#and everyone clapped and i got a glass of warm milk AND an extra hour in the ball pit ect ect

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

Omg i just had a certified liu bei moment. so i was at a club meeting, and we were prepping for our macrame event (learning to tie rope into a net) so we could teach it on the night. Prior to this i had made FOUR FRICKING PAIRS OF STRAW SANDALS (fanfiction research) and the moment that rope touched my hands it was like a sleeper agent hearing their trigger word.

Anyways, i think its really cute that luo guanzhong and i both took one look at liu bei and was like, screw the historical record, what if he liked his old job, actually, and found satisfaction in simple repetitive work. What if he got a sense of accomplishment from the labour of his hands and the knowledge that he was stepping up to help his mother. Single women at the time often formed “craft circles” and weaved/sewed/ect in big groups at each others houses, so they could save money in heating, raw materials, and have protection and companionship. Did he and his buddies have a weaving circle where they gossiped, griped and told tall tales while they sat on a kang? How many times has he wanted to ask zhang fei, guan yu and zhao yun to all sit down and shoot the breeze for a bit, but held his tongue, knowing that there was simply too much to do, and not enough time in the world to do it.

#and everyone clapped and i got a glass of warm milk AND an extra hour in the ball pit ect ect #san guo #liu bei #ok fr my best art tip is to just make as many physical references as possible. make robes out of old bedsheets. #buy some rope and make straw sandals #notice how different clothes change your moment and behaviour

[jrctolkien]

rosemary rolls - one

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: working at a chili’s was the worst thing in the world. luckily, bucky barnes was one of the best things in the world.

Waking up had been a difficult feat that morning, and you had decided to go on a run to wake yourself up. God knows who put that idea into your head as it did absolutely nothing to help.

You were so tired from your run that morning, and still reeling from the sudden change of your hometown to the close-knit community you had recently moved to, that you stood in the quaint bakery you had found yourself in, shuffling forward until suddenly you were face-to-face with a pretty redhead wearing a striped apron and a jaunty paper cap. “Welcome to Frazier Bakery! What can we do to make you feel at home today?”

God, did you hate this corporate crap, even when you were child and hardly knew what it all was. You looked up at the menu board, scanning it. Coffee, muffins, breakfast paninis, smoothies, bagels. You looked back at the smoothie options, looking them over.

“Extra large Blueberry Banana Freeze.” you told her.

“Coming right up!”

She turned, walking over to a row of blenders, and you took another look around you. There were needlepoint samples on all the walls. LIFE’S TROUBLES ARE OFTEN SOOTHED BY HOT, MILKY DRINKS, read one by the sugar, milk, and cream station.  Another one, over by the recycling bins, proclaimed WASTE NOT, WANT NOT. You wondered where they ordered them, and if you could get anything mass-embroidered and framed.

Once you got your smoothie, you went over and took a seat on a faux-leather chair in front of the faux-roaring fire. The title of the smoothie was right: after two sips on your straw, you had a headache so bad you could barely see straight. You put a hand on your forehead, as if that would warm things up, then closed your eyes, just as the front door bell chimed.

“Welcome to Frazier Bakery!!” one of the counter people yelled.

“Thank you!” a voice yelled back, and someone laughed. You were still rubbing your forehead when you heard footsteps, then, “y/n?”

You opened your eyes, and there was a familiar face. Of course it would be him. Who else would it be?

“Bucky.” You greeted coldly.

Bucky peered at you a little more closely. “You okay? You look like you’ve been-”

“It’s just a brain freeze,” You said, holding up the cup as evidence. “I’m fine.”

You could tell that he was not fully convinced, but thankfully, he didn’t push the issue. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were here, least of all a Friend of Frazier.”

“A what?”

“That’s what we call the regulars.” He waved at the redhead, who waved back.  “Hold on, I’m just grabbing a Freaking Everything and a Procrastinator’s Special. Be back in a sec.”

You took another tentative sip of your smoothie, watching as Bucky walked over to the counter before ducking behind it. He said something to the redhead, who laughed, before grabbing a muffin out of the case and then poured himself a huge cup of coffee.  He then pushed a few buttons on the till, slid in a fiver, and took some change out, which he deposited into the tip jar. After waving at the redhead, Bucky started back over to you.

Good lord, you thought, grant me strength. Before Bucky could begin talking again, you quickly stood up and dashed out the door to your car. She had been given to you by your mum when you were 16, and had been promptly named Super Shitty due to her, well, super shittiness.

Bucky was your friend back when the two of you were kids, inseparable.  Then Steve had been rescued by Bucky from a fight in a back alley and all hell had broken loose. From the get-go, you didn’t get along with Steve: the two of you were constantly disagreeing and throwing shade n the opposite directions. After awhile, you had just stopped with Bucky, and you’d held a stupid grudge on the two until a couple months ago. If you were going to be living in the same small town as the two, you might as well try and get over your teenage years.

And now Bucky was a regular -or, as he dubbed it, a ‘Friend of Frazier’- at the only bakery that was en-route to your new place of work.

Thoughts of Bucky filled your head as you made your way to work. By the time you had arrived, your horrible drink had been finished and you had a stonking headache.  

  You had found the restaurant by accident, pulling into it’s car park to take a breather from the torrential rain. It was warm and inviting, with faded red walls and windows that let off the warm glow from inside.

Jobs were a rarity in this town, and you were on the hunt for one after moving into your shared home the previous month. Seemingly, the only places hiring were a stationary company and a loud, vibrant coffee shop. Neither of them interested you, nor did the measly pay they both offered.

You hadn’t decided to go into the shop looking for  job, more looking for a space to have a nice coke in the warm. Luck was on  your side that night, however, and you had immediately inquired about the 'Hiring!’ sign posted in the front door. After a couple days of waiting, you had received a call informing you of your start on Monday.

Anxiety flowed through your veins as you stepped into the restaurant. Being that it was only just past 9am, you weren’t surprised to see it as empty, sans a lone redhead sat at the bar with her face scrunched up.

“We’re shut.” She said after a few seconds, looking up at you. “Can’t you read?”

Eyes widening, you stammered, “Um, y-yes. I start today.”

With an almost silent sigh, the girl stood. “I’m Natasha from behind the bar.”

“Y/n.” You replied. “From down the road.”

Natasha’s eyes twinkled with what you assumed to be amusement before she motioned for you to follow her.  “You’ll probably be waiting, but will undoubtedly have to work bar some days. Tips of the trade, mama: do not use the ice dispenser, get it from the freezer that stores the ice pops. The dispenser will turn off the electricity. Pepper’s looking into it but corporate doesn’t have enough money to spare.”

“Pepper is….”

“Our boss.” Natasha finished. “Tony was originally, but he gave the position to Pepper a year after they first met. He is wrapped around her finger.”

“Do not take my name in vain, spidey!” A cheerful voice made you jump as a familiar man came out of the kitchen doors. Tony was the one to interview you for the job, and had seemed like someone you would want to be friends with. 

“Don’t call me that, Tony.” Natasha said firmly, and you couldn’t help but think that this was a recurring thing. “This is y/n.”

Tony’s eyes flicked to you and you smiled. “Hey.”

“Woo, woo, woo! First day!” Tony cheered and you saw Natasha roll her eyes.

“I wish god was in this chilis.” sighed Natasha and a burst of laugh came from you, a single 'Ha’.

Tony’s hand clapped you on the shoulder suddenly. “Let’s get this day started, shall we? I’ll have Sam show you around.”

 "That,“ Sam said ,"is Wanda. She makes the best cocktails in town.”

Sam had been introduced to you quickly, but you had immediately connected to the man and his funny banter as he showed you around the Chili’s complex.

The auburn woman Sam was referring to looked up and, with a squeak, Sam ducked down behind a chair. “I think she can also read minds.” He hissed and you chuckled.

“Samuel Wilson!” Wanda shrieked, shaking a wooden spoon in your direction. “Stop talking about me to the new girl. I’m Wanda Maximoff, world renowned chef and all-around good person.”

“You work in a goddamn Chilis!” Sam guffawed and Wanda glared at his back.

The two of you continued, Sam talking faster now with the lunch rush steadily approaching. “You’ve already met Natasha, of course. She can work a knife like nobody’s business.”

This didn’t surprise you. Natasha seemed like the type of person that could snap a bone in half without even blinking. You wouldn’t hesitate to admit that she already scared you, even after only knowing her for a couple hours.

“Bruce has anger issues.” Sam pointed to a short man with glasses low on his nose. He was in the middle of tying up his apron and shot Sam an exhausted look. “He does marijuana. Prescribed. Sometimes he let’s me hit it when he’s not looking.”

“When he’s not looking.” You snorted, nodding your head.  “Your brain cells, gosh.”

Sam winked at you. “Those three over there.” You looked into the direction of his finger and your heart immediately sank. “Steve, the blonde one with short hair used to be 5'7, less than 100 pounds. He had a growth spurt when he was 20 and only Bucky knows why. He’s the brunette one. Absolute monster at typing, can do 100 words in under a minute.”

“Wow, real talented people here.” You chuckled. Steve had actually bulked up at 17, just after his mother passed away. It had been an extremely cold winter, stealing souls all over the country, including Ms. Rogers. Her funeral had been a somber affair, and neither Steve nor Bucky could be found at the wake afterwards.

“Yeah, Bucky basically does everyone’s reports around here. You see those two over there,” Sam moved his arm lazily in the direction of Natasha, who was sat next a mousy haired man. “Natasha, of course, but also her best friend Clint. He can fit 134 M&M’S in his mouth. Up until recently, he couldn’t fit 60 in there, but then Nat broke his jaw and bam! It was suddenly a black hole.”

“That’s what she said!” You joked. “No, that’s what he said.”

Sam looked at you for a second and you wondered if you had said anything wrong, before he laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “Thor, the one in between Steve and Bucky, can bench press both of them at the same time.”

“The same time!?”

“The same time.”

“Alrighty, Sam.” A soft voice said from behind the two of you. “Lunch rush soon, please stop traumatizing the new kid with your stories of Clint.”

“But Pep..” Sam whined at the sophisticated looking ginger in front of you. Pepper, your boss, was wearing a white suit, free of wrinkles. At Sam’s words, Pepper pursed her red lips.

“Work.” She ordered and Sam groaned, trudging off. “I’m not sure if Tony told you, but this is a no-nonsense workspace. We would like you to respect both your co-workers and your customers. If you ever need anything, you’re welcome to talk to me, or any of the team: if you talk to Maria, our HR leader, she’ll keep it purely confidential.”

“Ok.” You squeaked. “Thank you, ma'am.”

Pepper smiled slightly. “Call me Pepper, sweetie.”

As Pepper walked away from you, you could feel the impending doom of lunch at a Chilis whilst working alongside your childhood best friend. Boy, was it going to be a long couple of months.

@tonyintexas @steveeology @eyesofgoldenambers @crashhmycar @txmhoelland @driftingbarnes @wazzupmrstark @shurisneakers @definitely-not-black-cat @laureharrier @puppy-barnes

#bucky x you #bucky fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky fanfic #rosemary rolls #my writing #rr #bucky barnes

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter One

A/N: Well, it’s here, everyone! The moment you’ve all been (unwittingly) waiting for! Our entry for the @ts-storytime Big Bang! This took a lot of work, but we hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it! Each new chapter will be coming out every 20 minutes, provided the schedule works properly, to save your dashes! ^-^;; We have sixty four chapters plus an epilogue to upload save us!

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

November 1st, 2017

“This will be your new home, Roman,” the man from Child Services said with a too-bright smile. Roman looked around. The walls weren’t rotting away, and the ceiling wasn’t falling apart, but something felt off about the place, like he wasn’t welcome. “Any last questions before you get settled in?”

Roman mutely shook his head. He was eleven years old, he knew when he needed to shut up, and he definitely needed to right now.

The man clapped him on the back and left, and Roman turned to the man and woman who he only knew as Mister and Misses Wright. Misses Wright’s smile dropped the second the man left. She directed him to the kitchen and shoved a mop in his hand. “You start cleaning,” she directed. “You can get unpacked when you’re done with your chores.”

December 20th, 2018

Roman shivered in the cold rain that had settled in to stay for a while. For hours, he had been searching for someone who could give him directions to the home he was looking for, someone who wouldn’t call the cops on an unattended child. The last thing he wanted was for his biological father to be in trouble for not supervising a kid he didn’t even know he had.

The sky was gloomy as Roman looked up, staring at the numbers hanging above the awning in front of the house. He looked back at the paper in his hand. Yes, this was the place. But what was he supposed to say? “Excuse me, Mister, you don’t know me but I’m your son and I could use a place to stay”? He didn’t want to impose.

And yet, here he was. Desperate enough to ask a stranger for help. At the very least, it had to beat the storm drain he had been sleeping in last night. He was fairly certain if he had to do that again he’d get rabies from a raccoon, or maybe a fox. And who knew how many rats lived in those things?

He had been staring at the house for too long. He turned away quickly, fully intending to leave. It was unlikely someone was home, anyway. It was the middle of the day, and though Roman couldn’t remember what day of the week it was, he knew it was more likely to be a weekday than a weekend. As he was walking away, though, he heard a door open and a man call out, “Excuse me?”

Heart soaring with hope, Roman turned around to find a man wearing thick-rimmed black glasses and a sweater vest run out of the house and to the fence. “Young man, are you lost? I couldn’t help but notice you were wandering around earlier. I might be able to help you.”

Roman cleared his throat and walked back over to the man, standing at the edge of his small yard. The townhouse behind the man was small, but looked inviting enough. This wasn’t a bad place for his father to live, provided this man even was his father. “Are you Mister Picani?” he asked, his voice trembling, betraying his worry.

The man blinked and adjusted his glasses. “Uh...yes. Who are you?”

Now or never, Roman supposed. “Uh...my name is Roman Jackson. I don’t know how to say this, but...uh...I think you’re my father.”

Mister Picani stood there in shock for a second, before pushing his glasses up his nose and frowning. “Where is your mother, then?”

Roman looked down at the ground and scuffed his shoe, trying to form the words that refused to leave his throat. His eyes stung, and he couldn’t get the proper explanation to come forward, so he forced out the next best thing. “She, uh...she abandoned me, sir. Couldn’t take care of me any more.”

“Oh, dear,” the man muttered. “Well, no use standing out here in the wind and rain. Why don’t you come inside? We can talk more over a cup of hot chocolate.”

Roman felt his hammering heart settle just a fraction. “Thank you, sir.”

“No need to call me sir, Roman. You’re free to call me Mister Picani, or Emile,” Mister Picani said, walking back towards the house.

Roman followed after him, walking in and looking around. The house was small, but filled with warm light. The walls were littered with cartoon posters and photographs. One of them which was hanging in the doorway, was of two men, both in tuxes, standing in front of who Roman assumed was a Justice of the Peace. “You’re married?” he asked, pointing to the photo.

“Yes, that’s my husband Remy,” Mister Picani said with a fond smile. “He’s the entrepreneur of his own coffee shop in the middle of town. Have you heard of Sleep Easy?”

Roman shook his head. “No, sir.”

“It’s a play on the term speakeasy. The joke is that his coffee is so good, it should be illegal. Not to mention he’s big on irony.” Mister Picani shook his head. “I love that man, and I’m so proud that he followed his dream and started his own coffee shop.”

Roman nodded as Mister Picani looked over to him. Inside, though, he felt guilt eat at him. This man had a whole entire life without him interfering. He didn’t want to cause trouble, but it seemed like that was exactly what he was doing.

The two walked into the modest but inviting kitchen and Mister Picani gestured for Roman to sit at the island in the middle. He brought out milk for the hot chocolate and asked, “Do you mind if I microwave it? I want to warm you up faster, though if you want me to bring the milk to the right temperature in a saucepan I can do that too.”

Roman shrugged. “You can do whatever you want, Mister Picani, I’m not picky.”

Mister Picani smiled softly and said, “I know you may not want to inconvenience me, but I really don’t mind putting in the extra effort if you would prefer it that way.”

Roman fiddled with his hands, feeling his heart ache at the reminder of what his mother used to do for him, back when she was around to care for him. She would take extra steps to ensure that he got what he wanted, too. “The microwave works, Mister Picani.”

He nodded and put the milk in a mug, and then proceeded to microwave it. “We’ll see if Remy ever forgives me for this,” he laughed. “He’s very particular about making many different drinks, and hot chocolate is one of them.”

Roman shifted on his chair, saying nothing. He didn’t know what to say. His heart kept thudding, and he kept waiting to hear that Mister Picani was going to call the police, or Child Services, or otherwise cart him off to someone else, who would inevitably send him back...back there. The place he swore he would never go back to.

“So, tell me a little about yourself, Roman,” Mister Picani said, pouring in hot chocolate mix to the milk and stirring it with a spoon.

Roman took the hot chocolate gratefully and let his fingers warm up from the mug. “Well...I’m twelve years old,” he said hesitantly. “I...I went to school for a while, until the sixth grade. Then...then everything kinda fell apart.”

Mister Picani winced. “You’re about the age to be in seventh grade. Did your mother not enroll you?”

Roman swallowed. “No. She...she wasn’t around to. I had to spend all my time...I don’t like to think about it.”

“You had to spend it getting by?” Mister Picani asked. “Making sure you got food, water, shelter?”

Roman nodded. That was close enough to the truth. No one ever bothered to put him in school. After all, someone had to take care of the younger kids. Considering that the people who were specifically assigned to do that were either too drunk or too angry to do anything useful. “But...but I remember a lot of what I did learn before, and I’m hoping to get back into school again sometime soon. Uh...my favorite color is red, if that’s important at all, and I really love fairy tales. Princes and princesses and castles and dragons. I know I might be a little old for that, but...”

“No such thing as too old,” Mister Picani said with a smile. “All those cartoon posters and paraphernalia you saw are mine. I wasn’t even aware I have a child or children until today.”

Roman relaxed a little bit at that. Before he was always mocked for liking fairy tales, but at least Mister Picani didn’t judge. “Cool.”

“Indeed,” Mister Picani said, grabbing another mug. “I hope we have another hot chocolate packet around here...”

The front door opened and a booming voice called, “Emile! Honey, you are not going to believe what Miss Fleming said today...” he trailed off as he caught sight of Roman.

Mister Picani looked like a deer in headlights for a quick second before recovering. “Remy, this is Roman. He’s...uh...well, he’s my son.”

Remy stood there for a moment, and Roman felt like he was being sized up. Then, he broke out in a wide grin. “I told you so, Emile! I told you that you’d be a catch for any lady at the sperm bank! Small wonder someone used it!” He held out his hand for Roman to shake. “Remy Picani. Husband of the dork over there. You can call me Remy.”

“Roman Jackson,” Roman said, shaking Remy’s hand.

Remy turned to Mister Picani-or, they were both Mister Picani, so...Emile?-and laughed. “Emile, please tell me you were not microwaving milk for hot chocolate again!”

“Well...the kid looked cold, and I wanted to warm him up fast, so...” Emile shrugged.

“All right, all right. I’ll give you a pass just this once,” Remy said with a grin. “So, uh...where’s the kid’s mom? Bathroom, or something?”

Roman felt a sharp pang in his chest and his breath caught. “His mom’s no longer in the picture, Remy,” Emile said. “I’m honestly not quite sure what to do.”

Remy hummed. “Well, that is a predicament. How about you two get situated in the living room and talk for a bit, watch cartoons, whatever. Emile, I’ll make sure that you get your hot chocolate, and I’ll make some calls. I’m pretty sure Sarah McGee’s a social worker who could lend us a hand figuring out what to do.”

Roman felt an icicle of fear stab him right in the chest. He didn’t get away from there just to be sent back! “You’re...what are you going to do?” he asked, his voice once again taking on that soft, trembling tone.

“Kid, if you’re okay with it, and Emile’s okay with it, we’ll be taking you in, at least for a little while. Until we can figure out what exactly is going on,” Remy said. “Because I don’t care why your mother is no longer around. Everyone deserves a home.”

Roman’s eyes grew hot and he smiled. “You really mean that?”

“Remy doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean,” Emile said simply. “Come on, let’s go to the living room. We can see if there’s anything on TV you might want to watch.”

Roman nodded and followed Emile into the living room, getting settled on the couch with his hot chocolate. He curled up on it and took a long sip of the liquid, letting it warm him to the core.

“You know, you’re very lucky the weather is somewhat warmer outside than usual,” Emile said. “So close to Christmas, usually it’s dipping somewhere into the twenties, not in the low forties.”

“Cold is cold is cold,” Roman said, taking another sip. “I appreciate the hot chocolate.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Emile said with a smile, turning on the TV. “I have a couple cartoons saved on the DVR. Do you mind cartoons?”

“No, cartoons are great,” Roman said, taking another long sip of his hot chocolate.

Emile nodded with a smile, and pulled up Avatar: The Last Airbender to play, from the first episode. Roman was soon caught up in the show, finishing his hot chocolate quickly. He barely noticed when Emile patted his knee and got up. When the first episode ended, he put on another, figuring that Emile wouldn’t mind. By the end of the third episode, however, his fatigue was catching up to him, and he began drifting to sleep to the sound of the ending credits.

He fell into a dreamless sleep, hoping against hope that when he woke up again, that this wasn’t just some crazy dream he had thought up somewhere along the way that he had escaped.

Tag List (Only putting this on the first chapter to spare you guys the spam!): @loganpatton​ @lilbeanblr​ @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever​ @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath​  @rjmeta​ @ambersky0319​ @anni-cat-flower​ @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @rose-gold-roman

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #TS-Storytime 2019 Submission #roman sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #our creations #danger gays

[thebradburyproject]

Week 1 - “The Red Fiddle”

Curiosity is a dangerous word, but such a pretty one. So very inviting. Always tempting. And believe me, I know what I’m talking about when it comes to temptation. Seen it more than most folks, that’s for sure. Not only seen it, though, but heard it, and that’s where the danger truly lies, as anyone who’s ever listened to a really good song can tell you. Musicians are something else. They’ve got some magic on their fingers, that drives even the most sane person to do some foolishness they’d never dream of otherwise. But I’m not talking about some random guy, here, about Jack-nobody and his guitar. No. The musician I’m describing is much, much more than that. And the things he could do...

You see, one day, this man showed up at the bar, and no one could take their eyes off him. And then he took this bright red fiddle, and made everyone forget that we hadn’t had good crops or good business for months, forget how tired everyone felt from fixing the roofs after the latest wind, forget everything bad. We danced, and drank, and laughed for who knows how long - a song? An hour? A week? - and then we clapped, and cheered, and asked him his name.

“You can call me Hale”.

And his voice was as pretty as him, almost as pretty as that of the fiddle. I caught myself smiling along with him, and so did everyone else, as we welcomed Hale into our hearts. At the end of the night, he took one of the girls by the hand - a lovely twenty-something, all giggles and curves -, whispered into her ear, bowed to the room, and they left together, to collective delight.

Next morning, the town was back to normal. Hale and the girl, however, were nowhere to be seen. Two days went by, than three. I worked my shifts at the same bar, and tended to my tiny land and half a dozen animals. As I finally had some extra milk and could make cheese, on the sixth day I wrapped one in cloth, and made my way to the girl’s house - her family usually bought my products, and I wanted news as much as anyone. They were all very polite, of course, while I was there. No, there were no news. Yes, she was still gone, and they believed she’d ran away with that handsome musician. Yes, they wanted cheese, thank you, Helen, you’re always so good to bring it personally. Yes, they’d be sure to stop by if there were any news, of course. Thanks again. Good bye.

One week after the disappearance, as I worked my shift, Hale showed up again, by himself, and again everyone was taken by him. The scene repeated itself: he’d let us admire him for a bit, than get his beautiful red fiddle, and proceed to play for some unknown time, taking all our minds away from anything that wasn’t him, his beauty, his music and the happiness he brought us. This time, as dawn was drawing near, it was the seamstress’ middle son that he took away with him - in his twenties, just like the first time, and just as lovely. Once again, everyone cheered the lad for his luck.

And, once again, day after day we waited, but no one came back during the whole week. The boy’s father stopped by the bar to ask for news of the fiddler every day, eyes tearstained and swollen, but we knew nothing. The family of the girl who had gone before was now desperate, not knowing what had happened to their daughter. The entire town united to try and help them, to hang posters around, to ask relatives in nearby villages, or simply to be kind however possible.

It didn’t matter how gloomy or hopeless, how downstruck we all felt before, the second Hale entered the bar, the only thing in anyone’s mind was him. Even after he left, week after week, taking one by one the youths from town, it was hard for us to think of him as guilty of more than being beautiful, tempting, as the seamstress put it.

***/***/***

I was the first to dare accusing Hale of any wrongdoing. Maybe it was the work at the bar, which meant being present to every single performance. Maybe it was just plain old cynicism. But the day my cousin knocked on my front door, looking tired and drained, asking to stay with me for a while, because their wife was taken, and the emptied house was just too depressing, something inside me snapped.

“Come inside, hon. And of course you can stay here, for as long as you need.”

“Thanks, Helen”.

I hugged them, and felt the whisper more than said it.

“Curse you, Hale, and your magic”.

My cousin looked up at me, eyes huge in surprise, head moving first as if to deny it, but finally settling in a resolute anger, and a nod.

“Yep. Curse you, Hale, and your bloody fiddle”.

***/***/***

After that, it became a saying, a curse to be uttered every so often. “Curse you, Hale, and your bloody fiddle”, or simply “curse your bloody fiddle”. People tried blocking his path to the bar, once, but he talked to each of the guards, laughed, flirted, and, by the time he got to the inside, they were part of his captive audience. Someone attempted hiding outside to follow him, but his song spread through town equally. No earplugs worked either, or cotton, or wax.

Two months had gone by, when the first body was found.

A lad went further than usual into the woods looking for his boyfriend, searching for a clue where people usually stayed clear of. Like most everyone here, all muddied and disturbed, the first place he entered was the bar, trembling like a twig on the wind, and clutching something inside a coat on his arms. The half a dozen patrons rushed over, and so did I, putting warm clothes on his back and trying to pry away whatever it was that made him so weary. In the process of passing between eager helpful hands, however, the bundled coat opened, and its contents fell to the floor, soon followed by the boy himself, dropping to his knees as we all stared in shock at the rotten hand and twisting maggots at our feet, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably with the sobs he’d held all the way there.

It turned out the hand belonged not to the lad’s boyfriend, but to the first girl, her mostly decomposed body still somewhat recognizable. Heavy of heart and soul, we combed the nearby wooded areas, finding the remains of the others, each in a different place, sometimes mostly in one piece, sometimes torn to shreds by wild beasts. My cousin’s wife was found in the center of a clearing, right hand cut off like with all others, belly bitten into by something and discoloured entrails pooled around her, eyes eaten by some bird or another. That day, I took home a couple of bottles from the bar, and we drained them to the last drop.

Meeting Hale after that became an even grimmer experience. Having our will completely drained from us, and falling in love with our murderer for the evening, only to scream and cry in pain, anger and frustration the next day, looking for his victims. After week ten went by, we found a new kind of death from the fiddler’s visits, in the form of the seamstress’ husband, found hanging in his study. Fear was rampant, with relatives, friends and lovers urging anyone in the age group that had been so strongly victimized to simply leave, taking horses and carriages from whomever necessary. And some did. But there were still crops on the fields, and animals that couldn’t be moved. Most of us had just enough to get by in a good year, and this had not been one of those. Some people on their twenties had young kids, or elderly relatives. Hell, I might not have anyone other than my cousin, but with the money I’d saved, the chances here with a maniac were better than starving in a nearby city.

What I did realize, though, between the twelfth and thirteenth weeks with no solution, were two things: the first was that my cousin was probably, objectively speaking, the loveliest prospect victim currently in town. The second, that a very, very small part of me finally managed to think near Hale. Those realizations didn’t come all at once, of course. After the performance was finished at the bar, and Hale left with victim number twelve (her hair curly and full, moving ever so gracefully as she waved), I looked around, smiling and laughing with everyone, still gleeful, and spoted my cousin dancing near the corner, tall and freckled, their movements swift and attuned with the song, their eyes sparkling. And Hale would be crazy not to choose them soon, I tought, and raised my glass.

So I gathered all my savings, packed my only horse with every useful thing that it could take, and sold the younger of my two cows (if there were tears, no one other than her saw them), adding the money to the pile. All that I gave to my cousin, not accepting their protests or words on the contrary. Their house had been rented, their worldly possessions were even less substantial than mine. In the end, I simply held their hands, allowing them to see exactly how worried I was.

“You’re next, Will. I’m sure of it. So, you’re gonna take all that, and just go. Don’t look back, don’t worry about anything other than following the road, and getting to a place where you’re safe, and settled. Then - and only then! - you find someone to send me a message. Ok?”

Tears were now running free as they clutched my hands like a lifeline, trying to keep the words steady.

“But.. But Helen… And you? What will you do?”

I lifted the corner of my mouth, faking a confidence that I didn’t have, saying the words I knew would make Lou go, even if by saying it I was committing to my own demise, regardless of it being, then, nothing but a lie.

“Well, hon, it’s high time someone kills that bastard, don’t you think?”

***/***/***

The thirteenth night came two days after Lou went away. Part of me was scared that Hale wouldn’t show up, that he’d somehow found my cousin on the road and gotten them anyway. Like clockwork, however, there he was, glorious as always, smiling his blinding smile, flirting with the world. For a second, nothing was changed on the routine: he’d come, we’d admire him, than he’d play, and after we’d all party until he chose his victim.

Blame it on the relief, blame it on the sentence uttered as a goodbye but, this time, instead of being paralyzed, in awe and blank of mind, the moment I saw him, the first thing I could think was good, Hale actually came!. So, I did what anyone would do when seeing someone they’re happy to have around, and waved.

The fiddler’s eyes focused on me, and he tilted his head, appraisingly, as he waved back with an even bigger smile. I considered winking, or flirting with him, but thought better of it. If I did so, there was a good chance he’d take me along at the end of the evening and, as brilliant as that seemed, what I was happy was in having him there. So, I should help him feel comfortable there, instead. Maybe he’d even stay for good? That would be the best thing ever.

As a debated within myself, things went back to normal. The red fiddle made its appearance and, while it was played, nothing else mattered. The things I’d been thinking fizzled out of existence, unimportant again. Only a couple of hours after he’d stopped did I start thinking again, serving drinks with the same fixed idea of keeping him there. Part of me was screaming, saying something I couldn’t understand, begging me to keep him where he was. To keep him there, and maybe to take a look at his fiddle…?

Before I could investigate this line of thought, and anything else could come of it, however, he started getting up, holding the hand of my boss’ kid, their pristine white hair always contrasting prettily against the wooden surfaces around. Without thinking, I lifted my hand towards him, as if asking to be taken along as well. He laughed, and everyone else along (me, included; how not to, when it was Hale laughing?).

“Next time, maybe. Today, milady, I’m already spoken for”.

He bowed, and the couple left. As per usual, it took about thirty minutes for the screams of joy to become those of despair, time enough for him to leave the town and disappear as if by magic. This day, I didn’t yell, or curse, or run straight to the woods. Instead, I walked, calmly, slowly, home, and planed Hale’s next visit.

***/***/***

When he showed up for the fourteenth and, I hoped, last time, my head was even clearer than the previous time. As everyone stared, I raised a glass to him, and drank from it, staring into his eyes. He raised an eyebrow as the smile once again grew, blood-red fiddle going to his hands, song filling the air. My objective, today, was not to make him feel at home. I wanted to be taken, to go with Hale. I didn’t want to be left behind again. So, all through the night, I danced with him, and touched his hair, and sat as close as possible. We drank, and flirted, and I sang. Nearing dawn, he put his arm around my waist, and whispered on my ear.

“Well, milady, you’ve done it today. Come with me to where music is born.”

And I took hold of his other hand myself, as we walked to the exit, hearing the chorus behind. The city was silent, but we talked about songs we liked, and about the events of that evening’s party, giggling like teenagers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the compulsion to take his fiddle away from him was growing again, but I reined in, not wanting to spoil our date.

As we stepped out of the outskirts of town, and into the woods proper, I looked behind, quickly and out of curiosity at the sudden change in the wind, and saw no sign of any buildings or roads: there were nothing there but trees. Grinning, I looked back at him.

“And how did you do that?”

He laughed again, running a hand through my hair.

“Well, my dear, don’t you know by now? It’s magic. But, you have a smart mouth on you, don’t you? Most people don’t ask anything of me.”

More of my head was clear now, enough so that I could actually start remembering that, yes, I definitely needed him not to play that fiddle near me again. Enough that I could, be it a little, remember Lou leaving. Still, Hale was touching me, and his face was so beautiful, that I couldn’t imagine making him mad. I leaned in, slowly, drawing him close all the while, and told him in a whisper:

“There’s a lot of things this smart mouth knows how to do, not only talk. Want me to show you?”

He chuckled, and all the amusement in the universe dripped from his voice as he stepped away - not a lot, just enough for us to stop touching and for him to have better mobility as he reached back.

“God, I wish I could keep you. You’re way too fun for just one use. But my fiddle needs its food, milady, and I’ve only got you here…”

He took the instrument. From close, I could see that the colour wasn’t as lively as before, as if by playing some of the red had been stripped away. With the hand that wasn’t busy with it and the bow, he reached inside an inner coat pocket, drawing a, impossibly long and sharp knife, decorated like a dagger. Everytime he looked into my eyes, the clarity I felt lessened. Hale looked at me again, ant took my right hand in his, placing it on the fiddle.

“Well, no point in dragging things, dear, is there? Hold this. Let’s start.”

Before he could do anything, I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed him. He went from startled to passionate in an instant, allowing me my small victory. I started tugging at his coat, trying to remove it, and he let me, letting go of the bow, that fell to the ground, forgotten. I made it so that my left hand found naturally the one that had his knife, even as, still clutching the fiddle with the other, I gestured with the instrument for him to remove his shirt. For a second he seemed conflicted, looking at the knife on his hand, but I pressed my body closer to his, drawing a goan from him even as I spoke again.

“I’ll hold it for a second. You don’t want to cut yourself and get blood on those clothes, do you?”

It was enough. He handed me the knife, and pulled the bottom of the shirt up, intending to remove it up his head. All the time with my eyes closed, combined with this brief barrier, though, were what I needed. Finally free from his spell, quicker than I’d ever moved before, I stabbed him with his knife one, two, three, four times. As his arms went limp, and he tried to act, I kept on stabbing, frantic now, even after he fell. Fourteen times I stabbed him, until finally I stopped, breathing hard, as I felt something different from the fear and relief and desperation.

In my mindless state, I kept on holding the fiddle. Now, its bottom rested against the mess that had once been Hale’s chest. I watched as the wood sucked in the blood, renewing its colour once again, feeding on the life force of its former master. And I could feel the power resonating from it, inviting me to play, to take it for me. After all, what did I have to lose? And, if I did, they’d all love me unconditionally. They’d worship me, if so I wanted. All I had to do was touch the bow to the strings, and feed the fiddle when it got hungry. It was so very easy. No more struggling to get by, no more thin months when I had to count my food oh-so-carefully. And I just had to…

In a swift movement, I smashed the fiddle against the ground, hitting it again and again until its voice didn’t talk anymore. Just to be on the safe side, I jumped on it a few more times, and broke the bow in two. Red blood drained from the wood, that became gray and old. I strapped the knife to my waist, using some of his coat as a makeshift sheath. Than, and only than, I turned and started to make my way through the woods, looking for the path home and murmuring under my breath:

“Curse Hale’s bloody fiddle and curse the fiddles bloody tongue.”

#my writing #short story #the red fiddle #the bradbury project #week one #this could have gone better but...

[insomniac-arrest]

Edges of Ink

pairing: Diana/Akko lwa

words: 6k

summary: Akko is a popular tattoo artist who specializes in Chariot card tattoos, Diana is a college girl who keeps walking in (and then out again)

Diakko Tattoo artist AU

Ao3

It was March fourth. Diana’s hands were practically numb from the slight chill and her face felt like it had been cursed by a witch to be stuck in a scowl.

This wasn’t working out for her so far, she had run all the way here and she glared at the passing crowds of tourists and businesspeople. She ran across town, that was the first sprint, then she arranged her hair back into place and made her way calmly across the street.

The first parlour was run by a man over six feet tall that smelled like onions and whiskey, it had a line of five people and made her skin feel like an oil slick. She accidentally kicked an umbrella stand on her way out as she left.

The second establishment was a runny little building at the west end, its gutters were overflowing and it reminded Diana of a living health code violation. She watched a 40-year-old woman wipe the needle on her pants and Diana departs immediately.

It was March fourth.

The third location was a hole in the wall, stuffed between a specialized grocery store and two pubs in a row. It was twice as long as it was wide, had a large glass door on the front and a deep blue exterior, it was the blue that caught her eye.

A deep royal blue that reminded her of valleys or oceans or not some smokey London street that sold cigarettes outside the looF. It reminded her terribly of something else and she managed to stop just down the street to stare at it.

She flipped her collar up against the misty chill of the evening and walks toward it mechanically, her phone had already told her this was the other closest tattoo parlour she could visit that weekend. Diana tries not to dwell on what she’s doing at that moment.

She was a Cavendish, she inspected something thoroughly before she didn’t do it.

The hazy night sky was barely visible against wispy grey clouds and Diana was standing outside a tiny blue tattoo parlor with a sign in the window: Come in! :) . It looked handmade. She leans forward and makes out lights and wall paper with big yellow flowers on the inside.

“Well fine,” she goes in.

She may have been expecting a lot of things, more cigarette smoke and bad 80s rock, another man asking if Diana came to ‘let loose a little.’

She didn’t expect a cluttered warm-smelling room, covered with different haphazard wallpaper on each wall, a glass case, and then a tiny brunette in a plain t-shirt and jean jacket stood in the corner. Bubblegum pop music plays softly in the background and the Japanese girl with a huge smile on her face turns toward the front door.

Diana’s mouth makes a little ‘o.’ This wasn’t a 40 year old women accusing her of being drunk or a six feet three sailor.

“Hello!” She waves, Diana hardens her eyes.

She felt a little dumb standing in the doorway, she nods stiffly back. The girl blinks a couple times and then wipes her hands down.

“What can I do for you today?” She was still smiling, Diana looks creakily to the left and then to the right.

“What can you do.” She didn’t state it like a question, she just felt her thoughts ramming into each other as she took in the pictures pictures of trading cards in the case. Chariot trading cards.

The girl bounces to her feet and then seems to bounce right over to her, “I’m Akko! Akko Kagari, I can do anything you have your heart set on,” The girl clapped her hands together and Diana stepped backward at her sun glare.

“Oh,” She sort of wished somehow she’d been turned away. It was March the fourth.

“Hmm.” Akko looked her up and down, “a heart? A star? I can do some killer roses! Or,” she winks, “a lovers name maybe?”

Diana narrows her eyes, she wasn’t sure what her angle was for this sales pitch. Diana straightens her suit jacket, “a caduceus.”

“A what?” Akko tilted her head, blinking serenely now. Diana could just make out the edges of an almost golden ink along her collarbone, a shimmering tattoo. Diana’s face heats up.

“The winged staff and two snakes, or,” she frowns, “a unicorn. Yes, no,” she twitches, “a unicorn with...with a woman.” “Uh, I can do unicorns.” Akko was giving her a funny look, Diana was feeling a little funny.

“I have to go,” she turns around, this had been a bad idea to begin with.

-----------

The temptation to get a tattoo was not a regular one, especially for Diana. It had begun late in the evening and dragged her across the city streets of London.

She wasn’t a particular fan of London, it was lovely and sometimes it reminded her of a milk white hand holding hers, of going downtown and eating smoked nuts. Of something else.

But London meant business, it meant visiting boardrooms and interrupting her school life to hold together her family legacy.

It would be nice if her aunt was trying to sell their assets off to the highest bidder as quickly as possibly, that would be nice. If this was still an era for duels Diana might have thought of alternative solutions to Daryll.

It was however, the twenty-first century and Diana was a twenty-first century girl who didn’t have any tattoos, she didn’t regularly want any tattoos. Until she did.

“It’s just another peak,” she assures herself the next day.

She only had two days of business in London but it was usually enough to fill her time and give her a headache in between meetings, she found time to get to Wittenberg Street anyway.

It was a smokey downtown street where they sold cigarettes outside the loo and some of the sidewalk turned to cobblestone if you kept walking long enough. Diana was on the phone when she got off the underground.

She was supposed to get back to Oxford that night, she was walking toward the tattoo parlour.

She was sure there were other tattoo parlours in the world, some even in Oxford, but this one was blue with a glass door and a handmade sign. This one had three walls with floral blue wallpaper on one, nautical anchors and mermaids on the other, and finally one large mural of Chariot, Chariot DuNord.

Diana finds herself walking back.

“It’s a quick trip,” she was saying to herself, “it won’t even hurt.” She walks like there was fire on her heels, past the specialized grocery store and the smells of something musky cooking from inside.

She stops at the door and takes a couple steadying breaths before she changes her mind.

The bell on the door jingles sharply this time as she goes in the door, the dim lights and whirr of some machine in the corner fills the space. Her eyebrows raise, she wasn’t alone this time.

She saw the back of a brunette head with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail and the face of a very tense looking boy with his forearm out. He looked like he was trying to gnaw through his own bottom lip.

It smelled like heather and perhaps rainwater, something damp almost- that was for sure.

“You’re doing great,” Akko was talking to her customer as she seemed to be working on a circular design, “we’re almost there.” The boy’s features were pinched at every angle, but nods.

Diana blinks a couple times and thinks about leaving, she knew she didn’t need this, her aunt Daryll would shame her for months for getting it. Her board members would have something to say.

Diana stands dumbly in the entranceway and grips her right wrist with her left hand.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” Akko calls over her shoulder and Diana jerks her head to the right. She waits.

“Is it almost done?” The boy's voice squeaks and Diana wonders how actually painful tattoos were, it couldn’t be worse than having your ears pierced.

“It’s gonna look awesome!” Akko cheers and Diana tilted her head at the sound of her voice. It was warm.

Diana might have just told the boy to stop sniveling, but maybe that was just another memory.

“Annnnn,” Akko was so loud, Diana wrinkles her nose as she drags out the word, “nnnnnnd, ta-dah!” Akko jumped backward with her whirring needle, “Look at it for a sec and then I’ll wrap it up for ya. Pretty cool!” The boy blinked his charcoal brown eyes and then down at a rectangle tattoo, he beams. “Oh damn! It really came out.” “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Akko nods and turns her machine off as she reaches down.

Diana peers over and recognizes the ‘Pappiliodya Chariot Trading Card’ almost glowing on the boy's arm, she wrinkles her nose again. Wasn’t everyone in this room above twenty?

The trading card presents an intricate flowing yellow butterfly design.

“Dude, this is sick,” he bounces in his chair, “they weren’t kidding when you said you could make it look like the real thing.” “Of course!” Akko flexes her right arm and kisses her muscle, the boy laughs and Diana has to cover her face after a brief smile. “Now, be sure to keep this on for four hours and not pick at it. Put moisturizer on it when it starts to peel! It’ll bleed a tiny bit, but that’s normal.” He wasn’t looking at her as he looked down at the square card with a deep reverence, Diana was looking at it too. The boy looked like he might hug Akko.

“She’s gonna love this,” he says with a grin and Diana watches as Akko wraps the boy’s arm up in some plastic material.

She was still just standing on the door.

“I’ll take you to the front now,” Diana shuffles to the side, Akko’s eyes glide over her but she seems to finish the transaction first. Chariot Cards were extra it seems, but Diana tell see why.

The ink was detailed and swirling, moving almost, just like the card, and laced with some gold shimmer ink. The boy was pretty excited.

“Todd is going to be so fucking jealous too,” he puts his fist up and presents it, “so glad we got to you in London.” They fist bump and Diana restrains from rolling her eyes, the boy seems to tip Akko and then turns around. “Night Akko!”

Akko waves and she straightens some papers and a stack of business cards with an over-enthusiastic font. She turns to Diana slowly.

“It’s you!” She crows, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward, “I knew it.”

Diana furrows her brow, “excuse me?”

Akko rested her hand on the glass case, “oh, you just looked like you’d be back!”

Diana shook her head, “it’s not what you think.” Akko shifted from side to side, “I think a lot of things, I wouldn’t be so sure.” She never really stopped smiling, did she?

Diana’s skin prickles, she frowns, “the butterfly…” “Yeah, we could do one of those. Or a bird, or a heart! You look like you might like a heart, with a moon in it maybe? Or,” Akko’s face goes slack. “Of course.” Diana hunches over, “of course?” “You want my specialty,” she whips one of the cards from the case, “you want a Chariot Card!” Akko seemed like she might rival the Tuscan sun at that moment, she shines. “The Alcor card, no! You’re a ‘A Believing Heart’ card girl, I know it, I know it- I can see it in you.”

Diana clenched her jaw, “you don’t even know my name.” “Oh,” Akko pauses and puts down ‘A Believing Heart’ card before walking over. “I guess in-out girl isn’t a good name either.” Diana’s mouth fell open. “It’s Diana.” She says roughly, not giving her last. She didn’t need ‘Cavendish was in my downtown shop’ gossip running around.

Akko’s face split, “That’s a very nice name.” She pushes a stray hair back, “Yes, it suits you!” “Thanks,” Diana says sharply, her eyes dart back toward the chair and the needle, “I’m interested...in the work.” “There’s a unicorn Chariot Card too,” Akko was going through her stack.

“No,” Diana’s thoughts raced, “I mean, I mean I want to learn to tattoo.” Diana isn’t sure where that came from, but it was one way to stop this parade of excitement from the artist. It felt like the thing to say at the time.

Akko paused, her hands slowing, “you what?” Diana stood all the way up, “I said, I just want to learn some of the art. To do one myself.” She wouldn’t have to say any embarrassing requests out loud then, she could just ink herself.

Akko’s mouth was open, Diana lifted her chin. “I can pay you.”

Akko tilted her head to the side, she hummed, “That isn’t what I expected.” She looked her up and down, “aren’t you a university girl?”

Diana raised both eyebrows, maybe she was observant. “That doesn’t mean I can’t learn something like this.” The words feel a little foolish in her mouth. Akko was looking at her searchingly, “And if you can’t do it…” She starts to turn around.

“Why?” She feels a hand tug on her sleeve, Akko had reached across the counter and latched onto her. “You really…?” Diana sniffs, “it’s just something I want.”

Akko seemed to study her, “I really can do most things. It won’t be an embarrassing request if you’d like a bunny or lyrics or something!” “I know.” She says softly.

“Or even Japanese characters if that’s what you’re here for.” “I’m not,” Diana pushed her own hair back, “I’m sure you’re very talented.” Diana sniffs, “And I’m sure you’re busy.” She reaches for the door.

“Wait,” Akko was still holding onto her arm. Diana pauses, Akko takes a deep breath, “you are pretty fancy.” Diana raises an eyebrow and then clears her throat, “alright then.” “You wouldn’t want this if you weren’t serious,” she says simply, “and you’d like to pay me, yeah?”

Diana squared her shoulders, she had Akko’s attention. “I would.”

Her thoughts bite at each other’s heels as Diana stares back at her, this isn’t what she intended when she walked in the door.

But Cavendish's follow through.

“Can you get to Oxford on some weekends?” Diana suddenly had a tattoo mentor, she told herself that would be the fastest way to solve this dilemma.

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

Diana was not sure she liked the things she got up to after long days in London staring at the back of aunt Daryll’s head. Apparently, she went off and enlisted tattoo artists to teach her random skills.

She was about to get an MBA in Business Management and was somehow arranging a train ticket for an overly-friendly stranger around her age.

Atsuko Kagari. She started to google her.

Akko Kagari was 21 years old, Akko Kagari learned to tattoo in Okinawa and then did specialty practice in Seattle. Akko Kagari had an Instagram and people that favorited almost all of her inking posts.

Akko Kagari had another string of people making jokes about her early designs, which were, admittedly, terrifyingly bad- squiggly rabbits and poor elephants and uneven ears. But she had mastered gold ink, she had traveled to different mentors.

Picture after picture of Akko in Mexico City, in Rome, in Buenos Aires, in Moscow and Beijing and then London. Then a little shop in Wittenberg street.

Where was she going? Diana didn’t know.

It was a Saturday, it was a Saturday at the tail end of a very damp March and right before more midterms. Diana felt the strong impulse to study, to lock herself back up in the library and bury herself three stacks deep in books- that would be preferable.

Instead, she was waiting at the train station to greet one stranger who was going to teach her a trade skill she didn’t need. But Diana never backed out.

She saw Akko’s ponytail first, barely visible above the crowd as she tore her way through the people and bounded forward. Despite the weather she had on a pair of shorts, brown boots and a heavy red jacket.

Diana waved a hand loosely over to her, “over here.”

Akko looked back and forth and then trotted over in Diana’s direction, “hello majesty.” Diana blinked a couple times, Akko pointed at her hand, “you’re waving like the queen.”

Diana sighs to herself, “this way.” She hunched her shoulders slightly, “I brought a notebook to write down the basics.” “Uh,” Akko followed her through the busy station and Diana tries to navigate to the secluded hill by the rivers. “It’s really more of a feeling,” Akko was chattering, “you gotta feel it. Like a smell! You feel the thing, and poof, it’s all around you- pouring out.” “That doesn’t sound safe,” she says flatly, “it’s a sharp needle.” Akko snorts, “I’ve only ever stabbed myself.” She chirps and Diana cringes, “if you feel right, the picture comes out right!”

Diana shakes her head and starts climbing, “up this way.” Luckily, the weather wasn’t so terrible to stop them from sitting outside, the grass was almost dry even.

Akko bobbed onto the spring grass first and Diana eased herself into the place next to her, flattening her skirt down as she kneeled. She clears her throat and they spend a moment looking at each other, brown large eyes with a red sheen. Like a door, a Mahogany door.

Diana realizes she’s holding her breath and then kicks her legs out.

“I was just interested in the basics.” She says sternly, like she was chiding herself, and then looks away.

“Sure,” Akko was nodding, “we can do pressure application and how to work with different parts of the body.” Akko stuck her tongue out slightly, “I have the book here.” Akko took out ‘Tattooing for Dummies’ and Diana has to cover laughter, there were colored tabs throughout the pages. Diana swallows down another laugh.

“Oh gosh,” she snorts and Akko glances at her.

“Diana,” she says slowly and Diana almost chokes on her tongue this time. “Is there a type of inking you’d like to focus on?” Diana pushed her hair back and looked away, “not really.” She sniffs, “I just want one. One to do myself.” Akko wags a finger at her, “you really shouldn’t tattoo yourself if you’re not an expert.” Diana puts her hands out and nudges her, “Make me an expert then.” She sets her jaw, “I’ve seen your work.” She watches Akko’s cheeks pink slightly, “alright...I can try,” she gives a cheeky grin, “for your majesty…”

She cracks open her book, littered with notes on the margins and papers stuffed into the front cover, “let’s start with applying pressure…” Diana has to sit still and listen as Akko’s voice falls into something serious, Diana has to stop and pay attention. Akko’s brown hair floats in the breeze and her lips move to some unseen rhythm.

Diana has to turn off her group text with Barbara and Hannah and listen. Akko was business at first, like the words had been drilled into her with a persistent hammer, but she was easily lost.

“... and then I had Sucy, she works in the place next to me, she’s getting this list on her thigh. She gets one thing of the list every few months and she likes it when I press down harder. But she’s a weirdo! She finally told me the list is instructions on how to avenge her death. Weird! And then there was this other guy who wouldn’t let me so much as touch him.” Diana tried to nod and then watches Akko’s hands dance around her as she talked, it was animated like an energy drink hit by lightning. Diana clears her throat.

“Can we go over line work? I’d like to make steady lines.” Akko raises an eyebrow, she puts her finger in the air, “that’s one of the hardest parts.” Diana gives a small smile, “I see.”

Akko shakes her head, “you’re pretty persistent.” She hugs her legs to her, “you’d make a great tattoo-ist.”

Diana sticks her lip out, “who says I won’t be?” Akko snickers, “you’re only doing one for yourself. I meant in a parlour.” Diana gives a cheeky look, “who says I won’t?” “Haha, I’ll be the first to hire you!” Akko laughs, “you can do all the tiny heart designs that I don’t want to.”

Diana leans back on her arm, “weren’t you going to give me a heart design?” “Yeah, but that’s before,” Akko looked both ways, “before.” Diana raises an eyebrow, “before?” “You know,” Akko’s hands were waving around again, “before I knew you weren’t just another university girl ‘experimenting.’ Not that that’s bad! But they uh, usually get those.” Diana shakes her head and looks up to the shady pale skies, “Perhaps I am just another university girl. Perhaps I’ll get a heart.” There is a long pause, a little lull of silence that made her hiccup on her own breath.

She hears Akko laugh, “A heart with a little dagger in it's hand.” “Dagger?” Akko had Diana’s attention.

“For when you rip people’s hearts out and tell them this happened because they were idiots or something.” Diana sniffs angrily, “Don’t forget the grave I shove them in.” She says flatly and Akko laughs again, it was a good sound. Diana joins her briefly.

“See? Not flower-moon material.”

Diana let’s out a long breath, she opens her mouth, I don’t know which one I want. She closes it again.

A long pregnant moment stretches between them again before an earth-shaking rumbling noise vibrates the air, Diana turns to Akko languidly, “Hungry?” Akko holds her stomach, “maybe… a lot. Very much.” Diana chuckles.

She looked like a little kid in that moment, a little kid with a tattoo of a woman on her leg and almost a full-arm sleeve. Sitting on the grass and asking her where the closest Nandos was.

Diana looks the over direction, “my treat.” She sees stiffly.

“What’s that?” “I’ll take you to this Ethiopian place around the corner. My treat.” She tenses, “for the lessons.” “Really?” Akko clapped her hands together, “A prince among men!” She whoops and Diana dusts herself off as she gets up.

“I thought I was your majesty?” She fixes Akko’s askew collar instinctively, Akko squirms.

“You’re a lot of things.” Diana smiles a little and walks her down the hill and toward the sleepy university town, “now, tell me about hand-steadying techniques.” Akko sighs and puts her hands up, “I suppose I can’t just say ‘you have to feel it,’ can I?” “No.” Akko tries again and they discuss tattoos and the world and whatever the hell Akko meant by ‘listening closely to your heart before working.’

She buys her a Doro Wot and is amazed as Akko somehow adds hot sauce to it and keeps eating, slurping down the spicy chicken.

She keeps talking while she eats and Diana wants to wipe her chin or smack her, Akko was describing different cities.

Rome, Riga, Chicago, Jamaica briefly (apparently she passed out and ended up there with some very nice people after being kicked off a cruise). Diana finds herself laughing a little too much.

She watches her move like a live-action claymation video set on fast-forward. Diana only puts her hand out once, curiously, strangely.

“Why are you moving through all these places?” As far as Diana understood Akko saved up her tattoo money off of tiny shops she established and then used that to push off again.

Akko chews on her chicken again, “lookring.” “What?” Diana pauses eating her Gomen.

Akko seems to swallow the entire bite whole, her face goes still, like a butterfly suddenly being trapped under glass. “You know,” she says tentatively, “I’m just looking for someone.”

Diana looks her up and down, biting her cheek, “will you be off again soon?” Akko frowns for once, “Not yet.” She says halting, “I think I’m close. Maybe just one more plane ride. Or tip off.” She takes a deep breath, “I think I’m getting close to Chariot!”

“Oh,” Diana didn’t know what to make of that. Chariot DuNord was entertainment star most people just assumed faded like a dying red planet and dropped off the map.

Maybe someone was still looking.

Diana studies her face, “good luck to you.” Akko was making a strange expression, “if anyone could do it…” Diana didn’t know what she was saying, “you seem like the right fit.” “Really?” Akko had sauce on her nose, Diana looks away.

“You seem...persistent.” Diana fluffs her own hair and says, “Stubborn.” “We have something in common then!” Diana rolls her eyes and Akko tells her more about lattice techniques with ink.

Diana couldn’t remember when she had an evening like this before, maybe she never did.

----------

Diana doesn’t know why she plays the fool to herself. March fourth had already passed, she already jumped through the hoops, she had already played the game.

She arranges to see Akko again anyway.

And then again.

She finds herself texting her in the middle of class, mostly to tell her to stop texting her in the middle of class. She finds herself seeing her on weekends, waiting at the train station earlier and earlier each time.

She finds herself spotting Akko in the crowd, and realizing it’s not her.

To her own surprise, Diana was making a friend. She wasn’t used to that, mostly friends were just brought to her and had their own trust funds and small business empires she needed to cozy up to.

Diana was starting to feel twists form in her stomach.

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

It happened on one April morning, almost at 4am, a slight drizzle was gracing the sky and the whole room swam with dark colors. Diana was looking into a pool, a deep pool where a figure sat underneath the waters and perched on a dead tree stump, Diana began to cry.

“No,” her head swam, “no…” Her voice was hoarse from calling out, her fingernails tearing at her nightdress as she violently flailed in bed, March fourth had already passed.

“No!” She dug her nails into her leg and starts awake, she fumbles for the phone with the dream fresh in her scrambled thoughts. Her hands tremble and her vision is completely blurred. A soft drizzle coats her window and she peers out as she dials a number.

Why was she dialing a number.

“Diana,” it was a sleepy voice, thick with a tangible grogginess, “is that you?” Diana’s eyes go wide, that isn’t who she meant to call. She gives a deep shuddering breath and wipes the wetness from her cheeks, “G-go to sleep Akko.”

“You’re the one that called me,” Akko sounds awake now. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” Diana hangs up the phone and hugs her legs to herself, she was sorry, so sorry.

Diana stayed awake after that. She had managed to snag her own lone flat next to the school and she felt the echoing of the empty halls in her bones. She hugs her legs to her chest and let the deep shuddering breaths rack her body.

She wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t going to cry again.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, it all swam before her like a wave taunting the shoreline and swooping back and forth, merciless. It must have been a lot of time.

“Diana!” She hears a turbulent knock on her front door, “Diana, I’m here, come out!”

She stiffens and wonders why someone was pounding on her front door and why Mr. Stevens wasn’t getting it for her. She wipes her face and realizes he had quit two years ago.

Diana sways to her feet and fumbles to the door, “I’m fine!” Her voice was raw and naked in her throat.

“What was that phone call?” “It’s nothing,” Diana pushes everything down, “wrong number.” “Let me in then,” Akko says thickly, “It’s Saturday, we could go see the movies. I’ll teach you a new technique.” “I’m sorry you came all this,” she keeps her tone even, “but I have school work.” Akko was knocking at the door, “You sound funny.” She knocks again, “come on! Even queens need companions. Tell me why you called.” “Go home Akko.” She hears a thump sound, someone was leaning on the front door, “I’m not going anywhere.” Diana heaves a long sigh and reaches out, her fingers shaking as she grasps the nod, “I’m not, I’m not-” She swallows painfully.

She opens the door ever so slightly, just a crack, “I need you to go.” Akko’s large brown eyes are looking her up and down, she was leaning on the door and crawling toward the opening.

“You’ve been crying…” Diana doesn’t respond, Akko grabs at the crack in the door and pries it a little wider open, “Tell me Diana.” Diana rubs at her ruddy face furiously, her thoughts racing. “I need it.” She says roughly, “I need the tattoo today. I can’t wait any longer.”

Diana’s body gives out, dropping to the ground slowly- like a chair leg that finally gives out under a heavy weight. Akko barely catches her as she curls into herself, Akko holds her for a very long moment.

“Okay,” she says in a small voice, “whatever you need Diana.”

-

Diana bundles herself up in her long coat and slips on her summer sandals before numbly walking out the door, the sky is over so slowly clearing and peaking through a moderate day. She isn’t sure how she made it to London but she did remember Akko taking her hand on the tram.

It was warm.

Diana’s eyes glazed over and when she blinked she was somewhere new. Wittenberg Street again, the smokey narrow pass where they sold cigarettes outside the loo and the pavement turned to cobblestone if you followed it long enough.

Diana closed her eyes and realized Akko still had her hand, Diana’s senses come back to her one by one. Akko leads her to the tucked away tattoo shop that was twice as long as it was wide. Diana touches the blue paint on the outside.

She sniffs, “I always liked this.”

Akko’s eyes were unusually soft, “me too.” She follows her in, Diana’s gaze is unfocused and loose, she tries to put her hand on the glass case with Chariot Cards inside.

“A Unicorn,” she murmurs, “or maybe that doctor symbol. The staff with the snakes.” She buries her face in her hands, “a nightingale. Anything.” Akko leads her to the chair, “you can get whatever you like. More than one even!”

Diana shakes her head numbly, “just one. Where I can see it.” “Anything you want,” she kept saying that, Akko threaded her fingers through Diana’s hair- it had become knotted during the night, Akko untangles it. “But you have to tell me what this is about.” Diana blinked unseeingly ahead, “nothing.” Akko shook her head, “I can’t give tattoos to people who are not in the right state of mind. Not drunk or drugged or…” She peters off and her eyes flash up hesitantly.

Diana bit her bottom lip, and then she kept biting it, “I,” she took in a wheezing shattering breath of air, “you won’t understand.” She hated how small she sounded, how frail, Akko was squeezing her hand.

“Are you looking for someone too?” Akko was staring ahead at the Chariot mural behind them.

Diana shook her head, “No…” She trails off and the words bubble up from deep within, “I don’t remember her face.” It tumbles out of her like a confetti canon, the tears well up again, “I realized,” she heaves a breath, “I don’t remember her face.” Akko leans forward until their eyes are inches apart, she speaks gently, “who’s?”

“Mom’s,” she whispers, “it was our anniversary and I tried,” she swallows a wet sound, “I tried to remember it.” She covers her face with her free hand, her shoulders shaking, “It’s gone, it’s all gone!”

I’m a disgrace, Diana wanted to stop crying, she wanted to be someone else- the person she created. Not this.

“Sshhh,” Akko pet her head, “it’s okay.” Diana shook her head, “I don’t remember it.” She starts to hyperventilate, “I need to remember her. Everything, her.” “Ssshhh,” Akko presses down on Diana’s skin, “you’re safe here. You’re doing great.” She said the words like she talked to the boy the second time Diana visited. She didn’t know what she meant.

Akko crawled into her lap and pet her hair while Diana worked through a very bad dream. It wasn’t March 4th anymore.

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

Diana didn’t end up getting a tattoo that day, nor the next. She took Akko to ice cream shop and told her not to tell anyone about that. Akko rolled her eyes and told her Diana had to have more faith in her friends.

Friends. It suddenly felt like a bad word, but she doesn’t say that.

And the next day Diana takes Akko to the movie she wanted to see and maybe she talks about her mom for a couple hours on the walk home, the long way home.

Akko says she’s getting closer, closer to all the paper trails Chariot left, Diana’s heart thumped.

-----------

Diana got her first tattoo of a caduceus. It was gold and winged and reminded her of her mom’s saying: help who you can Diana, whenever you can.

She told Akko about her mom’s doctorate and all the nurses at the Royal London Hospital.

It was on her forearm.

----------

She got her second tattoo of a unicorn, a young woman standing by a unicorn’s mane, petting it. Akko leaned over her as she made it and Diana counted her eyelashes, they were large and framed her brown irises. Her eyes were different in light of her concentration, clear, taut.

She dotted Diana’s skin carefully, moving closely and precisely. Diana had found that she had begun to enjoy the sting of the needle as she watched her work.

“Do you want me to detail the face?” Akko asks breathlessly, softly.

Diana shakes her head, “not yet.” She holds her hand on the way home and they drive miles and miles out of London and into the countryside, it’s a four day weekend and she shows Akko her favorite farmhouses and sheep.

-----------

She gets her third tattoo on a dare.

A bad dare, a poor dare, a dare nonetheless.

They were in Oxford, walking next to a footpath by the Thames and listening to a bicyclists yell at a motorist for swerving into his path. It was a fair day, the clouds were puffy white cotton balls instead of flattened grey pancakes and the sun gently kissed Akko’s cheeks as she turned toward her.

Diana smiles to herself.

“I hear you’re selling to some heiress next week,” she says with a little grin.

Akko shrugs, “business is good.” She leans on Diana’s arm, “too good. They want me to do water color work.” “Can you do water color work?” Akko puffs her chest out, “of course.” She set her chin, “with a little practice.” Diana laughs, “well, I’m sure someone in London could give you a lesson if you look.” Akko shakes her head and tugs on Diana’s sleeve again, “When are you going to get your next one? I’ll learn watercolor tattoos if you’re the one that wants one.”

Diana felt her face heat up slightly, she looks away. “I can’t just get these things on a whim.” “Of course you can!” She cheered, “that’s what makes them fun.” Diana slows down their slow and pauses to glance at her, “you’re a menace to public decision making you know.” Akko snorts, “I love being a menace.” Diana laughs and pats Akko’s arm, “I can tell.” They laugh again and Akko is still looking at her.

It happened on that clear spring day, with clouds like cotton balls and sky like lovely blue syrup.

“What should I get then?” Diana asks teasingly, “You seem to have lots of answers.”

Akko tapped her chin, “something just for you!” Diana feels her expression pinch.

“Oh?” “Or a lover!”

If Diana was drinking something she would have spit it out, “What have I done to ever suggest I have a lover?” Akko put her hands together, “duh, you’re like the prettiest most intelligent girl I know. Don’t hide it from me! No one could resist your fluffy princess hair.” Akko primps Diana’s long blonde hair and Diana swats her hand away.

“It takes more than that to get dates you know.” She says in a monotone. “ Plus, tattoos are permanent and love isn’t exactly like that.”

Akko’s mouth falls open, “they’re the same thing!”

“I don’t want some random person’s name on me forever.” Diana defends.

Akko crosses her arms across her chest forcefully, “Love tattoos are the best ones. They’re the same things.” Diana raised her eyebrows, “how would you know?” “I have eyes,” Akko stuck out her tongue at her, their eyes meet. “And they’re both, you know, both can be permanent.”

She frowns deeply, “you can be a little silly sometimes I’m sure you know.”

“You’re the silly one,” Akko’s face was burning an angry red as she balled up her hands, “you don’t even…” Diana took in a deep breath and looked Akko up and down, “do you have a love tattoo?” She asks curiously, Akko just shook her head.

“But if I did…” She looks up, the heat dying in her eyes, “I know what I’d want.” Her eyes were on her, Diana slowly counts her eyelashes. She holds her breath. “Not that you understand.” Akko said the last sentence like heartbreak. Diana steps forward, her color rising unexpectedly.

“Where would get it?” Her heart thumps in her chest.

Akko looks at the ground, like a puppy locked outside. “I don’t know.” She reaches up to touch her face.

Diana takes another tentative step forward, “I’m not an expert.” She says shortly and Akko glances up. “In fact, I think I’m terribly suited for it.” “Huh?” “But I could show you where I’d put it.” Akko’s eyes go wide, she nods ever so slightly and Diana was already in motion before the answer hung in the air. She kisses her shoulder.

“Diana…” Akko fades out, Diana reaches up and kisses her cheek. “Diana!”

Diana leans forward and captures her bright lips for a moment, and maybe if that could be permanent, for just a second. She kisses her and the cotton ball clouds seem to pause and the syrup of the fine blue skies drips down on her like a warm bath in her chest.

It was quick and forever all at once, the speed of her heart beat mixing with the slow press of her lips, gradual and soft at first and building into something solid. Burning.

Akko wraps her arms around her neck and Diana stands up straight, dragging her feet off the ground into a kiss with a slight twirl. She laughs and Diana holds her. “There. Right there.”

Akko boops her nose, “You can’t tattoo your mouth.” Diana shakes her head, “I can try.” She kisses her again.

Diana gets one last tattoo, Akko dares her to get one over her heart and she accepts.

#little witch academia #diakko #dianakko #diakko fic #lwa #diana cavendish #akko kagari #I forgot to upload this before #lwa fic

[silverfootstepswrites]

title Devoted summary It’s the unspoken promises that matter most. pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii (here) | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

“I’m going to get breakfast.”

Sakura only stirred when she felt a kiss press to the back of her neck. And then her shoulder blade. The bed shifted. She listened to Itachi’s belt buckle clink. The shift of fabric as he dressed. She cracked open one eye. Her phone sat on the nightstand where she had left it. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Itachi said. 

When Itachi returned, she was sitting on the bed. Gold Desert Eagle aimed at him as soon as he walked into the studio apartment. When she saw that it was just him, she lowered the firearm. Tossed it back on the mattress. She had thrown on a robe hanging in the wardrobe. The light purple fabric was dotted with flowers at the ends of the sleeves. 

“Good morning to you too,” he greeted her, wholly unperturbed. He set the bag down on the counter as he added, “I’m not wearing kevlar at the moment. So it would ruin my day if you shot me.” Sakura huffed, trying not to laugh. Running her hand through her hair, she slipped into the bathroom. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. And when she emerged, he was leaning against the counter, reading the back label on a carton of milk tea.

“I’m afraid it’s convenience store food,” Itachi said as he unpacked the bag. 

“Reminds me of my twenties,” Sakura remarked. She pulled herself up on the counter. He unwrapped and dropped one of the onigiri into her waiting hand. Salty cod roe filling in the middle. 

Itachi leaned his elbow on the counter as he bit into his own onigiri. It looked like his had a stewed seaweed filling. They ate in silence. Even when Sakura found a grain of rice on his face, she flicked it off without a word before she resumed eating. 

It was only while Sakura gulped down her milk tea that Itachi spoke. 

“You seem...annoyed? Worried? It’s hard to tell, honestly.” 

Sakura took her time finishing her drink. She set the empty carton down on the counter. Licking the backs of her teeth before she spoke. 

“Both.”

“Both?” repeated Itachi.

“Annoyed because I’m sore,” she began. And Itachi looked a little chagrined. “But worried too. For... business purposes.”

Itachi’s hand rested on her forearm. Thumb stroking over her skin. “Is there anything I can do to ease your burdens?” he offered. 

Sakura sighed as she eased her body into the hot water. She wasn’t particularly picky about the apartments she bought. But a soaking tub was always a must. She stretched her neck this way and that. Listening to her bones crack as she moved. Her head drooped to rest against Itachi’s shoulder. Back nestled against his chest.

“You know,” he said, lifting her left hand out of the water to inspect it, “You’re surprisingly easy to please.” His thumbs trailed over the two circular scars on her knuckles. Cigarette burns. Faded by the years. 

“What are these?” he asked. Rubbing the strange circles. Sakura opened one eye. Closed it again.

“Ah, that? From when I used to be a karaoke hostess. A customer got mad at me,” she answered. Itachi said nothing. 

“He was actually going for my face, but I-” Sakura clapped her hand over her eyes. And Itachi could imagine the sizzle against her skin. The blisters that would have formed over the hurts. He took her hand again. Pressed it to his temple. She traced her pointer finger over the back of the dragon twisting up his right arm. It had taken hours and hours of painstaking work to get each scale right. To shade it crimson and gold. Like the undulating body was really reflecting light.

“I’m meeting with Madara tonight,” she told him. 

His voice was sharp. Like she had expected.

“What?”

She was glad that he couldn’t see her face. She was sure that her smile wouldn’t help his irritation. 

Grasping his wrists, she pulled his arms over her shoulders. He begrudgingly folded them across her chest. Hands resting against her collarbones. 

“I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t go alone. I’ll have Tenten with me,” Sakura assured him. He grunted. Only sounding fractionally less unhappy. 

“And normally, I wouldn’t invite you along. But I feel like this might be a meeting you want to sit in on,” she then added. His fingers twitched. 

“Does this have anything to do with why I’ve suddenly noticed the Sarutobi’s and the Inuzuka’s getting along?” he queried.

“Probably,” she sighed. 

“Yamanaka Inoichi is dead, by the way,” he told her. 

“Oh?” she replied, genuinely surprised. She hadn’t heard anything about that.

“He was going behind my back and dealing drugs to the Inuzuka’s to make extra money on the side. And I hear he was trying to get into my uncle’s good graces so that he would exchange sake with him,” explained Itachi. 

“Ah. I always forget. You yakuza are so strict with all of that stuff,” she muttered. She rolled her shoulders a little. And Itachi released her so that he could knead his fingers into the tense muscles there instead. She let out a sigh, head lolling forward so that he could reach her neck better. 

“Is it different for you?” asked Itachi. 

“Hm...it is. For example, the 24K doesn’t really get along with the Huang Group right now. Which, by the way, should be ‘Wong’ if they’re trying to fit in in Hong Kong,” she went off on a tangent. Itachi’s fingers slowed. And she could tell that she had lost him. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I speak Cantonese, right? Well, they mostly speak Mandarin on the mainland. So the same last name might be pronounced differently depending on whichever you’re speaking,” she explained. “So ‘Huang’ should have become ‘Wong’. ‘Zhao’ becomes ‘Chiu’. By not changing their names, they’re basically advertising that they’re outsiders.”

“Do they not get along because the Huang’s are from the mainland?” Itachi asked. 

“Initially, I suppose. But the Huang’s are vicious and they made a lot of enemies along the way. I’ve got a good relationship with their Dragon Head at the moment, but who knows when he’ll turn on me,” Sakura mused. Because while Fatboy Huang did like her, she never forgot that he was the same kind of animal she was. Wild.

“At any rate, Hashirama despises Fatboy Huang. But I can do business with the Huang’s as long as I make money. Our biggest rival is currently the Suns. I can’t fucking stand them, but I’ve made a few deals with some of their less idiotic Red Poles,” she stated. 

“Sounds like there’s a lot of flexibility within the ranks,” observed Itachi.  Sakura nodded. “As long as you don’t piss off the Dragon Head, you’re fine, in theory.” She winced when he dug into a particularly stubborn knot . He rubbed his thumbs into it.

"The only thing is that since it’s sort of a free-for-all, you sometimes get in-fighting from people squabbling over territory or dealers. So we establish a  pecking order,” she added. 

Itachi’s hands slid off her shoulders. While it wasn’t perfect, a lot of the pain that had twisted up in there was gone. Her hand rested on his knee as she stretched. 

“Where are you in this pecking order, Jing-Mei?” Itachi queried. 

“Well, leng zai, let’s just say that the people who peck at me often lose their beaks.”

After the bath, Sakura saw Itachi to the door. His hair still just a little damp, even after she had dried it for him. He wrapped his scarf around his throat. Caught her staring at him. His gloved hand touched her cheek. 

“When you look at me like that, it makes it hard to leave,” he told her. 

“Like what?” she retorted, frowning. 

“Ah. There she is. Although, I wonder what everyone would say if they knew how cute Haruno Sakura can be in private,” he teased. Just a bit. But her expression darkened. She grabbed the front of his coat. Yanking him down to meet her eyes.

“If you do, I’ll kill you.” No laughter there. Her gaze glacial.

Itachi kissed her forehead. “Relax. Because if everyone else knew, I’d have to kill them. And that seems like too much work.”

While she was unguarded, he pressed a kiss to her lips too. The touch soft and brief before he pulled out of her grasp. 

“I’ll be by the club tonight. Around 10, you said?” 

Sakura nodded. And Itachi slipped into the hallway without another word. She bolted and chained the door after him. 

That night, Sakura sat at the bar. Sai had flown in from Hong Kong on a red-eye flight. And with some espresso and eye drops, he worked behind the bar. Flipping bottles of vodka and chatting up the hostesses with that easy smile. Tenten stood at the opposite end of the bar organizing the beers in the refrigerated drawer under the counter. 

Sai reached for Sakura’s empty glass but she pulled it away. 

“You’ve been in a good mood lately, Mama. Something nice happen?” he asked. One of the waiters dropped off an order, passing the paper slip to Sai before he hurried off. 

Sakura ran her fingers through her hair. The ruby ring on her pointer finger glittering, just like the snake necklace wrapped around the base of her throat. And then she adjusted the black blazer over her shoulders. Although it was cold outside, the inside of Twilight Dreams was toasty. The blazer was more to cover her tattoos. Although everyone knew that Twilight Dreams received some unusual guests, rumors were much different from the mama running around with tattoos bared for the world to see.

“Have I, Sai? I hadn’t noticed,” replied Sakura. A half-smile lingering on her lips. 

The bell attached to the front door jingled. With the cold air came Charlie Lau. The tip of his nose bright red. He was freezing as he paused to greet her. 

“Good evening, Mama. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” he huffed, rubbing his hands together. His glasses fogged up as the warm air clashed with the frozen glass. Sakura laughed as he pulled his glasses off. Shoving them into his pocket.

“It really has been a while, Chojuro-kun. How have things been?” she asked. 

“Ah. Same old. It’s been so quiet without you, you know,” he responded. Slipped between the lines of their banter, Sakura received the message. Nothing unusual to report. She nodded. And he went off, searching for his favorite hostess.

Not long after, Tommy arrived. His teeth and hair both gleaming. He paused to press a cool kiss to Sakura’s cheek but said nothing. He didn’t have to. The tight line his jaw made said everything. He squeezed her hand, slipping something inside as he moved past.

“Deidara-kun!” Moegi exclaimed when she spotted him.

“Moegi-chan! I brought daifuku!” he matched her tone, holding up the box in his hand.

Sakura turned her hand just enough to peer through her fingers. It was a tiny plastic bag. Inside were a few powdery white pellets. Sodium cyanide, just like she had asked. But that’s what she liked about Tommy. He always delivered. She pretended to adjust the front of her dress, dropping the bag into her cleavage. 

A few more customers trickled in. Their suits wrinkled after a long day of work. Some of them came in groups with their coworkers. They dipped their heads to her as they walked past. The cool air whisking over her until the door shut again.

Sakura closed her eyes. She liked listening to the hum of conversation. The women’s voices rising and falling, dissolving into giggles. The men laughing too. The occasional swell of guffaws as someone told a particularly good joke. The pop of a cork squeezing from the mouth of a champagne bottle.

The bell above the door tinkled. 

“Ah. Mama, your special guest,” Ayu called. 

Sakura opened her eyes. 

“Should we set up your table in the back?” Ayu went on.

“No need, Ayu,” Sakura replied, waving the hostess off. And before Ayu could ask why, the door opened again and one of her regular customers walked in. 

Itachi took off his hat. Plastic crinkled. He placed a bouquet of carnations onto the bar. The petals were pale pink, almost white. But the edges were dark purple. A striking combination. She touched one of the soft petals with her pointer finger. He leaned against the bar. 

“Good evening, Mama,” he greeted her. 

And only then did she tilt her head to look at him. 

“Good evening,” she replied. 

“Am I too early?” asked Itachi, glancing down at his gold watch. Sakura shook her head. 

“He’s always late,” she corrected. Itachi pulled his card out of his wallet. Handed it to Tenten. 

“Dom Peri for Mama. And a vodka tonic for me,” he said. Tenten paused, arching an eyebrow. Sakura’s expression didn’t change, but her gaze flickered to him. Uchiha Itachi wasn’t known for his love of hard liquor. 

“Rough night?” Tenten asked. She reached to pull out two clean cups- a skinny flute and a highball glass. Itachi leaned his forearm against the bar.

“It’s about to be. I can’t stand my uncle,” he sighed.

“Hm. That makes two of us,” Sakura mused. 

They said nothing else. Only clinking glasses together when Tenten pushed the drinks to them. 

When Madara finally arrived, it was through the front door. Thankfully. 

One of the newer girls went to go greet him, but Sakura grabbed her hand. Stopping her. She shook her head, not looking up from her drink. 

“Go see if Moegi needs any help,” Sakura directed. Her voice calm, but firm. The girl blinked a few times and then she went off. It was rare for Mama to give absolute orders like that. 

Sakura set her glass down on the bar. In the center of the coaster. Watching the little bubbles fizz to the top of the drink. She heard Itachi let out a sigh. 

And she she felt Madara’s arm slip around her shoulder. Something nudged against her lower back. From the shape of it, it felt like maybe a revolver. 

“Where’s my brother?” he hissed into her ear. 

Sakura knocked him away with an impatient noise. She drained the rest of the champagne. 

“He’s upstairs. Which is where we’re going,” she replied.

Tommy had ordered a champagne tower the moment Madara walked in. Amid all the cheering and the staff carting out bottles and glasses, it was easy to slip away unnoticed. Further into the club. Up the wooden stairs. Tenten following a few moments later. 

In the middle of Sakura’s office sat Obito. Zip-tied to a chair. Madara eyed his brother’s fine clothing. He chuckled.

“Did you dress him up?” he asked. Sakura sat on the edge of her desk, shedding her blazer. Underneath, she wore a cream-colored dress. The fabric glittering when she moved.

“I also paid for the surgery to fix the hole in his gut. So pay up,” she retorted. 

Itachi took off his coat, hung it neatly by the door, along with his hat. He stared Obito in the eyes as he walked past but said nothing. And then he sat in one of the black sofas by the window. His face glowing pink from the neon signs blinking outside. 

Madara walked over to Obito. Rubbing a rough hand through his hair.

“Looking pretty good,” he chuckled. Obito glared up at him. 

“I also fed him. So you have absolutely no reason to bitch at me tonight, Madara,” Sakura then added. She gestured to Tenten who pulled a box of cigarettes out of her pocket. She offered one to Sakura, who placed it in her mouth. Sakura’s thumb flicked over the wheel of the lighter a few times before the flame caught. The paper sizzling quietly as smoke curled around her lips. 

Their eyes met. Tenten’s upper lip curling. Sakura almost snorted.

Madara pointed at Itachi, his smile as insincere as could be.

“Well, one reason to bitch,” he corrected her.

Sakura’s gaze flickered to Itachi, then back to Madara.

“None. He’s here because he needs to be,” she stated. Enunciating each syllable. Precise. Crisp.

She blew a ring of smoke out. Watching it drift up toward the ceiling.

Sakura slid off the desk, heels tapping. She settled into the leather armchair facing away from the window. One leg crossing over the other. Her eyes gleaming. 

“Have a seat, Madara. Let’s have a nice chat.”

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii (here) | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

#eastern suns #writing #itasaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #tobisaku #triad!au

[amoretheiwa]

The Dark Knight and the Boy Scout

On time! For once! Here’s the end of my pre-written stuff so hopefully, I can get back ahead before next week. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Breanna Wayne is turning 23 years old. It has been 4 months since Batman fought the Joker. While getting to know someone new at her birthday party, the contraption the media has taken to calling the Batsignal (thanks a lot, Gordon) lights up the sky. In the name of safety, Breanna sends her guests home and dons the cowl—only to run into the Man of Steel himself just a few hours after taking care of the situation. It turns out they’re both looking for the same thing, and Breanna reluctantly agrees to work with him for just this case.

Chapter 2: Enter Last Son of Krypton B

Close to two hours later and they walked out into the hallway, just 30 minutes before the gala was supposed to start. One of the people working for Ms. Iverson had directed a very shocked delivery boy to the upstairs at one point when the two women had ordered pizza. Even though there was going to be food at the party, it was considered rude to eat too much and it was not uncommon for guests to eat a small meal on their own beforehand.

Now, however, there was no reconciliation image of the two women messily eating pizza in sweats and t-shirts just an hour or so ago. Lois was wearing a dark red gown with no fancy beadwork or design on it. The neckline was cut close to the base of her neck, and instead of a regular sleeveless cut where the fabric would just end at her shoulders, it came in with a sharp point accentuating her shoulders. It was a little longer than floor-length and her shimmery gold heels peeked out with every other step that revealed toenails that matched the color of her dress. Her black hair was pinned back, the ends gently curled.

Breanna’s dress was a lighter fabric but just as dark but a blue rather than red. There was a slit that showed some cleavage and from the front that seemed to be it but the back was a rather sizeable cutout that stopped just above her hips. Her hair, with its natural curl, was pinned in a half-up-half-down look that showed plenty of her back’s skin. Her dress was the same length as Lois’ but with her extra two inches on the woman, her silver heels were visible with every step. Her toenails, like Lois’, matched the color her dress.

Where Lois wore a simple sparkling silver chain on her left wrist and a pair of gold and diamond earrings, Breanna had a thick, dull, silver bangle on both arms. A set of slim silver rings—just individual bands—on a few fingers added to the look, and her earrings were like a sheet of glowing silver that hung to just above her shoulders.

Their makeup was simple, the most attention paid to their sharp eyeliner and false eyelashes that had been placed masterfully. They were giggling, whispering to each other as they walked into the foyer. The door was open, and the event planner stopped her conversation with the head of security to stare at them for a moment. She excused herself quickly and caught them before they walked into the ballroom.

“Miss Wayne! Miss Lane!”

They both stopped, waiting for her.

“If I may say, you both look gorgeous tonight,” she began with a rushed breath. Breanna smiled, and Lois thanked her.

“Before you two enter the ballroom and truly finish preparing for tonight, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday Miss Wayne.”

Breanna smiled again and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Racheal. This wouldn’t have been the same without you. Remember, once all the guests have arrived, you are more than welcome to join us. You look stunning yourself.”

Breanna gave the woman a once-over with her eyes and ignored the light blush that it brought forth on her dark cheeks.

Lois made a face at Breanna as they turned and walked into the ballroom. Breanna ignored her as well and waved at the quartet who were warming up. They would be performing throughout the night, and Breanna was finally feeling herself get excited. She had not allowed herself to celebrate her birthday in many years, and when she had it was more for others than for her own enjoyment.

Less than an hour later and everyone was there, even those with a tendency to show up fashionably late. Breanna greeted all of her guests with the courtesy her parents had instilled in her before their passing, and it was with a twinge in her heart that she made small talk with a few old family friends. It was with partial relief that she noticed a tall blonde man stumbled his way in her direction.

“Excuse me, if you will Mr. and Mrs. Hendrickson. I have a friend to see,” she said with a smile. It was with a forced air of joviality that Breanna greeted Oliver Queen. He for once did not ignore her hand as it was stuck out in a handshake, and they both squeezed a little tighter than necessary.

“Ollie, good to see you well!” She said.

“Not as good as it is to see you, Bre.”

“How are things in Star City? Business going well?”

He nodded, eyes sweeping behind her.

“Things are pretty swell, even with Queen Consolidated. What about here, in Gotham? How’s Wayne Inc going?”

Breanna pulled her hand back, making a show of rubbing it on her dress.

“Gotham is Gotham, as always, and we’re about to change it to Wayne Enterprises soon.”

His eyebrows shot up as he redirected his attention back to her.

“Really? That’s an odd change.”

Breanna shrugged, grabbing two flutes of champagne as a server walked back. She handed on to him and took a sip before replying.

“It was time for a change.”

Before either could say something else, Lois appeared, towing someone as tall as Oliver over behind her. She grinned at Breanna and more or less pushed her into space next to Ollie. He had hair just as dark as Lois’ or Breanna’s, and blue eyes as well, but his face was smooth and handsome in ways Oliver’s was roguish. He wore a pair of glasses that Breanna immediately saw as fake, but as he nervously pushed them back up on his nose she recognized him as Clark Kent, a writer for the Daily Planet. Or, as Lois often referred to him, Smallville.

“Breanna, Mr. Queen, this is Clark Kent.”

As Oliver shook Lois’ offered hand, Breanna couldn’t tear her eyes away from Clark’s. He smiled at her and cleared his throat. When they shook hands, it wasn’t like when Oliver had tried to squeeze the life out of hers. His grip was gentle, and his hands were barely calloused. It took an extra second to fully pull her hand back but she swallowed before speaking.

“Wonderful to finally meet you, Clark.”

He flashed a smile that Breanna couldn’t help returning.

“Thank you for inviting me, Miss Wayne. Happy birthday, by the way.”

Breanna shook her head.

“Please, call me Breanna, and thank you.”

Oliver barked a laugh and Breanna turned to face him.

“That’s right! It’s your birthday, that’s why we’re here. Happy birthday, Bre! Maybe now that you’re older you’ll stop being so serious.”

Breanna closed her eyes and didn’t care that she was visibly losing her patience with the man. Lois’ suppressed laughter didn’t help and Breanna opened her eyes to see a waiting Oliver sharing a look with Clark.

“Tell me, Ollie, how long have you been back? Three months? Five?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and took his time answering.

“It’s been close to a year now.”

“Ah,” she said, raising a hand to brush against her chin. She turned to face Clark and Lois. “You see, Oliver here was presumed dead five years ago when his father’s ship was lost at sea. He was quite the party animal in his prime, but I never shared the same tastes.”

Oliver quirked his lips.

“Seems like you still don’t.”

He clapped his hands together.

“Well, with that, I think I’m going to find a different crowd to hang with. Ladies, Clark,” and with that he was gone. Breanna let loose a sigh and put a hand to her forehead.

Lois couldn’t stop herself anymore and let out a pealing laugh, and Clark looked back and forth between the two women.

“Am I missing something?” He asked, not unkindly. Breanna waved a hand at him.

“No, it’s no secret that Oliver and I have never gotten along. I’m sorry that you got somewhat involved in that, Clark.” He shook his head, pushing his glasses up on his nose again.

“No need to apologize.”

Lois glanced between the two and slung an arm around both of their shoulders, bringing the three of them awfully close—Clark was taller than Breanna and Breanna was taller than Lois.

“C’mon, let’s find somewhere better suited to talking.”

Ten minutes and three conversations later the trio finally found their way to the breakfast table in the Manor’s kitchen. It was a diner-like booth that curved so as to accommodate more people, while out of the main walkways of the rest of the kitchen. Breanna was sipping from a glass of almond milk, listening to Lois recount one of her funnier incidents that resulted in yet another rescue from Superman. Breanna laughed, moving her glass farther away from her face, and tried desperately not to snort. When they all calmed down and it was quiet, the heiress turned to face the newcomer.

“So, Clark, tell me—is Smallville really as small as Lois makes it sound?”

Clark glanced at his colleague with an exasperated expression. She just shrugged her shoulders and took a long drink from her glass of water.

“It probably isn’t if Lois has been exaggerating again. There’s a lot of farms so geographically wise it’s not so tiny but it’s the population that really makes the name match the place.”

Breanna nodded once and leaned forward.

“Did you grow up on a farm, then?”

Lois snorted and they looked at her.

“Bre, you’re looking at the most country boy you could hold to find this far north.”

Clark rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, swirling the water in his glass.

“I’ve adapted to city life fairly well,” he met Breanna’s eyes. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” She asked, and he winced.

“There have been a few mishaps over the years,” he started. Lois chortled and sat forward.

“He just isn’t as lucky as me and doesn’t have Superman picking up after him.”

They all laughed, the conversation continued for another twenty minutes. It ranged from the differences between small town and big city life to the differences between Metropolis and Gotham. The topic had just turned to Batman and Superman when Alfred appeared behind Breanna.

“Miss Wayne, what is the point of hosting such an elaborate party if you yourself do not attend?”

Breanna leaned back, tilting her head so that she was looking at her surrogate father upside down. She grinned and he felt a twinge in his heart; it wasn’t often she was happy without some sort of regret or heavy air degrading the emotion.

“But Alfred, what’s the point of having a party if you can’t sneak away?”

He rolled his eyes and walked around the back of the booth, sliding in to sit next to his charge. She scooted over slightly, giving him more room, and he rested his hands on top of the table. Lois smiled at him.

“Alfred, this is Clark Kent. He works with me at the Daily Planet.”

Clark stood up just enough so that he could reach across the table and shake Alfred’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“The pleasure is all mine, and please, call me Alfred. I enjoy reading your articles, especially the culturally focused ones.”

Clark blushed a little, a light pink that dusted his entire face.

“Ah, thank you, sir. I never really got to travel as a kid and so when work sends me anywhere I’ve never been I try to learn about the culture, local and national, and end up writing an extra two articles.”

“Tell them about that time you almost ended up married to a chieftain’s daughter in the Amazon,” Lois elbowed him, grinning.

Clark groaned but Breanna didn’t let him get away with telling the story.

More time passed and eventually, Alfred nudged the three of them back out into the foyer, which had some people mingling but not nearly as many as were still in the ballroom. It was while they were there talking that Breanna noticed something that made her entire countenance shift. Lois noticed first and followed the young woman’s gaze through the windows over the door.

“Oh,” she said softly, and soon everyone in the foyer was also looking out at the Gotham skyline. The Batsignal was lit, throwing the shadow of a stylized bat against the permanent cloud cover. Breanna sighed and put a hand against her temple. Lois gave her a look, and she shook her head.

“I guess it’s time to send everyone home,” she said mournfully. Clark turned back to look at her, no longer as distracted as he had appeared the last few seconds.

“Why? If the Bat’s signal is up wouldn’t that mean it’d be safer to keep everyone here?”

Breanna shook her head, already turning towards the ballroom.

“The Batsignal goes up whenever the commissioner wants Batman’s help, and if could be something as little as information on a case or as big as the Joker showing up again. It’s better if my guests are safe at home than here, a potential target regardless of what is happening.”

Breanna took swift strides into the ballroom and it was obvious by the hushed chatter that the party goers had also noticed the light in the sky. She signaled the quartet and they paused their playing. It took almost a full minute but eventually, she had everyone’s attention. She took a deep breath and grinned, making sure to look at the entire room.

“Thank you, everyone, so much for coming and helping me celebrate my 23rd birthday. It has been wonderful chatting with each other and catching up with some amazing refreshments and spectacular music,” she nodded at the servers standing together and the quartet that was already packing up their instruments.

“I’m afraid, though, that in the interest of safety, it is time for everyone to go home. There’s no rush but I wouldn’t want anyone to get stuck here should something happen in the few minutes.” There was a polite scattering of laughter and the chattering picked up again. This time, the entire room had a lighter feel to it as the guests each began to shuffle their way towards the front doors.

Breanna turned to face Lois and Clark, sighing.

“Anyone out in the gardens will be found by security in the next few minutes and sent on their way as well. Can Lois and I walk you out, Clark?”

The man exchanged a quick look with his colleague before nodding.

“Of course, thank you again for inviting me.”

As they walked out, Breanna smiled up at him. The height difference wasn’t severe enough that she was craning her neck, but it was obvious enough that she was grateful for her heels.

“No, thank you for coming! I’ve heard so much about you and read enough of your articles that I knew that I had to meet you.”

Clark smiled, that light blush covering his face again.

They stood outside, on the brick roundabout that circles the foundation 30 yards away from the front door. Lois gave her coworker a quick hug and Breanna shook his hand and they said their goodbyes. He walked off towards the valets with a wave and the two women turned to go back inside. They had their arms looped together and were silent as they watched the rest of the guests file out.

As soon as the cleaning was started by Ms. Iverson’s people Breanna was heading towards her study. Lois followed her, not quite sure what she was supposed to do. As she followed her younger friend into the room, Breanna locked the door behind them. Alfred was already standing there, waiting by the tall grandfather clock. He nodded at them and reached up to rotate the hands into a specific arrangement—12:17—and pushed the center, and with a low rumbling the clock swung out, revealing an elevator. Lois knew her mouth was hanging open but she couldn’t help it.

Breanna smirked and put her hand on a scanner. When it flashed green the door to the elevator opened with a quiet hiss and she stepped inside. She gestured for her friend to follow, and Lois eagerly stepped inside.

“I will take care of Ms. Iverson and her people, Miss Wayne. Expect me on the comms as soon as I am done.”

Bre nodded and pushed the down button. The door closed and they began to go down. It was when they stopped that Breanna spoke again.

“Welcome to the Cave, Lois.”

#dkandbs #the dark knight and the boy scout #breanna wayne #fem!bruce wayne #clark kent #batman #superman #genderbending #genderbent batman #superbat #lois lane #female friendship #chapter 2 #enter last son of krypton #part b #amoretheiwa #amoretheiwa writes