the...audacious wherewithal to be that blunt with her if we’d just met. The best case scenario is that she imprints on me as a younger trans woman and feels compelled to look out for me because if there’s one soft spot she has, it’s that.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

Pride at the amount of work I’ve put into developing her and crafting her story so far, pride at how it’s been such a rewarding and enjoyable vehicle for getting so much better at art and writing since this summer, and occasionally sadness just because, man, I really let her fucking have it sometimes, huh.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Her solitary lifestyle made it necessary to find a way to write Cass into the story, just so that there would be some more dialogue while she traveled. She has a lot of interpersonal flaws, her habit of going from totally reclusive and private to hollering mad with no steps in between would certainly be off-putting to me especially. She gets a bad, sad, crying kind of angry, and she doesn’t get there quick but she goes get there suddenly.

H) What trait do you admire most?

She has a dedication to her and a commitment to what she’s good at. She understands the value of stability, good work and a good job. Sometimes this value is so much to her that it keeps her stagnant, and she’s very much a person who’s stuck in their ways in so many regards, but there’s a resilience to her that may not be obvious at first, but that she simply wouldn’t have gotten this far or survived without.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Agnes’ story is so tailored to the source material of Fallout: New Vegas that I thought that transplanting her into other AUs would be difficult, but it’s actually been pretty seamless inserting her into the a modern AU with a few friends called Courier House, where instead of being a courier, she kept up her medical training and works as an EMT. That also spun off into a modern zombie AU, which is just fun and tragic in a lot of juicy ways.

I also have a lot of thoughts on an AU in which she makes it to the Commonwealth, in which she’d become Nick’s partner at the eventually-renamed Valentine and Sands Detective Agency, helping to solve cases of burglary and theft, B&E, and advises on various security concerns. She’d also get extremely invested in tracking down missing children. There are a lot of parallels and dramatic development potential between Agnes Sands and Nick Valentine that I’d kill for more time to explore one day.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

I didn’t have to, no, but I chose to and at least filled in some holes. My theory on transitional health care in the wasteland is all my own (the Followers are the primary manufacturer and distributor of hormones, which can be inefficiently synthesized from Auto-Docs so they’re not impossible to find but are considerably rare) and I’ve taken some liberties in the IKROAH canon so far for convenience, such as Primm never getting taken over by convicts and the Cassidy Caravans buyout offer being a letter at the Mojave Express instead of something she’d have had to get personally from Alice McLafferty later on. Expect a lot more little twists like this in the future.

[stronghours]

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking. 

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

 -

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”  

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

 -

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned. 

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

 -

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better? 

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.” 

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

[shiniestcrow]

Actually, you know what? I’ll post it here, that way at least it’s somewhere

The prompt was

You're a novice demon who managed to convice a mother to give up her first born in exchange for eternal youth. You did so, because it seems like the kind of thing all the other demons are doing, but now you are not sure what you are supposed to do with an infant and it's way too late to ask. 

Warning for vague description of torture

I made a mistake, that much is clear by now. The human keeps staring at me, reaching with its pudgy little fingers for my claws. I gave up pulling away after the what, twentieth time? Anyway. Human infants are disgusting with their weirdly big heads, their too-short limbs and useless claws. This one can't even lift its own head! Or maybe that's normal for them? I don't really care. At least it has stopped screaming for now. After it had rejected all the meat I offered, I finally got it to drink some milk.

The child makes a face I can't understand. As I lean closer, it suddenly makes a grab for one of my horns. I pull back just in time, but this seems to distress it. With a sigh, I lean forward and let it put its disgusting hand on me. It giggles. Which is one of the more pleasant sounds it can apparently make. Hell, what do I do now?

Surprisingly, I manage to keep the child alive for more than a few hours. I did consider just leaving it to die from time to time, but that would feel like a waste of my payment. It grows painfully slowly. But I have time. I take on a few more contracts. I grant an untalented young wizard more power than he could have ever dreamed of. I save a young woman's children from a deadly illness. Though I have changed my payment to favours instead of firstborns. No more children for me.

I study humans to learn how to take care of mine. I soon learn that they have names for each and every one of them. Demons don't have names. There is no need, after all, we rarely interact with each other. I decide to use the first name I hear: Alex. It can decide on another one itself when it's older. I don't really care. I also learn that human children should interact with other humans. That one is even more complicated. I finally manage to change my appearance to something resembling a human. They seem to think me disfigured when I show myself. It suits me quite well since they don't ask where I come from or where I acquired the child. The only one that knows who I truly am is the young woman who's children I saved. I call in my favour, so she lets my human play with her children.

The child, Alex, seems to develop quite well. The other children it plays with have grown attached, and the young woman talks with pride about all of them. She has told me her name is Miriam. I don't know why she felt the need to do so. She has also taken to invite me into her home when I come to retrieve my child. I have told her that I would not be indebted to her for this, but she seems not to care. I eventually accept.

Alex grows taller over time. It learns to walk and talk and eat on its own. It starts to call me Maman on the suggestion of the other children. I tell it that I have no need for a name, but it insists. I accept my fate once again.

Alex starts asking questions. I answer what I know. Surprisingly, there is very little that upsets it.

"Maman, why do you look and sound different when we are alone?" "This is my true form, child. Humans are scared of me like this." "Why? You're not scary." "I do not know their reasons."

"Maman, am I a boy or a girl?" "I don't know, decide on your own." "What are you?" "A demon. We have no such thing as boys or girls." "Then I'm a demon as well." "Alright."

"Maman, will I look like you once I grow up?" "I doubt it." "Why?" "We are not related by blood. You will look more like Miriam than you'd ever look like me." "Oh..." "Are you upset by this, child?" "No, but I would have liked to look like you."

"Maman, if we are not related, where do I come from?" "You're mother asked for eternal youth and I got you in exchange." "Oh. Then I'm glad to be with you." "Why? Would you not rather live with the one that gave birth to you?" "No, I don't even know her. And she thought looking young was more important than me. You're much better." "How so?" "You never gave me away."

When Alex reaches their twelfth summer, Miriam asks to speak to me alone. Unwillingly, I grow concerned. "Is something wrong?" She shrugs. "I wouldn't say it's wrong, but I think Alex should probably get some magical training." "What makes you think they have any magical talent?" She looks at me like she can't believe I missed it. "Alex has a different hair colour every day. Yesterday all of my kids where suddenly blonde." "Is this not normal for humans?" She sighs, but there is a smile on her face. "It's not. Have you ever seen me with a different hair colour?" I look at her head. I never really paid attention to her hair. Or her appearance in general. Humans aren't particularly interesting to look at. (Alex is the exception, though not because of their appearance.)

"I will see what I can do." Miriam nods with a smile. "That's all I ask."

I talk to Alex that same day. "Miriam thinks you should receive training for your magical talent." Their eyes practically light up at this. "Really? Will you teach me?" "You can not learn what I can do. Humans possess a different kind of magic from my own. But I can find you a teacher." Alex frowns, thinking. "Will I have to leave?" "You will likely live with your teacher while you learn." There is a long pause. "Can I come back once I finished?" "Of course. I do not wish to get rid of you permanently." "Okay. Then I want to go."

I contact the wizard I helped to power so many years ago. He works for a king nowadays and agrees to take on Alex as his apprentice as my favour. He even seems relieved that I do not ask for more. I do make it clear that Alex is to be treated well, however.

Alex says farewell to Miriam and her children. It's a tearful goodbye on all fronts, but soon we are on our way. I would bring Alex to the wizard Tibalt and then return to my own home. Perhaps go back to work. I have been slacking somewhat since Alex got handed to me.

The travel is uneventful, but Alex looks at everything and everyone we encounter with big, fascinated eyes. It is nice to see them excited.

When we finally reach the castle where they'll spend the next few years, Alex suddenly stops. "Is something wrong?" I ask. Concern does not come naturally to a demon, but somehow Alex has changed me in more ways than one. "No, I just," they bite their lower lip, a clear sign of distress. Suddenly, thin human arms sling around my neck. "I'll miss you," Alex says, not letting go of me. After a moment, I lift my own arms, returning the hug. "I will miss you as well. But we will see each other again." We stand like that, holding on to each other for a long while. Finally, Alex let's go of me, wiping their face with a sleeve. When they have regained their composure, they smile and nod at me. We go the rest of the way and, after one final hug, we part ways at the castle doors.

The following years are lonely. I had never expected to feel this way; Demons are naturally solitary beings. Alex writes me letters and I answer (with Miriam's help). It helps to stay in contact this way. They talk about the people in the castle, what spells and potions they are learning. I tell them news about Miriam and her children.

Once a year, Alex comes by to visit. The first three times I go to the castle myself, afterwards, they make their way alone. It is almost the end of Alex's sixth and final year of their apprenticeship when someone shows up at my home that I had never expected to see again.

The woman is wrapped in dark, expensive clothes, only showing her young face, which is enhanced by skillfully applied makeup. I'm sure she is quite beautiful by human standards. She smiles when I open my door. "I'm here to reclaim what is mine," she says, her voice melodious like a singing bird.

I tower over her and yet she seems not intimated in the slightest. "There is nothing here that could belong to you," I answer, my voice like rocks grinding against one another. Her smile falters. "Foul creature, do you think you can trick me? I asked for eternal youth to preserve my beauty, and yet I scar like any other." I stare at her. "You never asked to be invincible. Eternal youth is what you wanted, and it is what you got. You have not aged a day since I last saw you." She spits, rage twisting her face into something ugly. "You will return my child to me, or you will regret it." "There is no child of yours here. And even if it was, I would not give it away to you. I have kept my word, and you will keep yours."

She yells, and suddenly I am hit by magic of a strength I have never encountered. I am knocked off my feet and slammed into a wall within the blink of an eye. The woman now stands over me, a sickening grin on her lips. "Did you think I would come unprepared?" I don't hear what else she says as my mind slips into darkness.

When I wake, I am bound to a wall with thick chains, my arms above my head. I try to move, but a burning pain shoots through me. I hear cackling laughter and look up. The woman stands before me, arms crossed and clearly amused by my predicament. I try to speak but find that I can not.

"I will find my child," the woman says, "and until I do, you will keep me company." I struggle against my bonds, but I can only ignore the pain for so long. I slump against the wall, exhausted. "Do be a good pet and don't cause such a ruckus." Her voice is as sweet as her words are cruel, "You won't be getting away any time soon."

She is right. Days pass, and I grow weaker. The woman, whose name I still do not know, only feeds me enough to keep me from falling into permanent unconsciousness. She knows I won't die from starvation, but this only seems to make her crueller. She tries painful spells on me, makes me drink potions that cause convulsions. The chains cause blinding pain every time I struggle against them. I soon give up trying to escape her games. There is no use.

My mind keeps wandering to Alex, and even to Miriam and her children. I wonder if Alex has finished their apprenticeship by now. If they have returned to an empty home. If they think I have abandoned them. I was supposed to meet Miriam the day the woman appeared. Perhaps she too thinks I have finally returned to my demonic ways, fleeing without a word. I would not blame any of them.

The day I feared arrives. The woman stands before me once more, a triumphant smile on her face. "I have found my child. We will reunite, and you will rot here for all eternity. I'd say goodbye, but I don't think it will be particularly good for you." I barely lift my head to look at her. My horns have grown brittle over time, one of them even broke off a while ago. They still feel too heavy for me.

"Nothing to say?" She kicks my side, but the pain barely registers. My only thought is the hope that she won't hurt Alex. After all, why would she hurt her own child, if even a demon didn't? She clicks her tongue and turns to leave. "No one will find you. I placed wards around this place that even the strongest wizards would have problems with." She leaves. I stay shackled to the wall, too weak to give even a token of protest.

Days pass, maybe weeks. I can't keep count. I grow impossibly weaker. My second horn breaks off. It falls into my lap, laying there as if to taunt me. Perhaps I deserve it.

I welcome it when I finally fall unconscious. It is a relief.

To my surprise, I wake again. There is warmth on my face. Hands. Warm hands, stroking softly over my cheek. "Maman," a voice says, so far away. "Maman, I'm here." I can't answer, can't even open my eyes. Consciousness escapes me.

I wake once more. This time the chains are gone. I am lying down instead of sitting against the cold stone wall. Someone is holding onto my arm. My body feels heavy. I groan.

"Maman?" I open my eyes. Alex is leaning over me, tears streaking down their face. I try to lift my hand. They shouldn't be upset.

Alex suddenly throws themself on top of me, arms slinging around my neck. "I was so worried," their voice is muffled against my chest. I manage to put my own arms around their back, holding them close. "How?" I croak. Alex sniffs and pulls back. "I'll tell you once you have recovered a bit more. Miriam will want to know that you're awake as well."

True to their words, Alex helps me regain at least parts of my strength. And once I'm able to sit and eat on my own, they tell me what happened.

"When I finished my apprenticeship, I honestly was a bit confused that you didn't come to pick me up. But then I thought 'well, the last years I also went home on my own' so I said goodbye to everyone and went alone. But when I arrived, you weren't there. I went to Miriam, thinking that maybe you were with her. She told me that you had disappeared weeks ago and that no one had seen you since. She was really worried and so was I afterwards.

When I went back home to search for clues, this woman showed up. She said she's my mother and that I could come back to her now." Alex's eyes flare with a rage I haven't seen before. "She said that she had taken care of you and that I would never have to see you again."

Alex stays quiet for a moment, breathing in deeply through their nose. I carefully take their hand in mine. They smile a little.

"I asked her what she meant and when she said that she had locked you up I... I was so angry. I started yelling at her to tell me where you were, but she refused. She still tried to convince me to live with her of all people. She only got angry when I told her that she had given me up already and that I would never go with her now.

She attacked me with her magic, but I was stronger than her. I was so angry. I didn't think about what I was doing. She had hurt you, and so I wanted to hurt her." Alex grows quieter. "I did."

"I sent one of her spells back at her, and it hit her right in the chest. Miriam helped me bury her." I gently squeeze their hand. "You defended yourself." Alex nods with a sniff.

"Afterwards we still had to find you. We eventually did, but then I found the wards. I had to ask Tibalt for help. We finally broke through, and you were inside. I don't think I'll ever forget how you looked." A shiver runs through their body. "I am sorry," I say, but they shake their head.

"This wasn't your fault. I'm just glad I got you back. And you'll be okay, right?" "Yes, it is difficult to kill a demon."

Alex nods and pulls back their shoulders. Their eyes are filled with almost demonic determination. "I don't regret that that woman is dead. And I'll make sure nothing like this happens ever again.

No one hurts my Maman."

[dabblescrawl]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Part One

Request by @ratatata-ah While Oscar is incarcerated, the reader took care of Cesar and when Oscar gets out he and the reader (Monse’s cousin) meet for the first time.  Oscar quickly becomes infatuated with the reader and invites her to his “welcome home” party to get to know her more.  The reader is shy and Oscar is very flirtatious trying to get her to open up more.  Long story short, the series could be about Oscar falling in love with the reader 

Monse and her crew had been friends since birth it seemed.  In truth, I suppose it was grade school when they were all kinders and the rag-tag group had formed.  Monse, always her style, had been the outspoken one who took quickly to learning.  Cesar had kept up with her academically and they had often found themselves in the same groups assigned by their teachers.  The pair’s quick wit and blunt personalities had matched right away.  Cesar was also a protector.  Even as small children Ruby and Jamal had been in need of that.  And so the small group of wildly different perspectives had formed.  

Sitting in the Diaz house now watching them argue about the rules for Clue, I rolled my eyes.  Their little group seemed to conflict more than they agreed, and yet the soon to be high schoolers seemed tight as ever.  Often when you were watching them spend time together like this you were slightly jealous of their tight bond.  Despite any bickering or arguments, the group always had each other’s backs.  They protected and supported one another.  The world be damned and destroyed if it tried to hold down any one of the four.

Many times I’d wished my friendships were like that.  Of course they weren’t.  Sure I had friends but I am a continuous giver without much reciprocation.  I am a part of several friend groups due to my kind spirit and personality, but none of those groups ever felt like my own, not the way the Core 4 belonged to each other.  It probably was related to my hesitant and unsure nature when it came to sharing myself with others.  It was easier to be a yes woman and do what was asked of me than build any personal connections.

Shaking away the thoughts of self pity and jealousy, because those never resulted in anything good, I elected to see what was still in the fridge from my last shopping trip.  Opening the door I saw a few things but nothing of substance left.  I nodded to myself, grabbing the keys off the countertop and heading towards the door.

“I’m going to the store,” I announced, my words unheard over the game, “Ay!” I shouted over their voices to try again.  Four sets of eyes trained on me.  “Cesar and Monse, any requests from the store for food this week?” Both preteens shook their heads negative.  “Ok, well I’m going now then, and then when I get back…”

“Everybody better get their asses outside to help carry it in.” They answered.

I nodded, “And then everybody is going home,”  which was answered by 4 sets of eye rolls.  “Eh, eh, it’s a school night,” four more nods.  “Last call on requests because…”

“I’m only going once” they echoed again, cutting me off.

“Awww,” I replied sweetly tugging at Monse’s check who was closest to me, “I have trained you so well.” I giggled and headed out the door as the bickering started again.

The mothering thing had come naturally to me, but I guess that was to be expected, I had raised myself from a young age.  When Uncle Monty first started long hauls he was only gone overnight and I’d gone to stay with Monse.  But the money was better and I was free anyways so nights turned to weekends, and weekends, turned to weeks, and those weeks were sometimes continuous.  I’d lived there through most of high school and simply stayed after I graduated three years ago.  I’d always been able to go out on a limb for either Monse or Cesar and be more assertive, but when it came to myself that was a skill I lacked.

After Cesar’s brother had gotten locked up, he’d been a mess.  How was a 10 year old kid supposed to take care of himself?  And the truth was, he wasn’t.  In fact, it was by some miracle at all that he’d been overlooked and allowed to continue to live outside of the foster system himself.  And I intended to keep him that way.  Sure, he was alone a lot, but the Core 4 and myself also tried to have him around as much as possible.  So really, he wasn’t alone all that much more than you or Monse.  The thought of foster care just did too much to disrupt his life so you’d made it your mission to make sure it didn’t happen to either of them.

Pulling the coffee off the pot and pouring it into the cup I slid my phone out of my pocket and speed dialed 2.  “Hello” came the groggy voice on the other end.  

“Morning, sleepy head” he smiled into the phone, “Have you taken a shower yet?”  The voice mumbled an affirmative.  “What’d you have for breakfast?” The voice slurped into the phone as if to answer the question.

Mouth clearly full, the answer was garbled, “Cereal”.

I nodded to myself, “Brushed your teeth?”

“YES MOM” was answered from the frustrated half yell.

“Listen here friend,” I started, “it’s a call or a visit, you want your mornings to yourself you just answer.” 

“I know” Cesar conceded, “I have to get dressed so I’ll be ready when everybody gets here.  

“Have a great day, learn something new, and…be good” we finished in unison.  “Bye, companero”

“Bye”

I hung up and took the first deep gulp of piping hot coffee.  Ok, one down, one to go.  I marched off towards Monse’s room where I completed almost the same routine with much more resistance from Monse than Cesar had given me.  The teen years were going to be fun.

With everyone off to school you hurried around to tidy up the house, finish getting ready for work, and barely made it out the door on time.

Monse had just left for writing camp for the summer.  For the first time in a long time, there wasn’t a kid in the house for you to take care of.  You’d picked up extra shifts, carefully scheduling them when Cesar should be asleep or with friends so that he wouldn’t be alone all the time.  

As seemed to be my norm, I had done some favors for my friends this morning and was completely behind when I had wanted to leave.  I texted Cesar apologizing and letting him know I would make a late lunch, instead of noon as we had planned.  No response yet, I hoped he hadn’t decided to eat without me. 

I hurried to finish getting ready and chose to leave the house with soaking wet hair.  I mean Cesar has seen me before, no need to waste anymore time getting prepped, we were just having lunch.

I pulled into the drive and noticed quite a few more cholos in the yard.  I frowned, that’s weird, sometimes different homies come around to check on Cesar, but never this many.  Something had to be going on.

I stepped out of the car and headed for the house.  Opening the door I yelled for Cesar, “Hey, Cesar, just me.  I’ll get lunch started!” I made my way into the kitchen without really taking a look around, “Also, what’s going on, there’s like a bunch of people outside.”  I pulled the ingredients for lunch from the cabinets and the fridge with ease, after all it’s not my first time cooking here.

“Uh, Y/N” Cesar said, seemingly hesitant near the fridge.

“What’s up dude” I smiled and continued about my business.

“And who do you think you are?” a deep, booming, voice came from behind where Cesar stood. 

I turned and my jaw dropped to see Cesar’s older brother Spooky behind him.  Blinking a few times, I gathered myself.

“Uh, hi, Spooky” I started, then gained a little more confident and raised my voice above a whisper, “You probably don’t know me, I am Monse’s cousin, Y/N.” You paused as the information didn’t seem to answer his question, his face hard and betrayed no emotion.  “Um, I have been watching out for Cesar since you’ve been gone.” I finished.  

“Yeah, Oscar, she’s been awesome.  She checks on me every day, and does the grocery shopping, and well most of the cooking too.” Cesar started his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Monse’s cousin?” he asks.

I nod, “Yeah, my mom is Uncle Monty’s, that’s Monse’s dad, sister.  I didn’t move to Freeridge full time until she died” I shrugged, it was old news. 

He nodded as if taking in this new information.  “Well thanks for taking care of my mano'' he said, placing his hand on Cesar’s shoulder.

“Now I get why everyone is outside” I answered, turning back to the food, “well” I said clicking my teeth and surveying the contents of the fridge.  “I don’t think I have what we need to serve everybody. But I can do lunch for the three of us.”  I said turning back to the Diaz brothers and waving my pointer finger in a circle at each of us and each nodded in turn.

“Give me like” I made a calculating face waving my hands in that little up down motion for about “20 minutes and it’ll be on the table.  Give or take.” I amended my previous statement.  

When I finished lunch, I laid it out on the table and mostly listened to Cesar detail to Spooky everything that had gone on since he’d been locked up.  There was a lot to catch up on in Cesar’s life, and that of the block.  Mostly I was quiet but every now and then Cesar would turn to me for a detail or I’d prod him about a subject that he’d forgotten to include.  Spooky would look at me intently each time I did speak and I couldn’t figure out the look he was wearing when he did.  

After lunch I cleaned up and was headed for home.  “Ay, Y/N” Spooky stopped me before I left for the afternoon.  “We’re having a party tomorrow night.  Beers on me, thanks for taking such good care of Cesar.”

Standing in your room you weren’t quite sure what you should wear.  Parties weren’t really your thing after all.  The concept was always appealing but the practice was always less than desirable.  At the time that you had accepted it had sounded like a fine idea and now you weren’t really looking forward to it at all.  You weren’t even sure you’d know anyone there at all except Spooky.  Well and possibly Cesar, but, the idea of drinking with a nearly 14 year old made your motherly, legal, brain uncomfortable.  You laughed at yourself, because a Santos party was the place to be concerned about legality. 

Sighing and looking back at your bed you decided to play eeny meeny miney mo with yourself.  If you didn’t choose soon you’d chicken out entirely.  I wanted to try to be a little more adventurous and also I had told Spooky I would be there, if I don’t go it’s like backing out on a promise.  In the end you ended up with a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a strappy but flowy tank.  My hair isn’t usually as unruly as Monse’s, but today I had no such luck.  I threw it in a couple of tight braids and hurried to put on some make up.  I looked at myself in the mirror on my door as I tied my converse.  Close enough, I thought.

When I got to the Diaz house I was grateful for 3 things, my outfit allowed me to stay relatively cool and comfortable even in the California summer evening, I had chosen to walk because the curb was packed with cars, and Cesar was right out front.  If it hadn’t been for his catching my eye, I probably would have turned around before ever stepping foot into the party.  There were a lot of people here, like A LOT of people.

Cesar had taken me to the backyard as he’s been instructed by Spooky and cracked open my choice of beers.  I was both afraid to drink too much and too socially awkward not to get a little liquor courage in my veins.  “Next, stop, Spooky” Cesar announced.

“What?” I asked eyebrows furrowed.

“He said he wanted to know when you got here, he was by the DJ last time I saw him” Cesar turned and began snaking through the people in the yard and a beat or two later I was following him.

Read Part Two Here

[alinchenbarca]

Bored (Aomine x Riko OS)

Summary:

Aomine is bored. In Touou training he is only yelled at in annoyance by Wakamatsu, Sakurai is in bed with the flu, Momoi is in Tamura for her aunt's birthday and the other firstfruits are all uninteresting to him. So there is only one place where he can go - Seirin, to his "brother", his "ore-nerve rival" and his wonderful, cool, girlfriend Riko ...

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Aomine Daiki, Touou Gakuen's ace in his day, actually liked Saturdays. But that changed from today ... because screaming captain Wakamatsu Kosuke had simply decided to train on Saturday - and that only because the volleyball club had trained in the gym yesterday and therefore they could not do any afternoon training. For a cup or something - Kami-sama, how much he hated volleyball - and Wakamatsu - he even wished for the sneaky, two-faced four-eyes Imayoshi again. But worst of all? He just felt like he was alone. Satsuki was in Tamura for her aunt's birthday and the only one he liked, Sakurai, had been in bed with the flu since the beginning of the week. What a mess! His only sources of entertainment were not there. What should he do now? First of all, he didn't want to be yelled at by the blonde every second, secondly, he didn't have anyone with whom the training would be more interesting ... uh, thinking is really exhausting.

As he turned the basketball on his index finger, he was going through all possible ways to stay away from training - and suddenly the idea of the day came up. Huh ... why not extend the weekend a little - they would definitely not mind that he visits them ... (evel laugh)

And in milliseconds he was out of the gym. In the background he only heard Wakamatsu screaming where he wanted to go and that he should move his ass back into the gym. Can he forget.

And with that, the blue-haired man set off in a very specific direction ...

In Seirin, on the other hand, they trained hard. Since the team had to draw the short straw in the final against Rakuzan in the summer, shortly before Kuroko and Kagami had played with the other GOMs as Vorpal Swords against Jabberwock, they naturally wanted to defend the Winter Cup. Kiyoshi was back two weeks ago and was now in rehabilitation time and her first year center was getting in better tune as a regular member of the team. As expected for a Teiko graduate. Hehe.

Riko stood on the edge during the exercises and scanned the numbers of their players. Nodded and then wrote it down - oh, winter would be exciting again.

On the other side of the field, Kagami had just jumped into the air and shortly afterwards received a perfect pass from Kuroko - but suddenly the gym door was pushed open - and instead of dunking the ball into the basket, he bounced, again, his Forehead against the basket. Ouch!

"Look who I met on the way here," boomed the joyful voice of Goody Two Shoes, Kiyoshi Teppei, through the gym.

In a clutch-time mood, Hyuga turned to the brown-haired man, only to get grumpier - because next to the center was none other than Touou's power ace, Aomine Daiki. And to his chagrin, for a few months now, also coach's boyfriend.

Hyuga was still wondering how Riko had this idiot ... it's like if she were with Kagami ... He shivered briefly at this comparison.

To his own inability, he hadn't even noticed - apparently, or rather to the knowledge of Kuroko, something had unfolded between them since the time in Vorpal Swords - and Hyuga himself hadn't even noticed it, although it was before his eyes . He still felt like a fool.

"Yo, Tetsu," the power forward called out, since his former shadow was closest.

"Aomine-kun? Don't you actually have a training session to do today? ", it came back knowing from the teal-haired boy.

"Yes, I would like to know that too! Hm? ", Riko came up to the two of them with an insistent expression.

Kagami, who rubbed his nose and joined Izuki, looked contrite.

"This is the fifth time in four weeks that Ahomine shows up here," announced the redhead.

"And for the fifth time in two weeks you hit the basket with your nose," replied Izuki mischievously.

Riko and Kuroko were still waiting for an answer from the Touou ace.

He just scratched his neck with a shrug.

"Whatever. The training was boring, so I came here and on the way I met "Iron Heart" and Nigou. "

"Don't call me Iron Heart", Kiyoshi grumbled because of his nickname, but was skilfully ignored.

The spectacle in front of them was much more exciting for the others.

"What ever. Did you hear that, Kuroko-kun? "She asked the phantom player. Kuroko only looked passively at his former light, but said nothing.

"Where is Satsuki-san anyway?" Riko asked further.

"At her aunt's birthday in Tamura," Aomine replied with a sigh.

"And Sakurai-san?", Kuroko asked, knowing that Aomine got along best with Sakurai from the Touou team.

"He's in bed with the flu," Aomine grumbled on.

Riko crossed her arms, but before she could say anything, Hyuga interrupted her.

"And you couldn't think of anything better than to come here?"

Now Aomine looked at the Seirin captain and sighed.

"First. Are you still jealous? And secondly, it's not boring here, "Aomine replied grinning at the black-haired man. This turned red and could compete with Kagami's hair when he heard what Aomine had said.

The others only grimaced in contrition and pity.

Suddenly Riko hammered her clipboard into Aomine's stomach.

"This is the fifth time this month, you idiot!" Riko raged at her boyfriend. "You Baka! What did I tell you! Don't let training slip, Kami-sama! "

Koganei and Furihata covered their ears and the others saw the threatening aura that formed around their coach and trembled away. The only ones who were not affected by it were of course Kuroko, who, as always, did not grimace, Kiyoshi, who grinned to himself and stroked Nigou and Aomine himself, who sulked as if his toys had been taken away from him.

"Riko, it's just so boring in Touou," he grumbled.

And everyone wondered whether that was really the dreaded ace of the generation of miracles before them or a little boy who was just in kindergarten.

"How about you play a one-on-one with Kagami-kun?", Kuroko asked him from the side - and that flashed something, but as quickly as it came it was gone.

"Bakagami can't even make a dunk like I just saw," he grinned at the redhead.

"You Gangeru," the other grumbled to himself.

"I would much rather spend time with you," the blue-haired pouted and looked at Riko with a puppy look.

That shocked Seirin, well, except for Kuroko and Goody Two Shoes.

But Riko - not at all impressed by it - narrowed her eyes, drew in a breath and pulled her boyfriend by his tie with his ear so that her mouth lingered next to it and he could very well hear what she said softly to him.

"I want that too, only we have both tasks to fulfill. You do your training in Touou and I mine here in Seirin, "she whispered softly. Then she chewed her lower lip briefly. "If you like, wait until we're finished. Our training only lasts a maximum of twenty minutes. "

"Hm. Yeah Yeah Okay, then I'll wait, "he replied after thinking for a moment. The brown-haired woman was glad that he didn't make a riot or something inappropriate in the presence of her team - and especially Hyuga. She still felt sorry for him. But she had waited three damn years for him to finally take his courage and ask her out on a date - but nothing like that happened. After last year's Winter Cup she thought he would dare. But again nothing. Well, and then suddenly there was Daiki. This perverted idiot who only thought of basketball and big-breasted photo models and who was lazy as a sloth. That you had to pull up to training a few months ago. But when she saw how he had changed and slowly for the better - and when she got to know him better, what lay behind his "The only one who can beat me is me" facade ... A young man who took care of his friends, a big brother to Satsuki and Kuroko and even Kise. Who loved to have a strong opponent who pushed him to the limit and brought a smile to his face when he played basketball. Shockingly, he was very good at cooking, was funny and, besides bees, loved animals - especially dogs.

And - and that was the surprising thing about it all - he could be romantic in his very own way. He had even challenged her father in a duel so that he could get the blessing to go out with her. He had won - just barely - but he had won, and in a short time he and her father had become almost a dynamic duo.

"Does that mean we have a long weekend in bed?" He asked with a dirty grin on his face.

Had she just praised him and talked about his good side? Just forget! He didn't have any.

And with full force she pulled him over her shoulder and kicked him in the face like karate kid. At the sight of it, Kagami felt a familiar feeling. Memories of grades, intermediate tests and the question of whether she's about that good came back to his mind. Uuuaaa, no, he definitely didn't want to experience that again.

And Seirin looked shocked too - except for the well-known two.

Hyuga hyperventilated at the phrase Aomine had said and fell over, Koganei, the three sophomore musketeers, and all of the first years were red as tomatoes and could now compete with Kagami's hair. Izuki, Mitobe and Tsuchida stood by with their mines pinched and tried to wake Hyuga back up somehow. Kagami just grimaced - he didn't really want to know what his rival and his coach are doing in their free time.

"You can kind of bend that. You Aho-Ahomine!", shouted the brown-haired woman, embarrassed.

"Ouch. Riko. Ouch ", Aomine tried to get hold of Riko, but she kept evading.

"You won't touch me all weekend, but help dad in the gym."

This kind of threat made the blue-haired man suddenly stop fidgeting and grasping and look at her with wide, shocked eyes.

In the background he could see Kuroko grinning - that bastard.

Riko stood in front of him with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His gaze flickered to it for a moment and she grumbled dangerously.

He raised his hands in resignation.

"Okay, okay. I surrender. I'll just lie down there on the stage and wait until you're done. "

With a sigh he went up to it and then let himself fall back - and already he was slumbering away.

Riko looked at Kuroko with a winning grin, who gave her a thumbs up, and then slowly walked over to the rest of her team with a dangerous grin.

They knew that the last minutes of training would be hell again and even the woke up Hyuga could only utter a sigh of devotion.

Well then, off to hell ...

A few hours later. After training was over, she and Daiki had lunch with her dad and they had both distracted themselves briefly for a few hours with basketball on the indoor court and then had a hot bath, the two were now in Riko's large bed.

Riko lay with her head on Daiki's bare chest and drew small circles and stars on his torso. He stroked her slim back again and again, which gave her goose bumps.

"Well, are you still bored?", the brown-haired woman asked her boyfriend teasingly.

"Heh? What are you talking about? ", he asked back, as if he didn't know why he had shown up at the Seirin Gym hours ago.

She shook her head, her hair a little tousled because Daiki had tossed around in them. Then she changed the subject.

"I still can't believe you ignored my threat so insidiously," pouted Riko.

"Your threat not to touch you was the funniest thing I ever heard from your sweet, little mouth," grinned the Touou player.

"Ha, ha, ha. Actually I should have known - but maybe I just wanted to know if you would do it. Stick to it or not stick to it and help dad in the gym ... ", she replied and then looked at him in his dark blue irises.

"There is the Fujoshi in you again," he teased his girlfriend. Which in turn hit him in the face with the pillow, what was next to her. That caused the basketball player to turn them over. Now he was above her and she below him. They both grinned expectantly.

"What are you waiting for?", Riko asked confused.

"Last time your dad, Tetsu and Satsuki suddenly stormed in here ..." he muttered while looking dangerously at the door.

Riko rolled his eyes and pulled his face back in her direction.

"That can't happen today. Firstly, Satsuki-san is with her aunt, Kuroko-kun is guaranteed to be somewhere with Kagami-kun on a basketball court and thirdly - I locked the door ... and both keys, master and spare, are here in the room. Nobody can disturb us ", she smiled broadly at him. And now a thieving grin crept on Aomine's face.

"That's why I love you so much - you just think of everything, my little Fujoshi."

And in milliseconds his lips were on hers and they both drifted off into the heat of the room and the togetherness.

Carefully at first, then teasing, and then passion overcame them both. The weekend couldn't have started better for either of them ... and for Aomine it was a guarantee that it wouldn't get boring at all.

He definitely knew that ...

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Now you are probably wondering - Why Aomine and Riko. It's easy to explain. This pairing is so unimaginable that it is somehow imaginable. And in any case, Riko could definitely raise the blue-haired man somehow. The idea with the two characters came to me while reading some One Shots with Riko x GOM on Tumblr - and besides, Riko just deserves just as much attention. Second, I got the idea with Riko x GOM when I read through all the characters on Wiki again and there was the info that Kise and Aomine talked about Riko in some depths of the manga and that Seirin is happy to have such a cool and amazing coach. You can find the section on the English wiki page of Kuroko no Basket at Riko Aida/Skill. I will definitely do more OS with the other GOMS. But that will take a while.

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Stay safe!

Kind regards, Alina :-)

[wongiemei]

2. Fear

a/n: aNgST wHO?

The Underworld was, ironically, above water. 

Situated on the vast Pacific, a large island, about twice the size of the United States of America, is known as the Capital. With spells and magic, all of the Coven kingdoms were hidden in plain sight with one being in the Atlantic, some scattered near Antarctica and one at the Indian Ocean. 

One of the famous ones that humans might recognize is the Bermuda triangle.

There are 3 kingdoms at the Atlantic Ocean: House Inure, House Languo, House Vermille.

House Languo is situated right at the middle of the Triangle, luring many pilots and shipmen to become their next meal. 

This is why House Languo is one of the richest houses as they are the known sellers of authentic blood and would even send you a drugged human, bounded and ready to be eaten. The profits kept coming in and they were it so fast that humans started to suspect and created the legend of the Bermuda, calling it a cursed and a haunted part of the world.

In truth, it’s just a part of the Underworld but with frequent unwanted visitors.

But the 2 biggest kingdoms, Kalon and Orenda, rest on the Pacific Ocean with the Capital on top of the Ring of Fire, known in the Underworld as the Entrance to Hell.

Some say it’s unlucky to have a vampire kingdom so near the thing that could kill them but some say the reason they’re so respected is that they are so near it and could withstand it.

But who really knows the answer.

Waking up from the bright sunlight, you squirmed and accidentally rolled out of bed, dragging the sheets and covers. At this point, you were so tired that you were willing to fall asleep again but as you settled on your back, your eyes snapped open and you blinked, surprised, when you saw a head of blonde hair peer over the edge of the bed.

“And you call yourself a queen.” 

His smirk after the insult made a growl escape your lips and you sprang back up to the bed, sitting on his bare torso and pinning his arms beside his head. Jaemin smirked up at you and unknowingly licked his lips at your bare chest with the sight of purple and red colors left from last night.

You scoffed slightly at the look on his face until you noticed his line of sight and shook your head, disappointed at your perverted husband. Releasing his arms and leaning back to place your butt on his lower abdomen, you quickly shifted away, feeling it poke your back.

With an irritated look, your eyebrows knitted together, “As if you didn’t use me enough last night, you still want more. How much more do you still want me from, Orendian?” 

Jaemin smugly placed his left arm beneath his head and his right hand drifted to softly grab your chin, “We were married for an alliance and children symbolize that it is official, don’t you think?”

“I will not become your birth factory. As much as you don’t want to, I intend to rule beside you and I will voice out my opinion if it’s needed. I will not hesitate to put you in your place, king or not.”

Thinking that your statement would make him angry, instead it made his grin wider. His right hand wandered down to your waist and his left arm left its spot from his head to place it to the other side of your waist. You looked at him curiously, guarded and not knowing of what his true intentions were. Through half-lidded eyes, Jaemin looked up at you and his grin turned lazy.

“You are quite bold, woman. Aren’t you afraid that one day, you say the wrong word and I rip out your tongue from your mouth?”

With a defiant glare, you responded, “What I said last night still remains true today and for eternity. You will never scare me, Na Jaemin. For you are only a puny prince whose future will bring the Underworld farther than Hell itself.”

Although his smile remained, Jaemin’s eyes visibly hardened and with all of his strength, he forcibly pinned you to the bed, red eyes glazing over your face. Lingering on odd places like your cheeks or your neck, Jaemin blinked slowly at you, anger radiating from his form.

“A puny prince, huh? My wife, my queen, seems to think that I am not capable of leading our country for the better. Should I teach her a lesson? Should I fuck her until her legs are shaking and mark her dry until all the blood is gone from her body? Or should I just hand her over to my men and let her experience a second without her title,” he sneered. 

Fear bubbled inside you but you forced it down and you cursed the weakness of your mind.

Even though vampires were mostly indestructible on the outside with cement-like skin, they were very prone and vulnerable to normal emotions. The absence of the heart meant nothing as the blood of humans carried something that fueled their existence and it traveled inside. But normal emotions was normal and could easily be felt, vampire or not.

A small but cold laugh escaped your lips, “My bloodline runs all over the kingdoms. If you should even do that, they are obligated to ruin Orenda due to their association with me. So try it, my king. For it will be the last time you’ll ever see your country and your family, alive.”

The threat clearly affected the boy but you were taken aback by his response. A pair of cold lips smashed to your own and you responded just as harsh, biting his lips and drawing his blood.

But when his lips left yours to bite on your flesh, a soft whimper filled the room as the razor sharp teeth roughly attached themselves on you and the abuse was something familiar yet unfamiliar to you. The fear of being trapped and so helpless that you couldn’t even push him away because you were weak.

He was taking his anger out, on you.

And there was nothing you could do to defend yourself.

You cried on the tub that day.

Paris was unusually cold during the summer month of June.

You bundled up in a beige trench coat with a black baker boy hat and a pair of vintage oval sunglasses from the 60s. The sunlight did little to nothing as it was still near 40 degrees and it didn’t warm the air. However, the sun’s fiery rays were still felt by sensitive beings like you and vampires were very prone to being cautious and try to stay away from hot things like those.

“Dear cousin, I take your honeymoon with the prince did not satisfy you as you are here shopping with me in Paris when you could be busy making love to your new husband.”

“Jaehyun, do watch your mouth. As much as I could care less for him, insulting his manhood is enough to cause that wretched temper of his into launching a seige to Metanoia and I do love you and Uncle and Aunt but your kingdom is far smaller and weaker than his army. You are one of my favorites and I’d rather love to watch Hoseok for his coronation to his kingdom that is still there.”

Jaehyun watched you with an amused look as your answer was said as you flicked through the coat racks full of Louis Vuitton coats, joining you with the inspection of the clothing. You were so nonchalant over the whole thing and he can really see the amount of training your parents have put you through to prepare you for your marriage to Jaemin.

“You know, sometimes I forget that you were the same girl who cried because I wouldn’t let her put a flower crown on my head,” he chuckled causing you look at him with a nostalgic look on your face.

“Oh, yes. I was quite naive back then.”

Jaehyun sighed as his eyes continued to look up and down on this particular honey mustard coat, “I remember you being scared of the most childish things. Johnny surprised you by the garden and you cried your little eyes out until your mother threatened to beat you. I guess that’s why you’re not really scared of anything now, huh?” He turned to look at you with a boyish smile, implying your easy agreement to the marriage.

“But the difference was, everything was perfect back then. We were young and we didn’t have anything to fear except for bath time. Now, we worry over who we’re expected to be and who we ought to marry for alliances.” Jaehyun’s fingers froze and he looked off into the wall. “Our lives have slowly become purely our parents and it fucking scares me that one day, we will be like them too. That’s my fear, Jaehyun. My one fear.”

Turning away from the horridly bright colors of the clothing, Jaehyun looked back at you and he felt sadness swelling up inside at the sight before him.

You’ve managed to fool everyone with your bravery and courage for your parents’ favor. However, there was a time where it wasn’t all an act and that you really were ready to risk it all just because they asked you to. 

A naive little girl.

But now that you’ve been exposed to everything and anything, Jaehyun saw the little girl crying behind those scarlet orbs, not because of his strong refusal of the orchid covered crown, but with fear of the world and no one to defend her for what’s to come.

a/n: oof sorry for making jaemin look like an asshole but hey, we need a plot line!

might start updating once or twice a week, usually monday. i have about 2 chapters written out just not fully written out, yknow? hard to explain but here’s your update!! so sorry for making yall wait without a schedule 🥺 ayo, send a few of yall names so i can use your name for an oc in this series. i feel kinda bad bc y/n’s friends needs some names

last also. if yall didn’t get it, jaehyun’s birthday is valentines day and she’s in paris and paris is known to be the city of love so paris is a part of metanoia, which is jaehyun’s kingdom, and Hoseok, J-Hope, is with the last name of Jung so I made him jaehyun’s older brother. a lot more characters will show up in the next chapter so don’t worry!!!

here’s a taglist, (just tell me if you want to be added!):

@bobohu-s-ane-yeobo​ 

[hphm-tanaka-chung]

HPHM Profile~ Rose Tanaka

I took most of the revised template that @hogwartsmysterystory​ created, but made a few changes to get right to the gist of everything. If anything needs clarifying, let me know and I’ll fix things up.

(image created by hufflepuffmystery on Instagram!)

Identity:

Name: Rose Tanaka

Gender: Female

Birth date: October 27, 1972

Age: 17 as of June 1, 1989

Blood Status: Half-Blood (mother was Muggleborn, father was a wizard)

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Alignment: Neutral Good

Ethnicity: Japanese

Nationality: Japanese

Residence: Osaka, Japan

MBTI: INFP

Magic capability:

Wand: Poplar with unicorn hair, 12 inches, quite bendy

Animagus?: In the canon game, Rose is a falcon animagus.

Magical Abilities: In the canon game, Rose is a legilimens. 

Boggart/Riddikulus: Rose’s Boggart is not instantly visible, but she’s scared of the cold. She’s scared of the feeling of numbness within, and she’s scared of seeing even a little bit of frost spread over matter. In the Riddikulus form, the ice had dissolved into a swirling sparkling wind that gently lifted her hair and clothes, which, of course, made her laugh.

Mirror of Erised: The image that stares back at her is intriguing. She sees herself as an older woman with a broomstick in hand, wearing one of the Japanese Quidditch team uniforms--but at the same time she has a few books in her other hands that depicted titles that had nothing to do with Quiddtch...

Patronus: Rose’s Patronus in the game is a lop-eared bunny.

Patronus memory: Her Patronus memory would be of the time her grandmother took her to see the cherry blossoms when she was still very young--the time she spent with her grandmother was near and dear to her. 

Amortentia: Rose smells chrysanthemum tea, parchment, fresh mown grass, and something minty. Anyone who smells her scent would smell cherry blossoms, fresh parchment, hot chocolate, and something like...hair dye.

Appearance:

Faceclaim: Satomi Ishihara

Voiceclaim: Lea Salonga (may subject to change)

Game Appearance: 

Height: 5’6”

Weight: …?

Physique: Slim and fit, not a lot of muscle

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Black (dyed dark blue in year 5)

Skin Tone: Pale

Body Modifications: N/A

Scarring: N/A

Inventory: (what do they carry on them?)

-a hair comb

-a few spare quills

-a plain black headband

-a photo of her as a baby and her family

Fashion: Rose tends to wear shirts with collars, so don’t expect her to be out of her school uniform for too long. On occasion she’d wear a hoodie and jeans, or anything traditionally worn by English girls of the time. Hey, just because she’s Japanese doesn’t mean she can’t learn about the English culture. 

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent

Affiliations/Organizations: 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Ravenclaw)

Toyohashi Tengu -> Japanese National Quidditch team (Japan)

Professions: Quidditch player; Hogwarts Flying Instructor/Quidditch Referee

Hogwarts info:

Class proficiencies: Astronomy (A), Charms (O), Defence Against the dark Arts (E), Flying (E), Herbology (O), History of Magic (E), Potions (E), Transfiguration (E)

Electives: Care of Magical Creatures (E), Divination (A), Muggle Studies (E)

Quidditch: Ravenclaw Seeker (4th-7th year)

Extracurricular: N/A

Favourite professors: Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick

Least favourite professors: Professor Binns

Relationships

Best friends (canon): Rowan Khanna, Badeea Ali, Charlie Weasley, Ben Copper, Chiara Lobosca, Talbott Winger, Andre Egwu

Rivals: Merula Snyde

Enemy: R

Dormmates: Rowan Khanna, Badeea Ali, Tulip Karasu

Pets: Cat (Arisu)--a half-breed of cat and Kneazle

Love Interest: Torn between Ben Copper and Talbott Winger. Despite having gone out on 2 dates with Talbott, she still thinks of Ben Copper a lot, and reminisces back to their time at the Celestial Ball. 

Closest canon friends: listed above

Closest MC friends: Emmett Chung

Familial relations:

Mother: Melissa Tanaka (nee Feng)

Melissa was born and raised in China by strict parents Rose never got to see. A hard worker at school and in her family home, she eventually got herself a job as a bank manager. She moved to Japan in hopes of settling trade issues between China and Japan--it was there where she met Rose’s father. She is now working as a representative of the Chinese national bank, and her consistent travelling between the two countries resulted in a lack of bonding between her children.

Father: Ashina Tanaka

Before Ryotaro Tanaka stepped foot into Mahoutokoro, Ashina went first. He was a good student at Mahoutokoro, but not a face everyone remembered so well; he constantly kept to himself and buried himself in his work all the time. The few friends he did have, he rarely kept connections with after graduating. Still, he took delicate care in everything he did, and eventually opened a shop where he made crafts and learned the old Japanese arts upon graduating. 

Brother: Kyoru Tanaka

Kyoru Tanaka was Rose’s older brother who was first considered for Mahoutokoro but eventually chose to go to Hogwarts when his letter of acceptance arrived from that school. Despite the geographical distance he made the trips to and from King’s Cross work. Just like his father, Kyoru kept to himself a lot, and he made very few friends in his time there. Upon his imprisonment in the buried vault he thought nothing of the impact he left on the rest of his family.

Cousin: Cho Chang

Cho Chang is six years younger than Rose and aspires to be a good flier like her cousin. Though they never really met much she heard of her older cousin’s stories and eventually got sorted into Ravenclaw in her first year, when Rose was then made Head Girl.

Grandmother: Fei-Ying Tanaka

Rose was very close with her paternal grandmother who was just equally proud of her son and his achievements. When she was younger they would spend a lot of time together while Kyoru was in school, and from her grandmother she would learn how to read and write in Japanese, communicate and read and write in English, and understand more of her culture and her family history. 

Background/History:

Rose lived a rather detached sort of life within her family when she was younger. The one person she had a firm relationship with at the time was her grandmother, who always took her out on trips to the park while teaching her many different things. Her father was busy manning the shop soon after Kyoru started to attend school, and as for her mother she barely saw her around a lot either. During this time, though, Rose did learn a few useful things from her father as well as her grandmother--she soon mastered the ancient art of origami and ink drawings.

Eventually, Kyoru went missing in the summer of 1982, and two years later Rose began to attend Hogwarts. Before September 1 every year, she would move to her aunt’s place and live with her cousin, Cho.

Hogwarts Mystery unfolded.

Upon graduation, Rose went back to Japan and at first contemplated on using her talents to teach at Mahoutokoro, but the memories she had of the wizard in white robes ambushing her on R’s orders were enough to make her refuse her placement. Instead, she sought a position on one of the Japanese Quidditch teams. She eventually was placed in the substitute roster on the Toyohashi Tengu as Seeker, but her exceptional talents on the pitch eventually bumped her up to the starting roster. She was eventually admitted to the Japanese National Quidditch team, and represented her country in the 1994 Quidditch Cup. Although the team did not make it into the final, she still revelled in her glory.

Well, that was, until Talbott reached out to her while she was recovering from minor injuries from the matches. She was hesitant to reach out to him in return, but remembering her promise to him she eventually started a correspondence with him.

Rose fought along with her peers at the Battle of Hogwarts and survived. After Hogwarts was fully rebuilt, she took over as the Flying Coach at Hogwarts, and then the Quidditch referee certified by the British Ministry of Magic, when Madam Hooch eventually retired.

Rose did not consider marriage throughout this time, but eventually she reconnected with Talbott and the flame reignited. They got married in early 1999. Current legacies undetermined.

Personality: 

Rose is not at all like the rest of her family--much like her grandmother, she is understanding and patient with everyone she meets. Rowan was actually the first one to break through that shell the rest of her family had cast upon her, and she became much more open and friendly. She’s not afraid to get a little competitive at times with her peers, but it was all for fun in the end. Still, she knows well where her loyalties lie. She would snap shut if something upsets her, and break down if the situation bore too much pressure. Her way of venting involved making a lot of origami and writing in a small notebook--almost like a journal--or furiously writing essays that didn’t pertain to academics. 

Misc: 

Rose’s favourite colour is pink, but perhaps that came from the fact that she was literally named after a flower.

Rose and Tulip actually share a close kinship based on the fact that they were named after flowers. Admittedly, Rose was about to be named Blossom when she was born, but her father once surprised her mother with an elegantly painted origami rose which spurred the change of name before her birth.

Rose could make origami. She trained her patience through it.

Despite Rose not warming up to flying at first, she eventually became really good at it and so continued to foster her talents in that subject area.

More to come…?

[inviouswriting]

Meeting - Butler!AU

Aymeric x Kiya.

Gonna get into some territories.

Part of @whitherliliesbloom ‘s Butler!AU

lengthy drabble.

Kiya felt nervous as she paced in front of the manor. She was meeting her new instructor, as well as the house she’ll be training under. Her tail tucked down near her legs, and her shoulders shrink in out of habit.

“Stand straight!” The headmaster woman that had taught her basic ettiquet training uses a ruler to the back of her legs. Kiya stands straight, and utters a “Yes ma’am!” The woman was old and grouchy. Having taught many girls before her. Madam Matoya was not one to cross on a bad day.

The door to the manor opens and out walks several men forming a line in front of her. The servers on the far left bowed. Kiya notes most of the house is only men, and only one other girl. One very young one. She catches Kiya staring and smiles. She didn’t look older than fifteen summers.

“Eyes forward!” Kiya snaps her attention to the men in front of her. She sees the older of them, with three sons. Kiya bows her head in respect, almost forgetting her place.

“Easy, Matoya. Let’s not scare the girl before she has a chance here.” Aymeric chides Matoya with amusement in his voice able to banter with her. Kiya sees him step forward to introduce the house.

“You ought to watch yourself with this one though. She is a bit of a slacker if you let her.” Kiya hangs her head a little, Aymeric lets the comment slide.

“Then we shall see that for ourselves” Edmont pipes up.

“I am Aymeric Borel. And this is House Fortemps. Lord Edmont is the current head of house, who you will be addressing as such. His sons are, Artoirel, Emmannelain, and Haurchefant. The handservants in house are myself, Saulette, and a few other manor manservants. From today on, you’ll be my charge, and I’ll show you everything you should need to know.” Aymeric’s voice is a bit more stern when introducing.

Kiya nods and takes it all in. Matoya leaves them, and from the moment they walk through the threshold of the manor. Aymeric shows her around the place from the large foyer, to several rooms, kitchen, laundry, and goes over a list of things to expect.

Aymeric shows her to a spare room set up for her to stay in. Kiya already sees her belongings in this room.

“If you have any questions, please feel free to come and get me. We’ll start fresh tomorrow on your training. So for tonight, please relax and get accustom to your surroundings. I’ll come get you for dinner.” Kiya nods, feeling shy and turns to greet him with a reassuring nod.

“Hey, don’t let Matoya scare you. The wards here are alot nicer than they appear.” 

“Thank you for sticking up for me.” Kiya manages out, and Aymeric graces her with a pleasant smile.

“I do not take well to bullying of others. Seen more than my share. Now I’ll leave you to your unpacking, unless you want some help with that.” He offers.

“Oh, no, please you’ve done enough.” Kiya waves her hands, and didn’t want to put more on his shoulders.

“Alright, then I’ll go see about other preperations.” Aymeric turns on his heels after giving her a graceful bow, leaving her to collect herself.

Kiya sighs once she is alone. Her heart wild in her chest. She sets about unpacking her things, and freshens up for dinner. The evening goes without a hitch, from people asking her questions about her life, she keeps details vague.

“Forgive my asking, but why did you leave the life of luxury?” Emmannelain asks, taking a bite of food. 

“That’s something I rather not go into . Just I did not get along with my parents and their way of handling things. So I left.” Kiya looks down at her plate, finding the overly rich foods a little too much for her taste. She eats more than enough but feels a sense of empty to her.

“You would give up all this over a disagreement with your parents.” 

“Lord Emmannelain, if I may. The questions you are asking, are making her uncomfortable. It’s not polite to ask a lady about something she does not want to talk about.” Aymeric pipes up, seeing how crestfallen Kiya looks.

“I’m only curious, it’s not every day we get someone who was of nobility turned server.” At these words Kiya excuses herself from the table to head back to her room. Edmont looks at Emmannelain with a sigh.

“You should practice more manners. Aymeric, would you check on her later?”

“I shall.” Aymeric goes about clearing the spot where Kiya sat at. Saulette helping him.

Kiya looked at herself in the mirror wondering if she is doing the right thing. Leaving that life behind. She changes her hair a few times before settling on a leaving it down then sitting down in the windowsil looking out at the ground.

A soft knocking on the door, and Kya opens it to Aymeric.

“I apologize for earlier.” He starts off.

“We’re still teaching that one how to talk to people better.” 

“It is okay, I’m over it.” She sees something in his hands. A small plate of sandwiches, a pot of tea and two cups. She looks up at him.

“I noticed you didn’t eat a whole lot. I thought these would be better. Something simple. May I come in?” Aymeric asks, and Kiya lets him into the room and he sets up at a small table in the room. He sets up the plate and tea cups.

“If there is anything you would like to tell me, so another event like at dinner doesn’t happen? Would you be comfortable telling me why you chose this life?” Aymeric asks, leaning forward as she sits down across from him.

Kiya takes one of the sandwiches and finds it more filling than fancy foods on silver. There is a beam of happiness to her face, she notices Aymeric staring gently at her head resting on a hand.

“I’ll tell you when I am more comfortable around here. It’s something I rather not talk about right now.” Kiya answers honest, looking down at the teacup, finding the blue hue at the edge unique and different from the red ones the house uses. She offers him one of the sandwiches.

“When you are comfortable to tell me, I’ll listen.” Aymeric takes the offer and for the first time he sees a smile directed at him.

“Thank you for understanding. Did you make these? They’re good.” She gets a nod from him.

“Not to brag, cooking is a hobby I enjoy.” 

“I did not know you cook sandwiches.” Kiya teases him, and earns a laugh from him.

“No, you don’t cook certain sandwiches. There are ones you do though.” They share the moment teasing the other with soft banter.  Kiya feels a flutter in her heart.

“What sort of things do you like to make?” She asks as they finish the food between them and focused on the tea. She noticed a specific jar of syrup and how he takes the slightest drop of it.

“Things with more flavor than earlier, I was not in charge of cooking this evening.” Aymeric did note the foods from earlier were a little more saltier so he figured it was too heavy for her.

“Oh..” Kiya trails off, and stares at her cup. Aymeric dips his head down a little to meet her eyes.

“Did I say something that offends?” He checks, seeing vibrant green eyes peek up at him.

“No, just lost in thought, alot to absorb today and tomorrow is the start of training.” She felt nerves creep into her.

“Ah, do not fret. It’s easy work here, except the general cleaning which can take half the day. Overall, easy, you got lucky with being assigned here.” Kiya picks her head up and lets a brief smile cross her lips again.

“You look better when you smile. I find myself already enjoying it.” Kiya’s eyes widen at this and she looks away sheepish. Aymeric notes the time and stands up after the teas were finished.

“I’ll be going, you should get some rest. Tomorrow is a busy day.” He informs her and she nods with a still tinted blush on her face.

“Thank you for the food and company.”

“My pleasure.” He takes his leave, and Kiya is left to her thoughts again. Chasing the negative ones away for her reasoning. She looks through her belongings and finds a sealed envelope. She looks at it with disdain then settles for a woolen robe to curl up into her bed with. Her thoughts drifting back to the recent encounter. She had heard alot of women fawn over Aymeric. She only heard of their praises of how handsome he is. Kiya finds herself liking him for the person he is instead.

The following day is spent with her learning the trade of things. How to fix linens, strip beds, and remake them with Aymeric’s help. Saulette shows her how to prepare the food in the kitchen for the cooks. Kiya finds herself enjoying the down moments and by the evening she was tired. 

It was a few days after the dinner with the Lords of the house. On the evening of her fourth week there. She had grown accustomed to their lifestyle. To where Edmont looks at her fondly for bringing tea in the evening. Haurchefant would be courteous when she brought him a snack he wanted. Artoirel still took time to warm up. Emmannelain had apologized for intruding on her personal space.

Aymeric was sittind down with her again for the evening over soups and bread. They laughed over a few things, and he finds himself steadily enamored with her. 

“To think how the delivery moogle chased Emmannelain for touching its pom. I never seen an angry moogle before.” Kiya laughs a little more and Aymeric grins.

“They’re a curious sort, but one does not simply touch the pom of a moogle without them getting mad. I have a question for you.”  Aymeric says leaning back in his seat. They had steadily done this every evening, sitting down for gossip of the day, and made a habit of talking to each other over more simple foods and treats.

“I might have an answer?” Earns a chuckle out of him.

“Would you accompany me tomorrow for some shopping errands?” 

“Yes, I’d be delighted to.” Kiya earns a grin.

“Good, good. We’ll be up early so we can get fresh picks of food wares.” He informs her.

“What should I wear then?”

“Something warm. I heard it was going to snow from the skywatchers.” He catches her eyes widening at the mention of snow.

“Okay.” Aymeric begins to gather the empty dishes to leave.

“Aymeric...” Kiya says. Aymeric looks up at her.

“I think I am ready to tell you why I left.” Kiya fidgets with her hands. Aymeric sits back down to listen to her.

“Aye?” 

“Arrangement.” His eyes widen at that word. 

“I see why you chose to leave. May I ask more about it?”

“Yes, I was going to be wed off to someone I didn’t even know, just for the sake of tying some households together. Alot of the women are treated like that. Used as bargaining chips to wealthy men. I didn’t want that.” Kiya curls her feet closer to herself and appears small as she brings her knees up to her chest.

“I see.. Well, no one here will force you to do something you do not want to do. Or return to that life.” Kiya raises her head to look at him, seeing him give her a wink.

“I would be sad to lose my friend here.” They exchange looks to each other.

“Thank you.” Aymeric leaves the room and she thinks of what she should wear for the day. She settles on a thicker dress and tights to go with it. Then goes to sleep.

It is early morning when she is gently roused from her sleep by a gentle hand. Kiya blinks wearily at who is waking her up. Aymeric’s face is what greets her. Kiya glances to a chronometer and it was only four in the morning. She groans slightly at being woken up and turns on her side and covers her head.

“Hey, I did say we would be getting up early. Come on.” Aymeric tugs the blanket off her, and she scrambles for another sheet. Anything for warmth. A gentle hand taps her cheek a few times.

“It’s so early though!” 

“And alot to do. Wake up dear.” Aymeric wrests the second comforter from her. She then clings to him instead, burying her face into his torso still sleepy.

Aymeric blows on one of her ears. Kiya twitches it away and thrashes her tail. Aymeric does it again, earning a green eye staring at him. She closes it, and flattens her ears to her head.

“Just like a regular housecat. Except less cranky than mine.” Aymeric amuses aloud. He catches her ears in his hands and begins to pet them. Kiya feels jolts in her spine at them being petted. This rouses her more awake.

“Finally. Let go?” Aymeric refers to her hugging his waist. She lets go sheepish. Turning her head away; once he is sure she is awake Aymeric excuses himself to dress warm himself. When Kiya greets him at the main door, they take a moment to go over a list before leaving for the Jeweled Crozier.

[dotwrites]

Surprise!

Happy Birthday Peko! Here’s a short fic to celebrate the day. 

Summary:

Read on AO3

Peko’s trainer watched as she practiced her form, commenting and correcting all her mistakes. It didn’t matter that it was a warm summer day, or that she was a little tired, and it certainly did not matter that it was June 30th. Her only purpose was to protect the heir to the clan, and so there wasn’t a single day where she was allowed to take a break from training. Whether it was hot or cold, snowing or raining or sunny out, somebody could try to attack him, so she needed to be prepared to protect in any condition, on any day.

“Your grip is wrong, do you want them to take your sword?” The middle-aged man scolded, swatting at the sword to show how easily it fell from her grip, “Do you want Young Master dead? You must hold it how I showed you or you will simply be providing them another weapon to choose from.”

She had learned by now not to apologize, after being told time and time again that ‘Sorry does not bring your master back.’ Instead of speaking, she simply picked the sword back up, taking a moment to get a better hold on it before getting back into position. This time, when his hand came to swat it, she did not let it fall. There was no praise, she had learned not to expect that either. Doing her job correctly was not going above and beyond, it was simply meeting the expectations. Even if she did do something special, her place in the world meant she could not expect praise. An object, a tool to be used, did not earn praise.

When she was three, or four, or even last year when she turned five, Peko had asked if she could have a party, or get to spend the day having fun rather than training. Fuyuhiko got to, and when Young Mistress Natsumi was born, she got to have parties too. Peko always wanted to do the same things as them, and celebrating her birthday wasn’t an exception. Each year, Mistress Kuzuryuu told her that the day a tool was born was not something to celebrate. She deserved no celebration, nor did she need any toys to distract her from her purpose. She was told ‘if you aren’t grateful that we gave you the gift of a purpose in life, then you may leave.’

Now that she was turning six, she knew better than to request any such thing. Even a small extra break from training was more than she deserved, and she couldn’t risk being unprepared to protect Fuyuhiko, anyway. She got the exact right amount of breaks every day, they had made sure that her training schedule would result in optimal learning while still not overworking her so her body would be at its strongest at any given time. (Not that she knew what half the words meant, but that didn’t matter. She understood that to ask for extra breaks was like saying she didn’t want to protect her young master. Not wanting to protect her young master was like saying she wanted to leave the clan and live on the streets.)

Eventually, her afternoon break came and it was time for her to pack her sword up and join a group of servants cleaning the servant's quarters. As she prepared a bucket of cleaning solution, a patting noise from outside grew steadily louder. The older woman meant to watch Peko and ensure she completed her duties properly sighed quietly when the door flung open.

“Peko!!” Fuyuhiko called, running straight to where she stood, eyes bright, “You wanna play?”

“Young master, I apologize, but Pekoyama must complete her chores,” the servant bowed her head as she spoke, stepping forward and putting a hand on Peko's shoulder as the little girl stood up straight, turning towards her young master.

Fuyuhiko glared at her, pursing his lips, “Nuh-uh, she's supposed to spend time with me when I want, remember? Dad said so! So long as I don't interrupt all her sword stuff, I can spend as much time as I want with her!”

Peko looked up at the older woman, eyes pleading as the woman frowned. She took her hand off Peko's shoulder, instead bending down and picking up the bucket.

“You are correct, I am sorry. Of course she may go, if you wish.”

“I do wish!” Fuyuhiko grabbed Peko's hand even as she bowed to the other servant, pulling her away with a giggle.

They ran from the servant’s quarters to the main house, where the most important guards and servants and the main family spent their days. Fuyuhiko smiled the whole way, glancing back at Peko with the bright eyes that made her heart smile.

“I got a surprise for you!” he bounced in excitement, leading her up the large, curving front staircase she could only use when he allowed it.

“Thank you, Young Master,” she held her free hand over her mouth, trying to suppress a little giggle.

“You don’t gotta call me that, you know!” He corrected, still dragging her along as he ran down the hall, “That’s for servants, not friends.”

She wanted to correct him, tell him that she was, in fact, a servant, but...playing at being his friend made him happy. It made her happy, too, but that wasn’t the important part.

“Sorry, Fuyu, I forget sometimes,” she answered as he stopped in front of his door. He turned to her, putting his hand on the doorknob.

“It’s okay! I know you gotta pretend to be a servant sometimes, but not today! It’s a special day, and we gotta celebrate,” he opened the door, releasing Peko’s hand in order to hold his arms out in the most grand, sweeping motion that a five year old boy could muster.

What waited for her beyond the door was simple. A short table was set up with one of Mistress Kuzuryuu’s fancier tea sets, one that Fuyuhiko certainly shouldn’t have had access to. A collection of plastic cookies and cakes were laid out on a small silver platter in the center of the table, along with a small poorly wrapped present with a crooked bow. Four table settings awaited them with two of Young Mistress Natsumi’s largest stuffed animals at two of the settings. It was simple, but to Peko it looked magical.

“Ta-da! I hope you like it, I worked real hard. I know it’s nothing big like my parties or Natsumi’s, but it’s your birthday so I had to do something! ” He explained.

She stood in the doorway, shock evident on her face. Her eyes sparkled from happy tears as he grabbed her wrist again and pulled her into the room, and as he closed the door the tears began to flow.

“I...I love it!” She pulled Fuyuhiko into a hug, holding him tighter than she’d ever held anything else in the entire world, even her sword.

There was half a second where he stood in shock before hugging her back, but she didn’t notice. As she cried, he held onto her.

“Are you sure it’s okay? You’re crying a whole lot,” he asked after a long moment, getting an enthusiastic nod in response.

“It’s more than I could ever ask for,” she explained as she finally pulled away, sloppily wiping her tears away on her sleeve, “Thank you, Fuyu.”

“Of course! Come on, let’s have tea before it gets cold!”

With that, Peko had her first ever birthday party; a tea party with just her and her best friend in the entire world. To some, it would’ve been small, but to her it was more than she could expect and more than she had hoped for.

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Dark Horse

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU

Song: Amazing by Aerosmith

Previous / Next

Chapter Two: Damsel in Distress

Steve and Bucky had just settled into their hiding spot at the rear of the house when they heard the vulgar voices of the guys inside. One voice in particular stood out. It bellowed above the rest as he ordered the surrounding men, the sounds of the woman’s struggling was drowned out by his gruff tone.

When the initial thud reached their ears, accompanied by the order to tie the young woman down, Steve had to grip Bucky’s arm to stop him from storming in alone.

“They are hurting her, Steve.” Bucky whisper-shouted as his friend held him back from saving the woman inside. “I can’t take this.”

Steve loosened his grasp on Bucky’s arm, but he dared not release him as he tried his best to calm the man. “We can’t run in, guns blazing. What if she became caught in the crossfire? What if they execute her? We need to wait until a few come outside.”

Bucky knew Steve was right, but it still ached to hear the woman battling against the guys inside and, and from the grip that was gradually tightening on his arm again, Steve was just as affected. Bucky was thankful for the touch; without it grounding him, he would surely have panicked.

The gruff voice came again, ordering four of the men outside to stand guard. Bucky and Steve looked between one another and nodded in unison. This was what they were waiting for.

As two of the thugs exited through the back door, Bucky and Steve split to approach from opposite sides of the house. Meeting in the middle, they took out each guard silently and posted up by either side of the door.

“Okay, assuming that Tony and Nat had the same plan, there are only four more men inside.” Steve nodded, agreeing with Bucky’s assessment of the situation. “What do yo-”

All plans flew out the window as a hard crack was heard, the gruff voice roaring a command in the bitter night air. “Be still, bitch.”

The growl that left Bucky’s throat was so vicious, one would have thought Soldat had joined them instead of staying at camp with Bruce, and Steve’s anger wasn’t far behind. When the scream came, there was no stopping either man from entering the house.

Fully intent on killing the men responsible for hurting the woman inside, they pulled their weapons from their belts and crept through the house and towards the front room where the voices were emanating from. Making it, just in time, to see the horrible display before them.

They had tied the woman down to a large dining table, legs exposed and dangling where her trousers had been pulled down. The man behind her had his fist buried in her beautiful Y/H/C hair as he sought to divest himself of his own pants with his other hand. Her back was arched at an unnatural angle, eyes closed and tears running down her cheeks.

Bucky’s fist clenched around the hilt of his dagger, prepared to lunge at the closest threat and rip their throat out. Steve began to draw his own weapon, a military saber equipped with a wickedly jagged edge, and readied himself to act.

They were inclined to make the first move, a risky play when outnumbered and inside an enclosed space, but they never got the chance.

Natasha’s slender form stormed through the door with a wickedly evil smile plastered on her face, effectively distracting the men in the place long enough for Steve and Bucky to jump into action.

_______________________________________________________________________

The sound of a door slamming open cracked through the room like a shot. A woman’s voice hit your ears a second later and a sense of relief washed over you when the man at your back released your hair.

“Hello, boys.” The sickly sweet voice said. “I think it’s about time you let my friend go.” Her voice held a distinct edge to it, a demanding tone that spoke of violent consequences if her request wasn’t adhered to. The fools around her didn’t notice.

The leader scoffed at the woman as his men began to laugh and taunt her. “And who’s going to make us? You?”

More taunting, this time from the leader who had been at your back only a moment ago, followed another round of laughter. “Why don’t you go cook us some dinner, little lady. A good fucking always leaves me famished. My men will keep you company, of course.”

You clenched your eyes shut as the leader moved behind you again, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. The woman’s voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver down your spine. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, bastard? ”

“And who would that be? All I see are two little whores begging for a beating.”

“I’m your huckleberry,” said a deep voice from the back room. You whipped your head up, just as two men walked through the door that separated the common room from the rear of the house.

Your breath caught at the sight of them. They were handsome as sin. So beautiful, you began to believe that actual gods had answered your prayer.

The taller of the two had dark blond hair, just covered by a tan cowboy hat. His eyes were the color of the bluest summer sky, accentuated by his deep blue winter jacket, jean trousers, tan riding gloves and chaps. His eyes were anything but friendly as he looked at the enemies surrounding them, but when he shifted his gaze to you, they were filled with a deep remorse that made tears form in your own.

The man next to him spoke, drawing your attention from his partner. “Let the girl go, Hydra scum. Or I’ll rip you apart before you can draw breath.”

His ice-blue eyes seemed to darken with his threat. He was shorter than his companion, but he held a power that one can only gain through hardship. A black cowboy hat partially hid his dark, shoulder length hair. In fact, practically all of his clothes were black, from his jacket to his worn-out boots, except for a hint of bright red that you could see at his collar. Face splattered in blood, he was breathtaking in a primal sort of way, his hands gripping a long dagger crusted with blood, presumably from the guards that had been outside.

“Wow! That was downright animalistic, Tin Man. How long did it take you to come up with that one?” The new voice startled you, but the camaraderie and light teasing in his words put you at ease. It was now a four on four fight and you liked those odds.

Glancing back to the blond fellow, you watched as he rolled his eyes and a small smile graced your lips for the first time in, what seemed like, hours. He saw your smile and grinned back before motioning for you to lay your head down. With a nod, you obliged him and the group lunged into action.

_______________________________________________________________________

When the girl lowered her head back to the table, Steve gave a slight nod to the rest of the group and they all went for a man in the room.

Tony, having walked in at the Hydra thugs’ backs with his gun previously drawn, flipped his heavy volcanic pistol and whacked the one man across the cheek. He fell to the floor unconscious and Tony smiled with satisfaction before going to help the woman on the table.

Natasha simply pulled two throwing knives from the sheath at her hip and whipped them into the second man’s chest, killing him with deadly efficiency. She could have easily taken all four of the men in the room down single handedly, but she hadn’t been willing to give them a chance to kill the woman as retaliation. Preferring to distract them, long enough for the others to step in. It wasn’t her usual style to be cautious, but she didn’t want another woman to be hurt because of her recklessness. With a slight huff and an eye roll, she yanked her blades from the dead body at her feet and walked over to where Tony was untying the woman.

Bucky and Steve fought in unison, keeping the last two men distracted while Nat and Tony freed the woman from her restraints. Exchanging insults to piss off the ring leader and put him off his game. It was exhilarating to fight like this again. With hand and blade, back to back like the best of friends that they were, they would attack and retreat. Like a pair of wolves, exhausting their prey, toying with it before the killing blow.

“I feel sorry for these guys, Buck.” Steve lunged, cutting the first man across the shoulder. His coat had become soaked with blood and sweat beaded on his brow. He stumbled, struggling to land any strikes on Steve, and missed him by a mile.

“Me too. What kind of sorry men they must be to have to rape and pillage to enjoy life.” Bucky countered the Hydra leader’s attacks, blow for blow. He may have been strong enough against a restrained woman, but he was no match for a trained assassin. One of the leader’s attacks faltered, giving Bucky an opening to cut across the man’s thigh. He fell to one knee, struggling to stand again as blood spilled onto the floor beneath him.

“What’s wrong boys? Can’t get it up like a real man?” Steve, having cut the Hydra underling a few more times, parried a weak strike with his sword. He then, stepped into the man’s space and threw a hard uppercut into the man’s jaw, knocking him unconscious and bleeding onto the floor. He wouldn’t last long bleeding as he was, so Steve left him there and joined his partner in finishing off the leader of the group.

Bucky felt a hand brush his shoulder, Steve’s touch pulled him back from the killing edge just enough to see that the woman across the room was safe and sound in Nat’s arms, though the bruise along her jaw almost made him go into another rage. She had the most ferocious look on her face as she stared at the man, on his knees at Bucky and Steve’s feet. Her gaze spoke volumes. It said, “finish him off.” With all the things she had gone through on this night, neither of the men were surprised at her silent request.

With a nod, both men drew back their blades and plunged them into the man’s chest. Blood gurgled in his throat, spilling from his mouth as Steve and Bucky withdrew their weapons, wiped them clean and walked away.

_______________________________________________________________________

You stood there for a moment, watching as the two men killed the leader. The woman at your side held you steady as you glanced back towards the front door and a fresh wash of tears cascaded down your cheeks. “They killed him.”

Looking towards the door with you, the group saw the body that lied there, free of Hydra insignia, it was evident that the man hadn’t been one of the enemy.

“Who was he,” the dark haired man asked. He looked so lost, guilt filled his gaze. As if the attack on your home had been entirely his fault.

You turned back to the group, meeting two sets of sad blue eyes. “He was my brother. The only family I had left after my father died in the war.” The woman’s arms squeezed you a bit tighter as a hand descended upon your shoulder. You looked to the man standing slightly behind you and smiled a watery grin. It was so like something your brother would have done and you were grateful for the kindness in his eyes.

“He took me in when the government took my father’s ranch. They said a woman had no business owning so much land and sent me on my way with just the clothes on my back and my horse.” You chuckled darkly at the memory. “They would have taken my horse too if he wasn’t such a handful.”

The group around you smiled with your admission. “Well, we all have a bit of a thing for difficult horses. My name is Steve Rogers,” he said.

You shook his outstretched hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Pointing to the others in the room, Steve introduced them as well.

“This fiery red head is Natasha Romanov.” The woman in black nodded her head, adding an innocent little wave for good measure, but her eyes spoke of things you could never imagine. You liked her immediately.

“The smart mouthed jokester is Tony Stark. He has a thing for explosives and whining about everything.” You giggled as Tony bowed like a fancy gentleman. He certainly was finely dressed for a cowboy, but who were you to judge a man for his tastes? To each his own, you always said.

“My broody partner here…” Steve continued, throwing his arm around the dark haired man’s shoulders “… is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“James,” you replied, taking his outstretched hand in your own as a blush crept into his cheeks.

“Bucky is just fine with me, Miss.” He smiled at you then, causing your heart to skip a beat. This one was all trouble.

Peering around the room, Steve noticed the snow that had begun to fall outside. “I doubt you will want to stay here tonight, Y/N. Why don’t you pack up some supplies and come back to our camp? We can return in the morning and help you clean the place up.”

“I would like that, Steve. Thank you kindly. I’ll just go grab my things.” Turning towards the bedrooms, you looked over your shoulder at the group of brave souls. “Thank you for saving my life as well. I doubt I would have made it out alive without you all coming to my rescue.”

[catgluue]

What Happens in Xing

I recently hit 100 followers which was super exciting for me! I really appreciate everyone who follows me and/or takes the time to like, reblog, or comment on my writing. It’s a huge motivator and seriously boosts my writerly self-esteem, such as it is.

Anyway this work takes place in my Price of Life/Portrait of a Family AU and so while that context will add to the fic (particularly the last time) it can also be read on its own. 

Read on A03

The royal palace in Xing’s capital city was nothing like Riza had ever seen. It was massive - at least the size of a city block, she thought upon first seeing it, but after walking the perimeter one humid afternoon she figured it would be big enough for the entirety of the small eastern town she grew up in to fit comfortably within its walls. Sections of the palace were clearly older, and at least one wing was walled off altogether, in need of repairs. When she’d asked their guide one day he told her that the palace had stood for at least a thousand years, although maybe not in its current form.

It didn’t escape her notice that she and General Mustang were given rooms several floors higher than the bulk of the Amestrian party; one floor higher even than Major General Kent, who was the other officer overseeing the diplomatic treatises and trade agreements they’d come here to discuss. Ling never came out and said as much, but she was certain that their rooms were some of the nicer ones in the gigantic palace: her room boasted a bed that could have fit three of her, a huge claw-footed tub, and a floor-to-ceiling window that gave her an impressive view of the city. She’d made a point, several times, to get up early and watch the sun rise over the sloping buildings so different from those at home.  

To her immense surprise the official business had been wrapped up around four days into the weeklong trip, at which point General Kent and his men promptly packed up and took the next train out.

“I suppose we’ll be leaving tomorrow as well?” Riza asked General Mustang as they stood on one of the massive balconies that overlooked the city. Nights brought some relief from the wet heat of the day; a gentle breeze blew over the wide river and across the city, making the heavy woolen uniform seem less oppressive.

“Of course not, Captain,” he said mildly. “Our train doesn’t leave for days; it’s far too late to change it now. You might actually have to take some time for yourself and relax a little. I hope that won’t prove too much of an inconvenience.”

Riza didn’t think she’d had a moment to herself to sit and read a book for close to a year and a half now what with the business with the Homunculi, Ishval, and now the Xing excursion.

“Not at all, Sir,” she said crisply, but she was smiling as she met his gaze.

The next few days they drifted around as civilians, generally together as holiday or not she was still his bodyguard, but the amount of Xingese bodyguards lent to them by the Emperor meant that Riza felt comfortable occasionally acting as ships in the night. After all, the museum of alkahestry didn’t particularly appeal to her and the General was none too interested in seeing the wing devoted to the development of gunpowder. At one point Riza looked up from her book across the  sunroom - a space with a glass roof to let light in, and a large fountain bubbling away in the middle that had quickly become one of her favorite haunts - to see Mustang in his shirtsleeves, heavily engrossed in something he’d borrowed from the Imperial library, a cup of tea in his hand. Occupying the same space as him and seeing him rested, at ease, living again was a gift she didn’t deserve but would value anyway. As though he felt her staring he’d looked up and offered a small smile. She blushed and ducked her head to go back to reading her book.

It was the morning of their last full day in the country: tomorrow they would be on the noon train heading back to Amestris. They were originally scheduled to go back yesterday- in fact the bulk of their accompanying military personnel had left - but she and the General, with a handful of soldiers, had stayed. She was standing straight-backed at Mustang’s right shoulder, thinking that if she’d been any worse a soldier she would have snuck a peek at her pocket watch already, when the reason for their delay finally entered the imperial throne room.

It was still strange seeing Alphonse Elric as a human and not as a suit of armor, but it was refreshing to see him looking robust and healthy, not like the frail wisp of a thing he’d been when they put him on the train, barely strong enough to walk on his own after The Promised Day. He and May Chang, now a young woman, made their way up the long carpeted entryway and bowed to the young emperor. Ling rose from his seat, inclined his head, and the ceremony seemed to be over.

“They certainly like processions,” the General murmured, soft enough that only she would be able to hear, while Ling and May said their informal hellos, which seemed to involve quite a lot of teasing, she noted with a smile. There was going to be a parade in a few hours, ostensibly as a homecoming for May, who had been traveling for the better part of a year, but realistically as an excuse for Ling to throw another lavish feast.

“I don’t see the harm,” she whispered back.

“Six feasts since we’ve been here, and this is the third parade,” he muttered. “It’s a little much.”

“Colonel - Oh sorry, it’s General now right? Brother mentioned in one of his letters,” Al said as he approached, offering a hand shyly but not looking at all upset when the older man pulled him into a hug instead. Not something he would have tried in-uniform but technically they were using vacation days for this last leg of the trip. With the exception of the parade later on they were dressing and acting like civilians.

“Hi Captain Hawkeye,” May said a little shyly, and Riza turned to smile at the younger woman.

“Hello May. You’ve gotten so tall,” she said. It was true; though still on the shorter side, May had grown half a foot since Riza had seen her last.

“And pretty,” Mustang added, ever the charmer. Al came over to wrap Riza in a hug and she was struck again by how much things had changed. He was taller than her, broad-shouldered and with a striking similarity to his brother, although even nearing twenty Alphonse’s face remained cherubic. She’d changed too, of course: there were lines by her eyes that hadn’t been there five years ago, and she’d cut her hair off and grown it out again, so that it now sat a little below her shoulders. Recently the heat had her thinking about cutting it as short as she’d had it when they first moved to East City all those years ago. The General was pulling something out of his pocket; a book wrapped in ribbon, and handing it to May. “I brought you something,” he said.

“Oh that wasn’t necessar- OH, General Mustang! Where did you get this?”

“You can call me Roy, and there’s certainly more where that came from, my connection is very reliable.”

“He’s talking like he got that book off the black market,” Riza said to Al, who just grinned.

“He might have; it was banned thirty years ago for the author’s, ah, unconventional ideas.” He wilted immediately under the look she gave him and put his hands up. “Nothing all that bad, promise, he was just before his time where some aspects of medical alchemy were concerned. His ideas are really interesting, if you-” Riza held a hand up.

“I’m afraid anything else is going to go over my head,” she admitted, still eyeing the book. The cover was roughened leather that still bore traces of gold leaf, and everything about this, from May’s reaction to Al’s explanation spoke to the book being very hard to get ahold of and also very expensive.

“How did you know?” May was squealing, arms clamped tightly around the General’s waist, her precious new book in her hands. Alphone grinned broadly as he pried her off of Mustang, standing with an arm casually slung over her shoulders as she turned the book over in her hands.

“I have my sources,” the alchemist revealed, with a wink at Al. “I do try to stay in touch, even though your brother and I have this game where he hangs up on me the first time and I have to wait for Winry to answer the phone and make him take the call.”

“But this must have been so… I mean, thank you very much,” May said. Riza knew enough about nonverbal communication to know that something in the look Al gave her told her to drop the subject. Her own sharp look at the General was met with careful avoidance. There was of course nothing wrong with bringing a gift to an eager young scholar, she reasoned, and let the matter go.

-x-

This was the third parade, but Riza was no less unsettled than she’d been at the first. Parades were liabilities, plain and simple; you might as well paint a target on the back of every person of interest who set foot within a hundred yards of the garish floats and ostentatious musical pavilions. She would have far preferred being a spectator; they milled around eating thornapples and skewered meats and waving miniature pinwheels. She realized suddenly that she hadn’t really been to an event in years that didn’t involve her acting as bodyguard.  

“Stop dancing around me, Hawkeye,” the General muttered after the fourth time she switched from his right side to his left.

“We aren’t properly staffed, Sir,” she replied. “I want to be sure I’m able to spot any possible threats.” He waved a hand dismissively.

“We’re in the center of a platoon of soldiers.”

“And the only ones in Amestrian uniforms in this section of the procession,” she pointed out. “We’re sitting ducks.” Mustang ignored this, tugging at his collar.

“I wish we’d get a move on, it’s sweltering .”

She had to admit it was; wool uniforms and humid summer air didn’t mix particularly well. They’d been in Ishval earlier this year overseeing reconstruction plans but it had been spring and they only had to contend with the dry heat that was more typical of the desert. Here there was no escaping the damp summer air. At long last the parade started moving, snaking its way through the city. They would loop around the outskirts of town and then end up back at the palace. The whole thing would last over an hour.

They were situated at the front of the same float they’d adorned for the previous two parades; a burnished gold monstrosity that Riza supposed was supposed to be a fish. Only this time instead of their military escort they were standing with a handful of Ling’s soldiers, with May seated on an ornately decorated chair reminiscent of a throne that was situated on the dais and Al just below. May had looked slightly uncomfortable at first, but soon adjusted, smiling and waving to the crowd as they trundled along.

With less people there was more surface area and therefore more blinding gold to contend with. Riza resisted the urge to shield her face with her hand as the sun danced across the multifaceted surface. The General looked to be concentrating deeply on something, but as she followed his gaze she didn’t see anything amiss.

“Cenz for your thoughts, Sir?” she asked and he seemed surprised.

“I’m thinking that the second we get back to the palace I’m getting a pitcher of iced wine and sitting next to one of those massive indoor fountains,” he said, and flashed her a grin. “You’re welcome to join me of course.”

She opened her mouth to say that actually they had some reports they could stand to go over and should probably pack as well when there was a sudden flash of movement overhead, and something hot and bright burst inside their float. Instinctively Riza flung her body sideways, into the General, forcing him to the floor and shielding his body with her own. For a few harsh moments she was far away, both in time and place, in a different desert, with a different threat, following the same man. Her breath caught in her throat as she willed herself back to the present, to Xing and the Parade. A few moments of relative silence passed, and she hesitantly looked up to see Alphonse and May also climbing to their feet, May’s ornate chair merrily burning under the ruins of a massive Xingese firework. There was a snort beneath her and she looked down to find that she was nose to nose with Mustang.

“A rogue firework,” he said, regarding the object. She couldn’t tell what exactly he did but a second later the flame was snuffed out, starved of oxygen.

She got to a sitting position, looking around at the crowd, but everyone seemed to be carrying on as usual, the spectacle over. With the sheer amount of explosives Xing boasted this can’t have been the first untimely detonation they’d ever seen. May was standing at the front of the float waving as though nothing had happened, Al at her side.

“You can probably let me up now,” he remarked dryly and Riza looked down to find she was still straddling his midsection. She got to her feet and offered a hand to help him up and he smoothed his uniform down. Was it the heat of the uniforms, or were his cheeks tinged pink? Hers felt hot too and she looked away towards the crowd. How many times had she pushed him aside, or covered his body with her own in times of danger, and yet she had never been as thrown off-kilter by the feeling of their bodies pressed against each other. Even through two sets of uniforms it was a sensation that made her breath catch somewhere behind her sternum.

Stoically she moved a half-step behind him, and the parade went on.  

-x-

After a very long and very convoluted feast, they walked back to their rooms in a comfortable silence.

“You know Captain, I’ve got a bottle of nice Xingese wine and a balcony, if you’d like to watch the fireworks,” he offered. She considered a moment; as the senior officer, his room was nicer. Hers was next door and had a nice large window, but no balcony to speak of.

“All right,” she said, surprising him as well as herself. “Let me change out of my uniform and I’ll be right over.”

She stopped in her room long enough to change into a soft knee-length skirt and hesitated before putting on a lightweight sleeveless shirt she would normally only wear to sleep in, because the top of her tattoo could be seen peeking out of the top. Her hair covered it, however, and the night was warm enough that she’d be glad to wear less fabric. She padded to the connecting door and knocked lightly.

He’d also changed, into a button down and slacks, and handed her a glass of deep purple-red wine as she walked in, which she sniffed at before sipping; they were fond of fortified wine here and so the vintage was peppery with a hint of berries and nutmeg that burned pleasantly on the way down.

“I think they’re about to start-” Mustang was saying, but was interrupted by a loud pop , and a bright display of color and crackling out over the city. Mesmerized, Riza drifted through the room and out the open glass doors to what was admittedly a very nice patio. It was large, with a iron-wrought table and chairs near the doors, a few potted plants, and an actual sofa towards the other end. Bypassing the furniture entirely, she walked to the rail and settled her elbows on it to wait for the next eruption.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she breathed, as Roy came to stand next to her, elbow barely brushing hers.

“I have,” he replied. “Not for years - they used to set off fireworks in Central every year on New Year’s Eve. But they stopped around the time I went to learn under your father.”

“No wonder you weren’t impressed by the sparklers we got from the village,” she mused, lips quirking upward in a smile. He had the grace to look embarrassed.

“I really was quite the insufferable city boy, huh?”

Two more glasses of the heady Xingese wine and they sat on the couch, her leaning up against the pillows with her legs bent over his lap, him sitting upright, absently tracing a finger around the bruising on her knee that had appeared after the scuffle at the parade.

“That was close, earlier,” he said finally, and she looked up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been attacked by a firework before,” she said dryly. “They’re very loud up close.” A warm feeling had settled somewhere in her stomach, courtesy of the wine, the fireworks, and the General’s proximity. The General’s proximity which was… entirely too near, now she stopped to think about it. She made to swing her legs off the couch so they wouldn’t be so entwined, but the weight of his arm across the bend in her legs stopped her.

“Don’t, please. Just… don’t. Let’s enjoy this.”

Normally she would protest out of some sense of country and duty but the wine and the warm summer air had affected her in equal measure, so she sat back against the pillows without another word. His hand that was tracing her bruises drifted up her thighs to trace the end of her skirt, however, and she cleared her throat.

“That was nice of you, to get that book for May. What made you think of it?” she asked, believing that to be an innocent, diffusing question. Diffusing of what, she didn’t quite know, she just had a vague sense of something needing to be doused. He chuckled, and the warm burning in her belly intensified.  

“You’ll think I’m being sentimental but I kind of feel like I owe her one.” At her puzzled look he shrugged. “On The Promised Day, if she hadn’t jumped in to heal you when she did… she saved your life.”

“So shouldn’t I be the one giving her presents?” Riza asked, amused. His eyes were oddly intense, and her smile quickly vanished.

“I almost lost you,” he said seriously, and he reached out, seemingly without meaning to, and caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, and it occurred to her how close they were sitting. “So no, it’s me who owes May Chang a debt I can never really repay.” a firework went up, and popped into the inky black night, illuminating them and for a moment time stood still.

“I’ve always been ready to die in pursuit of our goals,” she breathed, not knowing what else to say, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

“And if that’s what it takes to reach the top, I don’t want it,” he told her firmly. His hand was now resting gently on her chin, and she was surprised to find her own fingering his collar. She wasn’t sure if he was leaning in or if she was, but their noses lightly bumped together and he froze. “Tell me not to,” he said softly, like a prayer.

This was an order she couldn’t obey. She closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his, just as another firework crackled overhead.  This was dangerous, she thought as she slid down on the cushion, using her hands on his collar to pull him down with her, something he was all too eager to comply with, sliding a hand behind her knee to hitch it over his hip. His body was a comforting weight on hers, and made this moment seem weighty and real, a culmination of what she had come to accept as pointless longing for something that needed to remain forever out of reach.

She ran her hand up through the back of his hair, tugging lightly as she kissed him hungrily. He ground his hips against hers and she gasped at the contact, hand resting lightly on the side of his face as he pulled gently away. For a moment they just looked at each other, and she found she was able to read the question in his eyes as easily as ever. Her lip quirked and at her silent response, he bent to trail kisses down her throat.  

She wasn’t sure how they’d managed to make their way back into the room, stumbling into door frames, shucking off clothes as they went. How strange that she’d known him for so many years, through so many triumphs and failures, but yet there was apparently still so much to learn. There was a particular sound he made when she grazed his neck with her teeth that was new, and so enticing she half-laughed as she brought her lips once more to his. Her naked back hit the cool silk of the sheets on his bed and she sighed as he kissed his way down her body.

The light from the fireworks lit the room through the open patio doors, but they hardly noticed, engrossed in each other with the heady desperation of people who were seizing an opportunity that may never come again.

-x-

Riza’s first thought upon waking was that she’d had too many glasses of strong Xingese wine. Her second was that there was an arm securely wrapped around her waist. Her third was that she was completely naked. She made to sit upright but the arm was utterly unyielding, so she settled for covering her face with her hands.

“Oh no,” she said out loud, and the body behind her snorted slightly, shifting under the thin topsheet that covered them.

“Wh- Hawkeye?” for there could be no mistaking her for anyone else he might have taken to his bed; he was face to face with her scarred back. She winced, thinking about the rude awakening that must be.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said tightly. The most embarrassing thing was that they hadn’t had all that much wine. Yes they’d been tipsy and she now felt like she needed to drink a whole pitcher of water, but she remembered everything. Oh how she remembered. She felt heat rush to her face as she rolled over, his arm still around her waist, to look at him.

“Good morning,” he said, eyes meeting hers and then drifting lower. She cleared her throat, studiously avoiding looking anywhere but his face.

“So this was a colossal fuck-up,” she said. “Sir.” He sat up on one elbow, leaning over her as he swept her bangs out of her eyes and leaned in to brush his lips to her neck.

“Mmph,” he said, and she took that as assent. The arm that had been situated across her hips withdrew, and his fingers ghosted over her hips, around to her stomach, and dipped lower, brushing between her thighs. She caught his wrist delicately and pulled his hand upward.

“We can’t,”

“We most certainly can,” he told her, kissing her hotly below her ear, “and have.” She sighed. Well the damage was done, it seemed early enough, and the way he was nibbling her earlobe was causing a familiar warmth to pool behind her navel. Using her legs and the element of surprise she rolled him over onto his back. He ran his hands up her thighs to her hips, grinning up at her wolfishly.

“Once more couldn’t hurt, I suppose,” she acquiesced, and bent to hiss him.

After, as she lay in his arms, both of them covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the panic really began to set in. He cleared his throat, apparently, and as usual, thinking along the same lines she was.

“What now?” he asked, seeming to echo her thoughts. “Do - should we figure out how to continue this when we’re back in Central?” She sat up on one elbow and regarded him seriously, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Do you want to?” she asked. He turned pink and avoided her eyes.

“More than anything in the world, but -”

“Not more than anything,” she finished for him. “I’m glad we agree. We’ve come too far; we’ve lived through too much to risk it.”

“Riza,” he said, and her name on his lips was both foreign and so familiar it made her chest ache and for a moment she couldn’t meet his eyes. “You have to know that I-”  she leaned down and kissed him soundly, her hair falling in a curtain as though to hide this brief moment of weakness on both of their parts from the world.

“Please don’t say it,” she said softly. “It’s going to make it so much harder to forget this.”

“But you know,” he breathed, and she nodded, blinking hard.

“I do. And… me too.”

-x-

Six weeks later Riza stood up from the bathroom floor, wiping her mouth, feeling as though a cold bucket of water had been upended onto her as she thought hard, counting weeks and sinking further and further into a certainty tinged with wild panic. This wasn’t the first time she’d been sick lately, and she had a suspicion it wouldn’t be the last.

She washed her hands robotically, thinking hard.

They had been so concerned with bureaucracy following their… indiscretion, that she hadn’t even stopped to consider biology. That there could be ramifications beyond losing their jobs. Since returning to Amestris they’d been particularly careful not to spend time alone, and a touch formal, and sometimes he looked at her in a way that made her face heat up, but everything had gone back to more-or-less normal. She had thought - they had both thought - that they’d gotten away with it, and they could put it behind them with nothing but a pleasant memory to remember it by.

She pressed a hand to her still-flat lower stomach. What would people say?

Well of course they’d say the obvious. She hadn’t caught wind of rumors regarding her and her commanding officer in years, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there, simmering gently despite no evidence. They had been very careful never to act improperly towards each other. She would have to come up with a plausible story, and furthermore she would need to make sure that the General reacted in a way that spoke of his innocence in the matter.

Riza eyed herself in the mirror; a hard-eyed soldier stared back at her. As much as it made her feel like a hand was clenching around her heart, this child wouldn’t be able to know its father. Riza would do this alone because she had no other choice. She needed to protect him. She needed to protect them both.

-x-

“Hawkeye you have to talk to me.”

It was four days after her in-office revelation, something she had done specifically not to arouse any suspicion, and yet here he was, on her doorstep in the middle of the night, and she had a strong hunch that he’d been at his aunt’s newly reestablished bar. Riza wasn’t sure what she had expected but he hadn’t been taking the news well, she could see it in the lines beneath his eyes in the office today, in the flat quality to his voice when he spoke to her. She opened the door further and waved him inside to avoid making a scene where people might see.

“You’ve been avoiding being alone with me for days, please,” he said, standing in the middle of her living room and looking utterly lost, dark eyes wide and hair mussed.

“I haven’t…” she trailed off - denial was no good, not with him. “I haven’t known what to say to you. It’s a setback, to be certain.”

“A setback , try a disaster! I can’t BELIEVE we didn’t- That I didn’t - ”

“There’s no use blaming yourself. We can’t exactly take it back now” she said quietly, and brushed past him to put the kettle on. When she turned back around he’d sunk down onto her couch and was running a hand through his hair.

“What do we do now? Do we run away to Xing? We could, you know,” he said, looking up but not at anything in particular. “Ling would find a place for us, you could be his bodyguard and I could be Royal Alchemist or Official Firework-Starter, or-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We stay, and we work, and I… I’m going to raise the child of a random Xingese courtier who shall remain nameless.” A knot had settled somewhere deep in her chest and she doubted it would come undone anytime soon. “And if the rumors get to be too much and they threaten your career, I’ll disappear.”

“With my child? Like hell you will,” he said, voice rough. This gave her pause. The clock on her mantle had never sounded so impossibly loud in the stillness of her apartment Slowly, she walked to the couch and reached out, not quite touching, fingertips grazing the fabric at his shoulder.

“You realize it can never be your child,” she told him softly. He put his head in his hands.

“I’m aware.”

She sat next to him and hesitated, before wrapping her arms firmly around his shoulders. He leaned into her, and she let her head fall to gently rest against his. For a while all they did was breathe together, in and out, soothing each other by sheer virtue of being present. A heaviness settled over them and Riza doubted they would have another moment together like this again. She turned her face into his shoulder; she would not cry, not now, not in front of him. There would be time for that weakness later.  

“This is going to be a nightmare,” he said after a moment.

“We can make the most of it.”

“Can I just ask you for one thing?” he looked up at her. “It might be a bad idea under the circumstances but the baby… if it’s a boy, can we name him after Hughes?” This was a bad idea, she thought. It would be the obvious choice for a child of Roy’s. But she had known and loved the man as well, and it couldn’t be seen as that unusual that she would choose to honor a fallen comrade when naming her firstborn. She nodded, running a hand down his arm and lacing her fingers through his.  

“I think we can do that.”

It was a girl, but they named her after Maes anyway.  

[the-writing-dump-bin]

Summer Dress

Caesar Zeppeli/ female reader

SFW

The city looked exactly how you remembered it. The beautiful architectures stood around you; tourist stopped and took pictures.

It had been quite a while since you were home, having left for schooling a few years before. But school wasn't the only reason you left.

When you were younger, you had met a boy with blonde hair and amazingly green eyes. You had became friends with him fast and even developed a crush on him. It seemed he liked you, too, since he came around often to ask if you wanted to hang out. Sitting by the riverbank, surrounded by the nearby sunflower field, he would listen to you talk about your day. Every now and then, he would slide closer to you, looking smitten.

One night, you were walking home from a friends house when you heard something from the nearby alley. A cat digging in the garbage maybe? No, it didn't sound like that. It sounded like a steady 'whack' and then a sickly sticky sound.

Curious, you peeked around the corner to see two men. One man was on the ground, laying motionless. The other stood over him, heaving with laboured breaths and holding a wrench.

A gasp escaped your mouth when you put everything together. The man on the ground had just been murdered by the other man with the tool. Frightened, you backed out of the alley as quickly as you could but you bumped into a trash can, causing a loud crash.

The murderer turned around fast and looked in your direction. You couldn't see who it was since it was dark. Scurrying backwards, you tried to get out of there as fast as possible but he was already making his way to you, bloody wrench in hand.

"No! Stop! Please, no!" You screamed as the man came closer, but he stopped in his tracks when the light from the main street illuminated your face.

"Y/N...?"

That voice. Your eyes widened and you lowered your arms. "C-Caesar?"

Both of you looked mortified.

Caesar dropped the wrench, it landed with a clang to the pavement and he took a step towards you. When the light shone on him, he was covered in blood from the man he just beat to death; you backed away from him when he came forward.

He stopped, realizing that you were petrified from what you just saw. "Y/N, this... I..." He had no excuses. You had witness something that he had tried so hard to keep from you. Holding out his hand, he nervously tried to help you stand.

There was nothing you could do to stop the tears falling from your eyes. You were scared, surprised but most of all, hurt from watching the boy you grew to like, murder someone right in front of you. Backing farther, you stood on your own. You didn't have anything to say to him; you couldn't say anything. Instead, you ran as fast as possible to your house.

Caesar watched you run away, shame running through his body. Leaning against the wall of the nearby building, he shed his own tears; holding his chest as if he were having a heart attack.

He waited a couple days before approaching your house, only to find out that you had moved away to your aunt's. He also learned that you didn't say anything about what you saw. With his head hung low, he had to accept that fact that you were gone and walked back home.

Enough years had passed and you were now back home. Your aimless walking brought you to the fountain in the town square. You always loved coming here; the splashes from the water was cool on your skin.

Just a few meters from the fountain, Caesar was flirting with a woman who was on vacation. He noticed she was having trouble reading the map and offered to show her around, maybe even get dinner. But that was shortly lived as his eye caught the sight of something.

Your sunflower patterned dress blew in the gentle, Italian breeze as you skimmed your hand across the surface of the water.

He couldn't believe it. There you were, his lost love, standing right in front of him. It was like the woman he was talking to didn't exsist anymore. He could only see you.

"Y/N?"

You spun to the mention of your name. When you looked at the man who called you, you were taken with shock and surprise. Caesar sure grew since the last time you saw him, being very broad shouldered and well fit. His hair was a little longer and those emerald eyes sparkled. "Caesar..." You spoke with a hushed tone.

"I-It's... It's good to see you." He caustously stepped forward, not wanting you to run away again.

You still felt scared; the horror of that night replaying in your head. But your heart also called out to him. "You as well."

Smiling, he let out a breath, happy to hear your voice. "I heard you moved away for school. Did that go well?"

"Yes."

Caesar nodded. He could tell you were on guard with him, he didn't blame you for being so scared of the young delinquent he was. "Look, I understand if you're afraid of me, but I want to let you know that that's not me anymore. Something happened after you left and I turned my life around."

When you didn't respond right away, he grabbed your hand, his thumb rubbing the back of it. You wanted to pull away, but your body stayed still; his familiar touch bringing back the wonderful memories you and him shared.

"Have dinner with me, please."

Looking at him, you could see the hope he had in eyes. Once upon a time, you wouldn't have hesitated to spend your time with him. But your view changed when you witnessed what had happened. "Caesar... I don't..."

Caesar gave your hand a small squeeze and let go, head bowing with the same shame he felt that night. "I understand." He said, disappointment wavering in his voice. "It was good to see you again. Goodbye." He turned and stuffed his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way down the street.

Your heart ached while you watched him make his way through the crowd of people around the fountain. You could feel your throat tighten with emotion. Had he really turned his life around from murdering people? You still had feelings for him; those never really could go away. Moving away didn't help either. Though you were riddled with fear from the horror of the night, there wasn't a day where you didn't think of your childhood love. "Caesar! Wait!"

Caesar stopped and turned to see you running towards him, your dress bouncing around you.

"We... We could have dinner." You smiled, but not without feeling nervous about being alone with him.

Caesar's smile was filled with excitement and happiness. "Y/N, thank you. I have so much to tell you. Can we meet around seven?"

"Of course. Where did you have in mind?"

Stepping closer, he caressed your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes. "You know where."

"Caesar!"

The voice of a man shouted from the crowd. He made his way to the two of you. He looked to be the same age and built a little larger than Caesar. "Damn it, Caesar, we have somewhere we need to be. Stop fooling around and hitting on every woman you see!"

"Joseph, shut up!" Caesar hissed. Turning back to you, he chuckled nervously. "Y/N, this is Joseph Joestar, he's...a friend." He seemed pretty reluctant to call him that word. "Joseph, this is Y/N. She's an old friend of mine." He didn't have a hard time call you a friend.

"Hello."

Joseph greeted you but then tugged on Caesar's arm. "Lets go, you girl-crazy maniac."

Your eyebrow raised as looked at Caesar suspiciously. "'Girl-crazy maniac'?" You repeated.

Joseph was a dead man. Caesar stumbled over his words, trying to get the right thing to say. "Um, I may have had a couple of girlfriends in the last few years..."

"Years?" Joseph crossed his arms. "Try the last few days."

Caesar grit his teeth and grabbed the young Brit by his collar. "I swear to god, Joseph, shut the hell up!"

"Caesar..."

He let go of Joseph's shirt and looked back you. Your smile warming his heart.

"I'll see you at seven."

---

Outside the city was were the farm houses resided. It was also where you used to live, but your parents sold the house shortly after you left.

You kicked stones down the dirt road that lead down to the riverbank where you spent a lot of your younger days with Caesar; the tall sunflowers blowing with the wind. The tree that the two of you once shared came into view and you could see the silhouette of his form sitting underneath it.

When you approached, he stood up and greeted you. "I'm glad you came. I made us a picnic, you know, like old times."

A blanket was spread out over the grass, plates and glasses set up neatly by a large, wicker basket. A bottle of wine was also visible. "I don't think we had wine during our picnics." You smirked and sat down.

"Ah, yeah. I guess that was a last minute grab." He sat with you and poured the liquid into the two glasses. "I'm glad you gave me a chance. I really missed you."

"I missed you too." You admitted. "I told everyone that I wanted to leave for better schooling, but we both know why I left."

Caesar couldn't look at you. That man's life wasn't the only thing that was taken that night. After you left, he felt like he himself died as well.

"Listen, Y/N, I'm really sorry for what I did. After my dad left me and my siblings, I turned to crime without thinking of the consequences. When you left, I felt sadness along side my anger. Then something happened and I went to Rome to focus on some training. I left the life of crime and violence behind and started a new life."

"Training? Is that why you're so buff now?"

"Er, um... Yes?"

When you didn't believe him, he showed you something magical. Waving his hands, bubbles formed around you. "Wow." You gasped.

"I went to Rome to hone in on this ability, then I came back here. I met Joseph just a couple days ago. He has a similar power except he can't makes bubbles."

"I like the bubbles." You sipped at your wine.

The setting sun made the beautiful Italian countryside glow with an orange hue. "I forgot how pretty this looked." You said, staring out at the field of sunflowers. "They were your favourite flower, weren't they, Caesar?"

"You remembered." He said with a grin. His finger traced the outline of one of the sunflowers printed on your dress. "They always reminded me of the times we spent here, so they became my favourite. Every time I seen one, I would think of you."

You blushed but then you remembered what his friend Joseph said earlier about him being girl-crazy. "You've grown into quite the charmer these last four years. Tell me, Caesar Zeppeli, how many girls do you bring up here?"

"You're the only woman I would ever come here with, Y/N. This is our spot. No one will take that away."

Turning to you, he took your hands in his.

"There wasn't one day that I didn't think of you. Yes, I've dated and been with many other girls, but none of them ever filled the void in my heart when you left. I don't expect you to forgive me for my past and I wish every day I could take it back if I knew I would end up losing you the way I did. I love you, Y/N. I always have and I always will."

You could tell he meant it just by the look in his eyes. You loved him too and wished you hadn't gone four years without him.

He shuffled closer, just like he used to, and ran his hand over your bare leg.

Your foreheads touched as you stared in each other's eyes lovingly. Then lips connected.

Back in the day, you two had shared your first kiss under this same tree, but it was nothing like this. Are and experience definitely played a factor here.

Caesar's hand began wandering up your back and tugged at the zipper on the back of your dress.

Your own hands started picking away at his clothes when you suddenly realized where you were. "Maybe we should find a more private spot, Caesar. We're kind of out in the open."

Caesar smiled and pulled back. Helping you stand, he guided you into the field of sunflowers. The plants were tall and long enough that it would hide your actions. "I can't think of a better reunion with you, my beautiful sunflower."