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craniumhurricane · 3 years

Text

call me, baby, if you need a friend

Cleaning up some old WIPs. This has been in my drafts since end of season 2/around season 3.

Basically 4 times Clarke calls Bellamy and 1 time that Bellamy calls Clarke.

Thank you @casleyislove and @sushigirlali for always reading things before I post them!

[ On AO3! ]

___

(i)

It's a quiet night in at the Blake apartment. Or, at least, for Bellamy it is. He's having a nice Friday night by himself after surviving a truly grueling week of finals. Octavia tried to convince him to go out and celebrate the end of the semester the "right way," but he turned her down… he's still not quite sure how he managed to do that.

His feet are currently propped up on the coffee table with a large bowl of store brand cocoa puffs in his lap. Bellamy may be an adult but damn if he isn’t going to celebrate the end of the term with sugary cereal… nevermind that he didn’t actually make time to grocery shop this week. The TV was queued and ready for the marathon of Ancient Aliens episodes he’d missed due to studying, and he was just about to press play when he hears a short but insistent buzzing sound.

Glancing around, his eyes land on Octavia’s phone sitting on the corner of the coffee table. She must have left it in her hurry to leave since she was running late to meet up with her boyfriend.

Bellamy keeps his eyes on it for a second before deciding to ignore it, and once again his finger hovers over the play button on the remote. Then the phone lights up again, this time with a phone call; a picture of Octavia and a curly haired blonde that he recognizes, the name CLARKE THE GRIFFIN flashing across the screen. He considers ignoring it for a second time but... if she’s resorting to actually calling instead of texting again then something could be seriously wrong.

Bellamy swipes his thumb across the screen to answer and brings the phone to his ear but before he can even say anything a voice on the other side interjects immediately.

“Men are dicks,” the woman says without preamble. “No! Worse than that. They're weird tumors that grow on dicks," she pauses, seems to think about it, and then adds, "Preferably life threatening.”

Bellamy blinks a few times before he answers, “I'm sure you're right, but don't you think that's a bit harsh?”

The line is quiet. He can hear her shifting the phone, no doubt checking the screen to make sure she called the right person.

“Octavia?”

“Bellamy.”

Clarke huffs. “Where's Octavia?” she snaps. He can hear the annoyance seeping into her tone, which in turn just makes him feel his own frustrations start to rise.

He tamps it down though. “On a date,” he answers.

She deflates at that, “Oh right. One month anniversary with Lincoln.”

He hums a confirmation and then they’re silent for a few minutes. So long that it’s Bellamy’s turn to look at the phone and make sure she’s still there. “Did you need something?” he asks once he sees that the call is still, in fact, in progress.

She takes a deep breath before answering, “I ended things with Finn tonight.”

Bellamy had only met Finn Collins a handful of times; the guy was fine except for a little cocky… and he always seemed to want to show off in front of pretty girls. His hair was too long and always styled like he was some kind of frat boy that came from big money even though Bellamy's 100% sure he never so much as pledged.

And then there was that one time he flirted with Octavia.

Ok, so Bellamy didn’t like the guy. But a break up is still a shitty thing to go through which is why he says, “I’m sorry,” and finds that he means it.

“Not your fault,” Clarke says immediately, “But I was kind of looking for someone to watch me binge drink and listen to me vent.”

He understands that, having gone through the same thing when he broke up with Roma at the start of the term. If you could really call them “hooking up occasionally” the same thing as dating, but still, getting drunk with Miller had been essential in the whole moving on process.

“You want to come over here anyway?” he offers carefully, casually. He doesn’t mind Clarke. She’s younger than him, around Octavia’s age. They aren’t exactly friends, but he would consider them a little more than acquaintances. Enough that it shouldn’t be too weird for him to invite her over even without his sister present. Plus, her getting drunk here is a better alternative than her getting drunk by herself in some bar.

“You don’t mind?” she asks and he thinks he hears relief in her voice, “I was kind of already on my way over to your guy’s place... I don’t really feel like going out and I really don't feel like being depressed and alone in my dorm right now.”

“Nah,” he says and then tries a joke to brighten her spirits, “Sounds like something fun to watch. I’ll order food.”

“Chinese would be great,” and he swears he can hear a smile in her voice so he’ll count his dumb joke as a victory. “Thanks, Bellamy, see you soon.”

He's not even a little bit mad about dumping out his now soggy cereal.

(ii)

“So, you’ve been in school for basically forever. Is it normal for a person to experience this amount of stress?”

Bellamy’s lips twitch as he holds his phone to his ear. After Clarke crashed his Friday night in, and spilled on the whole cheating Finn debacle while they did shots, Bellamy figured he should give her his own cell phone number. As much as he hated to admit it, and honestly he never will, his sister and her boyfriend were getting serious, so who knows how much Octavia would be available for late night bitchfests about significant others, fellow students, and the human population in general. Which were just a few of the topics they discussed that night. Hanging out with Clarke ended up being kind of fun, a better night than he originally planned. She even let him watch a little of his marathon and offered her own commentary. Bellamy would do it again… which is something else he would never admit.

It's not like they suddenly talk every day, but it’s a near thing. They would send each other the occasional text when one of them sees something that the other absolutely has to know about. Mostly, he gets pictures of old dogs she sees at the park, asking if this will be him in 20 years. Bellamy responds in kind with memes about college life and rubbing it in her face that they no longer apply to him since he graduated last semester.

But sometimes she reaches out to him if there is something particularly bothering her. Such as dealing with egotistical dickwads that consider themselves professors and shutting down female students in a male dominated class.

Clarke’s probably the only person that ever calls him and can never start the conversation with a simple ‘Hello’. Actually, she’s probably the only person that actually still calls him.

“I just got a job teaching so that insult isn't going to work anymore since I literally will be in a school as part of my job,” is his first response before he turns to one of concern, “Midterms got ya down?”

“It’s just,” she gives an exasperated sigh before continuing, “I want to do something that helps people, I know I want to help people… But maybe I don't want to help people the way my mom wants me to help people...ya know?”

“You’re going to have to give me more to go on here, Princess-”

“I’m thinking about switching my major,” she says abruptly, like she’s ripping off a band aid.

He’s silent, waiting to see if she’s going to say anything else. When it becomes clear she’s waiting for him to say something he responds honestly, “If being a doctor isn’t something you want to do, then you shouldn’t do it.”

“But-”

“What your mom wants you to do shouldn’t overrule what you want to do, Clarke,” he interrupts her. Due to the increasing amount of time he’s been spending with Clarke, he’s learned that the Griffins have always had a capital “P” Plan and he knows that Clarke has a hard time knowing when she can push the boundaries of said Plan.

She’s silent again and Bellamy’s starting to think he’s going to have to prod her a second time. He’s got the beginnings of his big speech all prepared when finally she speaks up. “I’m thinking about going into Art Therapy,” She says thoughtfully, “Or maybe teaching? Helping out underprivileged kids...or hell, even underprivileged adults. Or maybe something for the community?”

His lips twitch on another smile at hearing the beginnings of a hint of passion in her voice. “Teaching can be very rewarding,” he says magnanimously.

She snorts and it turns into a full laugh, “You haven't even started yet! It could be the worst thing you’ve ever done and a total waste of your degree.”

“Your confidence in me really is touching,” he deadpans and then adds simply, “You’re an amazing artist, Clarke. I think doing something with that could be something you'd enjoy and be really really good at.”

She’s quiet when she asks, “You think I’m amazing? You’ve never told me that.” And Bellamy swears he can hear that smile in her voice again. The one he always looks forward to. The one he tries to coax out of her without realizing he’s doing it.

He feels his cheeks start to heat up and even though she can't see him, he feels the need to brush it off. “Yeah, well, I generally try to be as dickish as possible so…”

She snorts again and damn if he didn’t feel a slight flutter in his chest.

“For the record, I think you’re going to be an amazing teacher,” she says it so matter-of-factly but he’ll have to dwell on it later because she sobers and then asks softly, “So, you think I should do it?”

It’s not hard for him to build her up. She spends so much time being there for the rest of their slowly merging friend groups that she rarely takes time to see the greatness in herself. He doesn’t mind helping.

“I think you should do whatever the hell you want.”

(iii)

“Women are worse than men.”

Bellamy rubs the sleep from his eyes and glances at the clock; it was almost 3 in the morning. “I thought men were tumors?” he asks around a yawn.

“Yeah, well, women can be tumors too,” Clarke huffs, but she just sounds tired, “Comparing people to tumors is equal opportunity. Strides in feminism are being made, didn’t you know?”

Bellamy pushes himself into a sitting position, suddenly more alert as he picks up the trace of tears in her voice. “You ok?” he asks.

Clarke is silent at first, but he waits her out, he knows that she’ll tell him. “Lexa broke up with me,” she says quietly and then adds in confusion, “Or we broke up with each other? I’m a little unsure. We spent the whole night arguing and then suddenly she was packing up her stuff.” She pauses before taking a shaky breath, “It’s over. We’re over.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

“She was leaving anyway,” she continues, bitterly, “Some new job. She was leaving in a few weeks and didn’t even bother to tell me. I told her we could make it work long distance, I was willing to try and make it work. That’s when the arguing started. Not just about that but about-,” Clarke abruptly cuts herself off and hesitates, “about... other things. Things I didn’t even know were an issue.” She’s quiet again before she adds, “She didn’t say it but I think she was disappointed that I never suggested going with her...”

The thought makes a quick flash of irritation run through him. “She wanted you to uproot your entire life and go with her,” he summarizes as he tries to adjust the pillows on his bed by beating them, maybe a little too roughly at the thought of her doing just that, before leaning back against them.

“Which is completely crazy, I know,” she hurries to say, “but I wish we could have talked about it.”

“I am sorry, Clarke,” he says again, “I know Lexa seemed like she was it for you.”

“But maybe she wasn’t?” Clarke counters as if trying to reason with herself. “I don’t know. We were both committed to each other, but maybe this was a sign that we weren’t going to be able to make it work long term?” She pauses and Bellamy can hear the gears in her head turning as she processes a way for her to handle this, too explain it to herself. “When we were together,” she hesitates before continuing, and he can imagine her biting her lip, “I was happy... but I felt like a separate version of myself, ya know? Still me, but not completely me?”

Bellamy chews on the words he wants to say and goes with, “Sometimes the person you're with can change you; it's not always a bad thing.” He gets quiet as he adds thoughtfully, “I like to think Gina made me a better person...and she probably did,” he pauses, this time unsure if he should keep going, but Clarke hasn't said anything, so she must be waiting for him to continue, “We tried, tried really hard, to make it work, but eventually you just realize that maybe the relationship isn't going anywhere and what’s best for everyone is just to call it.”

“Wait, you and Gina broke up?” Clarke asks in surprise, “When did that happen!?”

“That's what you got from that?” He rubs a hand over his face as he thinks about it, “About two weeks ago?”

“Shit,” she says and is quiet before asking in a small voice, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Honestly, I haven't seen a whole lot of you these last few months,” he hears what he said and corrects himself, “We haven’t seen a whole lot of you.” He’s surprised at his ability to keep the bite out of his voice; because the truth was this last year has sucked since Clarke started dating Lexa.

They met at one of Clarke's art gigs. Lexa was cool; fun when she wanted to be, but also a little hard to be around. Most of the time, she seemed to prefer doing things without any of Clarke’s friends.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says.

“It’s fine,” he answers her and means it. “Gina and I are still good friends.”

“I wasn’t talking about you and Gina,” she says, voice soft.

He realizes what she’s actually apologizing for and he doesn’t know what to say. Because of course he forgives her, he will always forgive her.

The silence lasts too long so he clears his throat and prompts, “Want to come over and get drunk?”

Her laugh through the phone breaks the tension, “It’s like 3 o'clock in the morning.”

“My bar is always open.”

She chuckles. “I really want to hit something,” she says with a determined edge to her voice, “Then maybe get drunk.”

“How about this, we get a few more hours of sleep, wake up at a normal time, and go hit something,” he offers and then adds as if it's an afterthought, “And then get drunk, of course.”

She laughs again, “Oh, of course.” There’s that smile. “I forgot what being single with you was like.”

Bellamy sobers at the thought. It has been awhile since the two of them were single at the same time. “Always here to help, Princess.”

(iv)

“Why did I agree to this trip again?”

He’s packing up the essays that are scattered across his desk when she calls, 4 o’clock on the dot. Bellamy tries to suppress a laugh but he’s pretty sure she can at least hear the teasing smile in his voice.

“Just getting back to the hotel?” he asks in lieu of his own greeting.

“Yes!” she exclaims in exasperation. “And if it were up to Josephine, we probably would have walked all of damn Paris tonight,” her voice gets muffled at the end and he can only assume she’s thrown herself face first onto the nearest bed. “I cannot wait for a shower- No! A bath, definitely taking a long, hot bath.”

And now the image of Clarke Griffin in the bath, with just enough bubbles to cover up to her chest, has entered his mind. He shoves it away before anymore thoughts can accompany it.

This used to never be a problem. Sure, he’s always known that Clarke is attractive, but he has never been attracted to her. But ever since he broke up with Gina and she broke up with Lexa, Bellamy has been exceedingly aware of the fact that they have both remained single.

The last time this happened was right after Finn.

Bellamy shakes his head for good measure before responding. “You’re going to fall asleep in the tub and your roommate will find your prune-y, wrinkled body in the morning.” He cringes. Apparently he wasn’t able to get the image of her completely out of his head.

Clarke scoffs, but he can tell that it’s in an exasperated but fond kind of way. “How is it that you manage to be a buzzkill from over 4,000 miles away?” she asks drily and then pauses before adding, “Actually, Josie would probably just leave me in there for the entire trip and never let on that something was up.”

He turns the key to lock his office behind him and heads for the staff lot. “Don’t worry, if you don’t call to check in, I’ll call the National Guard,” he teases.

“I know you would,” she says simply, like it’s a known fact.

Things have been a little weird after he became aware that they were both single. Mostly because, he’s pretty sure that Clarke has also come to realize it. When he turns to look at her, he often finds her already looking. Their innocent touches are now more frequent and linger just a bit longer.

Bellamy has come to realize that he doesn’t want to be single and the reason he doesn’t want to be single is because he wants his best friend to not be single with him.

There’s just never a right time to tell her.

“So, what did you do today?” he asks.

Despite the exhaustion and jetlag that’s surly setting in, Clarke jumps into an animated retelling of the flight and arriving at their hotel room just in time to change clothes and head back out to walk the streets of Paris to get their bearings before their tours officially start tomorrow.

“I’m a little disappointed that we’re doing the Louvre first thing tomorrow. I was hoping to be a little more alert for that.”

“Your coffee addiction hasn’t stopped just because you’re in another country,” he points out as he gets in his car.

She laughs, “Jeez, you are such an ass.”

He starts the car but doesn’t leave just yet; afraid the long distance call will drop out.

“What are you doing now?” he asks into the comfortable silence.

“Admiring the view,” she admits softly. “It really is gorgeous all lit up. Makes me want to dig out my sketchbook.”

“You have a week, Princess,” he chuckles. “Don’t screw up your jetlag even more by losing track of time in your drawings on the first night.”

She’s quiet again before confessing softer somehow, “It also makes me wish you were here.”

His heart clenches in his chest and he wills himself to sound normal. “Maybe next time,” he tries for teasing but it comes out almost wistful.

“Next time, hmmm?” Clarke hums. “You’d come to Paris with me?” And he’s sure she’s flirting with him.

“Well, maybe not for our first date,” he says, “But maybe, like, our fifth or something.”

Clarke’s quiet for a long time and he’s afraid he’s overstepped, misread the room. He’s about to take it back, play it off as a joke when she finally speaks.

“And what would a first date look like?” she asks with what he thinks is hope in her voice.

He swallows a couple of times. “Well,” he starts, “Since you’re already getting some of the best museum experiences, I’d probably settle for dinner and a movie. Something cheesy that’s playing at the dollar theater; where we’re the only ones there and can yell at the screen.”

She chuckles and his heart flutters, “We already do that, Bell. Quite frequently, actually.”

“Yeah, but if it’s a date then I’d get to kiss you at the end of it.”

“What? No making out during the movie?” she asks and he can picture how cute her face gets when she pouts.

A grin spreads across his face and he’s grateful no one can see how goofy he must look.

“We’ll have to make sure it’s a really bad movie.”

(+i)

Clarke rubs some moisturizer on her face before capping the tube and tossing it into her bag on the bed. After ensuring that everything she’s going to need for tomorrow is packed, she zips it up and grabs one of Bellamy’s hoodies to slip on over her clothes.

Ever since he picked her up from the airport when she got back from her trip to Paris, and she ran directly into his arms, giving the other people waiting quite a show, there always seems to be one laying around, waiting for her to find it. She assumes that he gets as much of a thrill out of her wearing them as she does.

She heads down the stairs of their townhouse, passing various pictures and artwork, and shoots Raven one more text not to forget to bring her dress to the venue tomorrow. She’s supposed to help her get ready in the morning along with her mother. In the meantime, Abby has sent a car to pick her up and take her to the hotel. Easier to get ready if she’s already there for the stylist… something else her mother insisted on paying for. No matter how many times Clarke told her she didn’t care what her hair looked like because she was marrying the love of her life.

Clarke locks up the house and greets the driver, slipping into the backseat. She intends to spend the ride lost in thought, going through the checklists that were running through her head.

Their engagement had been on the short side but she didn’t mind. They were both ready to get on with this next chapter in their lives.

Her phone is resting loosely in her hand, face down on her knee, when it starts to vibrate with an incoming call. She holds her breath for a second, praying it isn’t the florist or the caterers. But when she sees the photo of her and Bellamy from New Year’s flash on the screen, she can’t help but smile.

She taps the button and greets him with a sultry, “Hi, handsome.”

“Hey,” he says and she can tell he has a soft smile on his face, the one just for her. “You just leave the house?”

“Yep. On my way to the hotel now, so hopefully you haven’t forgotten anything because it’s too late now.”

“The most important thing is already on its way,” he responds with a teasing lilt.

Clarke can’t help the sharp laugh that escapes her lips, “Oh my god! You are such a sap!”

“I was referring to the ring, obviously, Princess.”

“Oh, obviously,” she says, mock serious.

They chuckle to themselves for a few minutes and she honestly can’t tell if the driver is rolling his eyes or thinks they’re being cute from hearing one side of the conversation.

Bellamy sobers up first only to let out a groan. “I hate whose ever idea this is,” he whines.

“Aren’t you the history professor? Shouldn’t you know where common traditions and such come from?”

He scoffs, “No, I mean I hate whichever of our friends is making us do this.”

The two of them haven’t seen each other since yesterday morning, him having been spirited off by his groomsmen while she was left to spend last night alone in their bed. And now they’re meant to go one more night without seeing each other.

To Bellamy’s point, Clarke isn’t altogether sure why this is a tradition anymore, nor why they are choosing to follow this particular one. She and Bellamy aren’t even that superstitious! And yet somehow they were talked into spending the days leading up to their wedding apart.

“Ah,” she answers him now, “That would be Raven and Miller. Although, I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with marriage traditions and has everything to do with getting back at us for making out in front of them so much.”

Bellamy scoffs again, “Well, jokes on them, because after tomorrow, I don’t ever have to stop kissing you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, “We’ll have to come up to eat at some point.”

The driver pulls up under the awning of the hotel and Clarke gets out and grabs her bag before he’s able to get out and grab it for her. She gives him a wave and a simple thank you before heading through the sliding doors.

“How’s your room?” she asks into the phone as she bypasses the check in desk, her mother having already checked her in and given her the key card to her room this morning when they were getting their nails done.

He heaves a deep sigh. “Lonely,” he answers as she steps into the elevator. From what Clarke knows from his texts, Miller dropped him off here last night and left him to his own devices. Apparently, the best man gets to sleep next to his husband but Bellamy wasn’t allowed to sleep next to his soon-to-be wife.

She makes a split second decision and presses a different button, jolting the elevator to stop sooner than intended. When she steps off she casually offers, “I could help with that.”

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles. “You going to describe for me what you’re wearing?”

“Hmm,” she hums as if she’s considering it. “I could do that… but I was more thinking that I could show you.”

Clarke stops in front of a door and gives it a nice rhythmic knock.

She doesn’t have to wait long before it’s opening and Bellamy is standing in front of her with his phone against his ear and a huge grin on his face.

She lowers her own phone from her ear, pressing the end button without looking.

“Hi, handsome,” she manages before he’s pulling her into his room.

#no one cares ashleigh #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake x clarke griffin #my fanfiction #i'm going to post this and run away because omg #i feel like this is long and i rambled #and i had some unresolved issues regarding clarke's relationships #anyway #enjoy!

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turtlepated · 4 years

Note

Pate I'm drunk I want PateDew HCs pleeeeease

@pastelnacht

Oh are you now? Lol, well I will do my best to provide!

Let's see... PateDew is pretty open-ended so hows about I hit you with the half-formed vaguely self-insert WIP that’s been sitting in my Google Docs for weeks now:

----

You’d been stressed out at work lately, stressed enough that two days simply wasn’t enough time to fully decompress. So when a couple of your coworkers invited you out for drinks after work, you decided to tag along. Why not?

The Roadhouse bar was a bit more… rustic than you’d expected for a bunch of office workers like yourselves, but it seemed like the perfect place to lose yourself and unwind for an evening. It was loud, both from the rowdy patrons and the jukebox in the corner, smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and cheap booze and greasy food. Not somewhere you’d ordinarily venture on your own, but it was a nice enough distraction.

After a couple beers you had a pleasant buzz going. Somebody at the jukebox set Don’t Stop Believin’ to playing and a cheer went up. Grinning widely you swayed back and forth in time to the piano overture and belted along to the first verse about the “lonely girl livin’ in a lonely world”, emboldened by the alcohol and the giggling of your colleagues.

You spun around, startled, when another voice chimed in just as loudly behind you, picking it up with the “city boy, born and raised in south Detroit”, meeting a pair of brown eyes barely discernible under a mop of messy brown curls.

And that was how you first met Dewey Finn, both of you belting along to the Journey favorite while other patrons booed and shushed you, pelting you with peanut shells while you both just laughed.

It didn’t take long to learn pretty much all there was to know about Dewey Finn: he was easy going, funny and energetic and sweet, practically lived at the Roadhouse, and he loved rock music more than anything else. Even when sitting down he was always tapping his foot or thumping his hand against his knee, keeping rhythm with the song playing in his head.

The two of you were fast friends and the Roadhouse became a regular watering hole for you. Dewey was fun and fascinating, so passionate about whatever topic happened to be under discussion that you couldn’t help getting excited right along with him.

You bonded quickest over your overlapping tastes in music. While Dewey considered himself more of a purist (classic rock being the pinnacle of human achievement as far as he was concerned), few things seemed to thrill him more than sharing his music with you. The two of you sat across from one another in “your” booth at the Roadhouse, tipsy and giggly, having swapped phones to compare playlists. As expected, Dewey’s phone was full to bursting with AC/DC, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Van Halen, Guns n Roses, Rolling Stones.

“Oh my God,” he laughed, turning your phone around to show you the screen. “Are you serious?” You flushed, embarrassed, covering your face with one hand.

“Okay, look,” you began. “I didn’t get to have a Britney phase when I was a kid because I didn’t have any money to buy albums! And by the time I did Britney was considered cringey and I was too young to know that there’s no such thing as cringe! So I have to have my Britney phase now!”

Your rebuttal only made Dewey laugh harder, his cheeks rosy and his eyes glittering both from the mirth and the drinks. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, I’m only messin’ with you! Though I’m impressed that you had like a whole defense just ready to go!” He turned his head, glancing around conspiratorially before leaning towards you over the tabletop, crooking a finger at you invitingly. Giggling, you folded your arms and leaned in on your elbows.

“Not like Britney needs a defense,” he admitted, grinning, rapping the flat of his palm on the table between you to keep the beat as he started singing. “My loneliness is killin’ me!”

Without missing a step you chimed right in, “And I, I must confess, I still believe!” By the time you got to “Hit me, baby, one more time!” you were both almost incoherent from a fit of laughter, ignoring the vocal annoyance of the other regulars seated around you.

Looking back, you considered that to be the moment you fell in love with Dewey Finn.

If you were honest with yourself, that moment was probably when the two of you first sang along with Steve Perry, but you couldn’t help feeling a little silly and even cliched. The whole “love at first sight” schtick.

In an ideal world, you could simply pluck up your courage and come right out and tell him how you felt. In an ideal world, he would tell you he felt the same way. The two of you might even exchange a tender kiss, if the romance in movies was anything to go on.

But the world was not ideal.

He did eventually tell you about the bizarre circumstances that led to his current job, which he so clearly loved and talked about constantly. Hearing the whole surreal tale, from start to finish, was a rollercoaster of subterfuge and deceit, plus a dash of identity theft and sprinkled with heartfelt personal growth. You joked with him that he ought to sell the story to a producer, get a movie deal. Jack Black would make a very believable Dewey Finn, you said, and he snorted into his drink.

So many unexpected things had come about for him as a result of his improbable plan; not just a job but a career, one that he was passionate about, that excited him every day! Reveling in the talent of his students, their eagerness to learn and explore, seeing them progress and get better and better… It was a feeling that he’d only ever experienced before when playing a show, but now he got to feel it almost every day! In his wildest dreams, he’d never have even thought of where he was now in order to have wished for it. If the kids, his amazing, talented, face-shredding students had come as a shock, then their uptight, pencil-skirted, no-nonsense, secret rocker principal had thrown him for the biggest loop.

It wasn’t until after the two of you had been friends for awhile (and after Dewey had thrown back a couple shots of tequila on top of his two and a half pints of beer) that he told you about Rosalie Mullins beyond “she’s my boss. Sort of.”

Even Dewey was willing to concede that he took her out for drinks initially as a ploy to get her to agree to let him take his “class” to the band competition. The kiss that followed their conversation at the Roadhouse had been impulsive on his part, he hadn’t even thought about it at the time, there had been more pressing matters on his mind. In the aftermath of his unmasking; between the threats of arrest and homelessness, his adolescent band rallying his spirits and delivering a powerhouse performance; so many highs and lows in such a short expanse of time, it wasn’t until Rosalie Mullins grabbed his face afterwards and kissed him that it even dawned on him that there might be something to it.

They’d gone out after things returned to normal, but after a few months of on-again-off-again they decided they were better as friends, as colleagues. Or rather, Dewey admitted a tad bitterly after finishing a third pint and another shot of tequila, Rose had decided they weren’t a good fit romantically and didn’t want to jeopardize their working relationship.

“I really liked her, though,” he said with a sigh, slumping in the bench seat across from you and toying with the empty shot glass. “Smart, classy, beautiful.” You sat with your arms folded on the tabletop, trying not to let it show that each word struck you like a knife in the heart, wanting to be supportive in the midst of his disappointment because that’s what friends did for one another. Regardless of what you were feeling, it was clear he was still carrying a torch for the principal and when he showed you pictures he had kept on his phone you could see why.

She truly was very pretty, very put -together, as stark a contrast as she could be in her perfectly tailored blazers and skirts to you in your jeans and T-shirts. You couldn’t help but feel ridiculous and petty, jealous of a woman you didn’t know, had never even spoken to just because the man you loved was still hung up on her.

It didn’t matter anyway, because whatever your feelings may be, Dewey obviously didn’t feel the same about you, not when his heart was still set on Miss Mullins.

You put it out of your mind, willfully ignoring it because at least you could still be his friend. No matter how heartsick it made you when his laugh or his smile made your heart swell and you wanted so much to kiss him but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t do that, it would ruin everything.

As the weeks passed it got… maybe not easier to bear, but you grew used to the gnawing ache inside and you learned to ignore it. You barely even noticed it anymore. Things began to change when Dewey left you a very boisterous and excited voicemail, telling you to meet him at the Roadhouse after work because he had “huge, unbelievable, amazing news!” You had no idea what he could be talking about but whatever it was he met you at the door, practically bouncing like a puppy.

In between corralling him into a booth and placing your drink orders with the waitress, you finally got him to calm down enough to tell you what he had to say.

“Every year the country club crowd throws this big charity fundraiser for the city, and since a lot of em are Horace Green parents or alums, this year the school is hosting the charity and School of Rock is lined up to play the whole event! Isn’t that awesome?!”

You beamed at him, his elation contagious. In the year since their formation and debut, Horace Green’s official student band (led by their music coach, Dewey Finn) had garnered a fair bit of publicity with their electrifying performance at the battle of the bands competition. Despite losing the contest, they had been the unequivocal crowd favorite and the school had enjoyed some very positive press in the midst of their growing popularity.

But a gig like this would elevate the band to a whole new level, Dewey animatedly explained. You couldn’t help getting swept up in his mounting excitement, almost giddy to see him so wholeheartedly invested in the project. Naturally, you offered to be of whatever help you could to help him pull off such an important show. The band deserved it, and so did he. And if it meant you’d be seeing a whole lot more of Mr. Finn in the coming weeks, well… that would just be a bonus.

#dewey finn #dewey x reader #dewey x self insert #school of rock #post cannon #if I decide to keep going with this it's gonna get angsty lolol #but I hope this is sweet enough to scratch your itch!

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erintoknow · 4 years

Text

be scared with me

retro-actively calling this for ockiss week even though this has been sitting as a WIP for months now @ratkingkisses‘s Zia Basri x Ariadne Becker, Fallen Hero: Rebirth OCs ~4.2k words [AO3]

–

“Come on darling, no more dawdling!” Zia Basri pulls at your arm, her elbow locked with yours. You let her pull you along, past the doorman whose thoughts are none the wiser over your faked tickets. “Now this is a party.” Zia’s smile is broad and unguarded as her eyes sweep over the ostentatious gold and silver decorations of the wide ballroom floor.

Your own eyes fixate on the large chandelier hanging in the center of the room. In its shadow is a buffet table. Or more accurately, a series of buffet tables arranged into a rectangle. Hrm. Anyone gets any funny ideas about the lights, only the help managing the food will be crushed.

Disappointing.

No pressure pushes down on your awareness, no sensation of static drowns out the buzz of minds around the two of you. The Dampeners aren’t on then. Good. That bribe hadn’t been for nothing. That’ll make tonight much, much easier.

You glance back over to Zia, slightly above eye-height for once thanks to her high-heeled shoes. “S–stay focused.”

Zia doesn’t look at you, only the slightest quirk of her lips. “Of course.”

“I’m serious.” You hiss. “We only have the one shot at this.”

“Ari. Dear.” Zia laughs, shaking her head. “I’m a professional. Please.”

“Yeah. N–not – not helping.”

Robbing from, Henry Yasuda, one of the richest men in Los Diablos is not exactly the smartest thing you’ve ever done, but if it puts a dent in his prestige and political power it’ll be worth it. That was Zia’s pitch to you anyway. You’re pretty sure she doesn’t care about the political angle. Just getting a piece of the pie.

And, well, that money would help along several other projects you’ve had sitting on the back burner.

And it’s a very large pie.

You put your free hand to the frame of your sunglasses. Is it gouache to wear them indoors at a high society event? Probably, but fuck these guys. No one seems to be paying either of you much mind. Lost in their only little worlds, no doubt helped along by Zia’s telepathic talents. You can feel the edge of her awareness brush past yours, getting a feel for the room at large.

“Relax.”

You snap your head back to Zia, and she laughs at you.

“It’s a good plan.” She disentangles your arm from hers. “I’ll finish taking stock here. You take care of setting up plan B.” With a soft push to your back, Zia sends you stumbling out away from her.

Right.

The plan.

Stick to the plan.

You made the plan. So. Better stick to it. The plan, that is.

Yes.

Adjusting the strap of your purse you glance around, pick up the location of the restroom from a nearby mind and head off in that direction. In a fashion, the plan is the same as the original Plan. From the Gala debut. Only this time, the explosions are plan B. If the two of you can get out of this without any fighting, that would be ideal. No fighting, no hint that anything’s wrong.

And if you get caught… well, that’s where plan ‘B for bomb’ comes in. No time for thieves if super villains are attacking right? Slip out in the chaos. Ideally with the prize still.

In a locked bathroom stall, you remove the explosive charges from the false bottom of your purse and prime them for the radio signal. Back in at the top of your purse they go and you take a minute at the bathroom sink before for cover and to psych yourself up.

You’ve been over the schematics a million times. You know exactly where to place the charges to maximize noise and debris while minimizing the risk of casualties. And if something does get hurt… well, these people are all rich out of their minds anyway. A little psychological scarring builds character.

Exiting the bathroom again, you spare a thought towards Zia as you make your rounds around the ballroom. She seems to be doing okay. Thoughts calm except for – well, she’s always eager for excuse to really stretch her abilities. Show off. Showing off for you, you’re not sure. You’re the only one that knows Zia Basri as anything but a reclusive and retired industrialist. The Nemesis to your Adrestia.

You linger by a wide, double-paned window, one hand surreptitiously palming the last charge onto the rim of a potted plant. You’ve got a clear view of Zia across the bustle of the floor. Wrapped in a gown of black with pink accents, the metallic silver glint from her jewelry catching the lights. She’s chatting up another woman in a sharp black suit. Typical.

The two of you should have gone your separate ways after the escape. Your continued partnership like this is a risk. A weak point. One of you screws up, and you’ll both be damned. This is it. This is the last time you’re working with her. This time for real.

Getting close to people is a liability for… people, like yourselves. Depending on others is a liability. And Zia is arrogant about the extent of her telepathy and full of herself besides. Sure, she’s saved you a couple times at this point but it was a matter of practicality. You going down would only risk exposing her as well.

Look out for number one, that’s all that –

The woman Zia’s been talking to laughs, stepping into Zia’s personal space. Wrapping an arm around her back and – oh. They’re kissing. You grit your teeth. Zia enjoys flirting, of course she’s going to flirt here. Hardly a surprise for this to happen.

God they’re going at it. This is risky as hell. Even Zia has to know that. Look at her body language. Stiff, and – is that her hand shaking? You’re too far away to be sure. You shake your head. Try not to clench your fists as you walk over. Walk. Not storm. Relaxed, not tense. Why would you be tense? Absurd. Crazy.

“Basri. There you are.” You flash a terse smile at Zia and her new ‘friend.’

They break apart. Zia quickly stepping away and smoothing out her dress. Her companion raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“B–becker.” Zia nods at you, flashes a smile back, “Back so soon?”

“Mmhm.” You step towards her, a hand on her arm. “Can I talk with you?” You glance at the other woman. “Alone?”

“I – yes. Yes, of course.” She gives an awkward wave as you pull her away. “Loved chatting with you dear!”

You pull her along, into one of the side hallways stretching down into the wings of the building. You let go of her arm, glancing back towards the ballroom. “Are you okay?”

Zia frowns, rubbing where you touched her. “I was doing just fine until you so rudely pulled me away.”

“I–I–I can’t – Okay. Fine. We need to – to talk. Now.” You glance around, “Privately.”

“So eager to keep me for yourself, sweetheart?”

You ignore her jab, an open door to a study off the hallway catches your attention. That’ll work. Don’t pick up anyone else inside. You push Zia into the room, pulling the door shut behind you both. “What – what the fuck were you thinking!?”

The other woman smiles quietly to herself, easing out the crinkles in her dress. “I don’t understand what you mean, my dear.” She props herself up against a wardrobe, crossing her arms. “We’re here for a job. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun along the way.”

“Fun!?” You grit your teeth, strain to keep your voice down. “That–that–that woman was halfway down your throat!”

Zia’s smile broadens into a smirk. “Jealous?”

You step back, “N–no! Ugh! You always do this!” Throw your hands into the air as you storm over to the room’s one window. “Suppose Little Miss Handsy got too frisky? Huh? What’re you going to do then?”

Zia yawns, waving the thought away with a hand. “Oh, I suppose I’d have to wipe the poor dear’s mind. Make her think she got a little too drunk.” She shrugs. “Nothing would happen.”

“And the security cameras? Everyone else in the fucking ballroom?”

“Please, sweetheart, You of all people should know just how powerful I am these days.”

You turn away from the window to stare her down again. “That’s not – that’s not your risk to take, Zia! W–we’re in this together!”

She doesn’t look back at you, studying her fingernails. “For as long as it’s convenient at any rate, my dear handmaiden.”

“Oh fuck off.” You storm towards her, “You can’t keep treating everything like it’s some big game!”

“Isn’t it?” Her smile collapses into a frown as she finally looks over at you. “I’m sick of hiding all the time, and I’m sick of these…” She tugs at the collar of her dress, a look of disgust on her face. “turtlenecks. All the time! One day I want to wear something flashy and not fear for my life!”

Ah. “So y–you were scared back there.”

Zia snaps back to you, letting go of her dress. “I didn’t say that!”

You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. “You were tenser then a coiled spring. I saw your hand shaking.”

“They were not.” Zia snorts. “The only scared woman here is you, dearie. Scared, and jealous.”

“I wasn’t–” you swallow the words back, heart in your throat. “Okay. You know what. Fine. Fine! I–I–I am. Jealous. I admit it.” You put a hand to your chest, as if you could hold your heart in from exploding.

Zia blinks, taken aback. You’ve called her bluff.

“At least – at least I can. Admit it. You – you cocoon yourself in your little act and you think if no one sees the real you, nothing can hurt you!” You laugh, can’t believe you’re actually saying this out loud finally. “When we first met, I thought you were so – so ‘cool’ so ‘imposing.’ That you had it all together, but you know what?” You jab a finger at her. “I–I–I see right through you now. You’re just as scared as I am. No,” You shake your head. “More scared! You’re too scared to even let yourself be scared.”

Silence stretches out between the two of you. Ah fuck. You went too far this time. You’ve blown it.

“Are you done?” Zia stares at you, her expression unreadable. Shaken? Uncertain? Or are you just projecting?

Take a deep breath. Hold. Exhale. “N–no. There’s, um. There’s one more thing.”

“Wha–” Zia doesn’t get to finish speaking as you pull her into an embrace. Her body is rigid in your arms.

“It’s… it’s okay to be scared.”

There’s silence, and then, a weak laugh. “We should… finish the mission.”

You let go of her, heat flashing across your face. God. You idiot, what were you thinking? Zia steps away, and quickly averts her head. But not before you catch a flush across her face. You try not to stare. Thoughts like smoke, melting away before you can read anything coming off her.

You cough and take a step back yourself. “R–right. The… the mission.” You run a hand under your purse strap. “Plan B is ready.”

Zia looks back to you, her usual cool demeanor coming back. “Then let’s get started on Plan A.” She sweeps a hand back through her hair. Pulling back her hand, she twirls a pair of bobby pins between her fingers before they vanish up a sleeve. “Lead the way, my dear handmaiden.”

You roll your eyes and don’t say anything. You’ve given up on the whole name thing. You could just change yours, but it’s the principle of the issue. It’d be like admitting defeat. Putting a hand on the door handle, you pause a moment to get a sense if anyone’s looking out in the hallway. Satisfied you open the door, Zia following you back outside. “Alright, first stop the security station. You ready to fish?”

Zia nods in the affirmative as you glance back to her, a smirk playing across her face. “Cakewalk.”

“Just – just try to restrain yourself. And – wait for my signal. No more diversions. Stay focused.”

“Getting bossy aren’t we?” Zia laughs as you glare at her. “Worried?”

“You wanted me to plan this. So I – I did.”

“Relax. I have total confidence in you.”

You frown at that. “We meet up at the vault.” Turning away you hesitate, glance backwards. “Be careful. I – I’m fucking serious.”

–

Sneaking into security offices is starting to become old hat. Can’t deny that you and Zia make a good team. One takes care of the CCTV and other security, the other gets the target to practically hand over the goods. If anyone’s caught on yet, there hasn’t been any sign of it.

It only takes a few carefully planted suggestions to pull the sap stuck watching the security cams into a deep sleep. Stepping around him, you plug the USB stick with the virus ready to deploy. The monitor screens flicker for a moment and then nothing. You bite back a smile as you pull the stick back out. By the time they notice anything wrong, if they notice anything wrong, it’ll be too late.

From there, it’s a matter of a few careful keypresses to turn off the laser detectors and alarm system. You’ve got maybe half an hour before someone checks on the office and resets the alarms.

Plenty of time.

Hopefully.

Closing your eyes you stretch out your awareness, find the hazy void of thought that masks Zia’s presence and give it a sharp prod. A moment passes and you feel a hard shove in return.

Okay. Great. So far, so good.

Closing the door behind you you set off down the hallway. You’ll take the long way around. Hopefully Zia doesn’t need any help. She’s a better telepath than you are. Better at manipulating people even without that advantage. She’ll be fine. She has to be fine. It’ll work out you just have to –

You pull hard against the wall as a guard walks past. Nudge his attention away from spotting you alongside the hallway. He walks past without stopping, eyes straight ahead, whistling a bored tune.

You should spend less energy worrying about Zia and more on paying attention to yourself. Cursing under your breath, you wait a second to confirm and then head off again. You and Zia both have your skinsuits on under everything, if it comes down to it. It’d be such a waste of a dress though.

The vault is further back into the mansion, away from the bustle of the ballroom and the party showing off Yasuda’s influence. As you get closer, there’s no sign of Zia. Already inside? No – you can pick her coming up the other end of the hallway. Behind schedule, but still within allowance.

Zia catches your eye and the two of you exchange nods. Trailing on Zia’s arm is Henry Yasuda himself, babbling some braggart story that Zia clearly hasn’t been paying attention to. He looks at you, eyes sliding off you face, a dazed, glossy look to them. Dreaming? Well, as long as Zia can get him to open the door.

You hang back, taking flank. “Any trouble?”

“Of course not.” Zia pulls her arm away from Yasuda, giving him a soft push towards the door. “Now, what did you want to show me, sweetheart?”

The man mumbles something, an unintelligible mix of English, Spanish, and Japanese. Presses his hand against the door, frowns, then tries again. Twice more before he finds the keypad.

Zia snickers, “Find the right strings and they fall over themselves to help you ruin them.”

“F–focus.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She waves you away, pouting. “Look at him, thinking he’s getting something out of this. Adorable.”

You hold your breath. On the third try, the keypad turns green under Yasuda’s fingers and the doors click open. The two of you let him enter first, following quickly behind before the doors can shut.

Zia claps her hands together, looking around the shelves lining the walls of the modest-sized office. “Very nice.” Instead of books, a collection of jewels, fossils, and historical artifacts fill the shelves. A collection of paintings are haphazardly arranged on easels in one corner. Temporary relocation during the party? Huh. They’re either worth a lot, or not enough.

Glancing over at Zia, you grab her arm, pulling her hand back from a display box of gems. “Don’t touch anything.” You hiss. “No fingerprints.”

“You’ve got space in that purse.”

“Limited space. Com’on.” You gesture to Yasuda. “Put him out and keep an eye open while I look.”

Grumbling, Zia waves at Yusada dismissively and the man crumbles into a heap in the corner, lights out. “What’s the point of breaking in if we don’t steal anything?”

“Priorities.” There’s a desk and computer at the far end. Dipping a hand into your purse you pull out a pair of plastic gloves, snapping them on. “This is worth more, and harder to track.”

“But where’s the romance?” Zia’s eyes dip down to your hands. “I don’t suppose you…?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

“Could have packed your own.”

Zia doesn’t have anything to say to that.

You don’t risk sitting down on the chair, pulling it back and out of the way as you jam another USB stick into an open port. A few nerve-wracking seconds later the login screen on the monitor disappears, replaced by the desktop. Fist pump in the air, just the tiniest, most restrained motion, but it catches Zia’s attention.

“Going well?”

Nod as you sort through the files, pulling passwords, account numbers, anything that looks like it might be valuable. “Fucker thought he’d be safe keeping his computer off the network.” You snicker, shaking your head. “We should be able to do some real damage before they catch on.”

“Mmm.”

“Look at some of this stuff, this folder is literally labeled ‘Blackmail’ it’s beyond parody. It doesn’t even look to be encrypted. These people really think they can just do whatever they want–”

“Look, dear, I’ve been… thinking about what you said.”

The tentative tone in Zia’s voice gives you pause and you spare a glance over to her. Your fellow super villain is pacing the walls of the room, facing away from you.

“You’re just… well, so weak–”

You frown and shift your focus back to the computer. For a moment you thought this was going to be something heartfelt. But no. It’s just Zia being Zia. What did you really expect? She keeps talking but you’re only half paying attention, waiting for the jab or the fake-out you’ve come to expect from her.”

“–but your weakness hasn’t made you any less strong; And I… well…”

A sharp piercing ringing cuts through the area. You jump, cursing as you bang your knee on the edge of the desk.

“That wasn’t me!” Zia is tense, on alert as you look over to her, quickly backing away from a shelf.

“W–what did you – I told you not to–”

“Was hardly my doing, darling, I promise you.” Zia frowns, a challenge in her stare. “You ready to go?”

You tsk, wincing at the computer screen. “C–can you buy me a minute?”

Zia glances towards the far corner of the room, then up towards the ceiling. You can feel the edge of her telepathic presence skirting around you. “I just redirected to guards who were on their way here. As beautiful and talented as I am, my dear, I can’t keep that up forever before it becomes obvious.”

“Right.” You take a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. “Right. Okay. Okay.” Check the contents of the USB. Not everything you wanted, but can you really afford to waste any more time? But – but – but…

“Ariadne!” Zia’s voice is sharp and loud, cutting through the noise both in the air and in your head. You snap your head up, find her eyes.

You nod. Take a breath. You dip down to pull the USB out of it’s port and slip it back into your purse, then log off the computer. “Okay. Let’s go.” Power-walking back to Zia, already waiting by the doors. Peeling off the plastic gloves and tucking them away as you go. One hand in your purse, finds the remote detonator, thumbing the trigger.

Zia eyes your arm and cocks her head to the side, a smirk on her face. “Time for plan B?”

“Time for plan B.”

Her grin only widens.

You press the trigger as the two of you step into the hallway. Half a second later, a soft ‘boom’ rattles the paintings hanging from the walls followed by series of screams.

Your partner in crime cackles, clapping her hands together. “Well! I suppose we should be good girls and evacuate with the rest of the sheep now.”

You bite back a smile. “I sincerely doubt anyone has called you a ‘good girl.’”

In the chaos of people fleeing the smoke, Zia and yourself are able to slip back into the crowd. Just another pair of wannabe socialites having a terrible time of it. Nothing to see here. Once outside, you’re able to slip onto the street before the police arrive. Walk a few blocks before calling a taxi cab.

The come down from after an operation is always a little surreal. That slowly sinking realization that once again, you haven’t been caught. Zia directs the cab driver back to her penthouse suite, because of course you always have to debrief there. She has standards after all. Ones much higher than a dingy corner of a refurbished workshop.

As soon as the two of you are safely inside, you drop your purse on a table and collapse onto an open couch. You can change clothes later, when the shock finally wears off.

Zia snickers from the kitchen table, something alcoholic and fruity smelling in her hand. “Tired already, my dear handmaiden?”

“Aren’t you?”

“This is the part I hate. Where all the, the uh, the doubts come filtering in.” You groan into the couch mattress. “Why did the alarm go off early? Will Yasuda remember us at all? What if there was some sort of recording device or secondary CCTV we missed? What if someone places us there and realizes we weren’t on the guest list? What if all the files are dummy data or one of them is some kind of trap? What if–”

“Ariadne.” Zia laughs, cutting you off. “Relax darling. Everything went fine. Between my talents and your planning, everything went off without a hitch. It was flawless much like these…”

You hear a a solid ‘clunk, clunk, clunk’ of something heavy being laid out on the kitchen table. Eyes wide you shot up from the couch and stare over at Zia who sits back, watching you, a sly smirk on her face. A series of brilliant blue sapphires glitter under the kitchen light.

“Oh my god.” Your voice cracks. “I – I told you not to touch anything.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “If we didn’t steal something they’d know you’d broken into that computer for sure.” She picks up one of the gems, turning it over in her fingers. “A common jewel thief is much less concerning than a hacker wouldn’t you say?”

You blink.

Frown.

“I…” Chewing at your cheek again you get up from the couch and walk over to the table. “You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Zia blinks, taken aback, a hand to her chest. Her surprise is gone just as quickly, cool confidence radiating back out. “Of course I am.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You try to scowl, but can’t keep it up under the shear pleased expression on Zia’s face.

Zia preens, brushing her hair back with a smile. “No, no, do keep going. Tell me how I’m right again?”

“I take it back.”

“Too late.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Miss Jealousy?”

“I–” You shut your mouth and purse your lips, glaring down at Zia in her seat. “What was that you were trying to say back there, anyway? Right before you set the alarm off?”

“I–? I did not set off the alarm!” Zia scoffs, hand to her chest again. “And anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hrm.” Something in the back of your head screams at you as you step in closer. This is a mistake. You can’t trust giving someone like Zia this much power over you. And yet –

“Ariadne?” Zia stares back at you, challenging.

You dip in, a kiss on the cheek and pull back before she can make a decision either way. Zia blinks, caught in a moment of unguarded shock as she puts a hand to where your lips touched her. The full weight of her telepathic presence presses against yours. Probing, questioning. “S–still… still scared, I see.”

“Me? Scared?” Zia scoffs, pulling her hand back down, willing her expression back to something more neutral. “You’re mistaken.”

You bite your lip. Fuck. There’s too many ways this ends badly. What are you thinking? Have you completely lost your mind?

“Well then…” You offer a hand out to your partner-in-crime. “Be scared with me?”

#fallen hero: rebirth #ockiss20 #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne #zia basri #wlw fanfic

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ @sasuhinamonth || SasuHina Month 2019 || Day Thirty-One: Free Day ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Ghost Among the Ghosts ] [ AO3 Link ]

For as long as Hinata can remember, she’s been able to see them.

Dead people.

Yeah, like that one movie, with that kid? The look on her face when she realized the twist to that one was classic.

But in her case...it’s very much real.

She can’t recall exactly when it started...but an inner inking tells her it had something to do with her mother’s death. Hinata was five when Hanako died a few weeks after giving birth to the younger Hyūga sister Hanabi. Complications with healing after the birth that led to her early downfall.

But for Hinata...her leaving wasn’t quite so early. For weeks afterward, she insisted that Hanako was still there...but that she seemed so sad.

And it was true. No one else could see the woman, this disbelieving Hinata’s tale. But she was indeed ‘haunted’ by her mother’s spirit, which lingered morosely in a need to watch over her daughters. But the plane of the living is not one for the dead...and as much as Hinata enjoyed having her mother around a little longer, it was clear she was suffering. Cold, pale, and partially translucent, she seemed to fade more and more every day.

It was Hinata who helped her cross.

From then on, she became...sensitive to those no longer living, but lingering in the mortal realm. After spending so much time with her mother, they didn’t frighten her. After all, it wasn’t anything like in the movies. They weren’t scary, they were lost people - lost souls - unable to move on.

So, once Hinata graduated high school...she made a decision. In addition to the little flower shop she started with the savings account Hanako had set up for her...she opened a little medium gig on the side, offering help to anyone who had spooky afflictions.

At first, it got her laughed at...but she was quietly determined. The nay-sayers were just too closed off to see the good she intended to do.

And her first case was a doozy.

A young man had come in, a few other customers already bustling about in the flower shop. At first, Hinata didn’t notice anything off - the energy of the other people helped to mask it. But he lingered, clearly wanting a bit of privacy before talking to her. And by then? It was clear as day.

“Hey, uh...do you do memorial bouquets?”

“Yes, of course - we have some that are pre-arranged, or you...can…” Fading out, she blinked. And blinked again. Funny...there hadn’t been anyone standing with him before, but...upon a closer look, she noticed them.

Two people. A man and a woman, each standing just behind and beside the customer in question. Both wore weary, drawn expressions, not seeming to notice her staring. Whoever they were, they were strong attachments, feeding off his energy and seemingly unaware of their surroundings.

“...hello?”

Hinata gave her head a little shake. “...sorry, I...got a little dizzy for a moment. You said you wanted memorial bouquets…?”

“Yeah...I’m in town to visit my parents’ graves, and...wanted something to give them.”

“I see...well, I can have them done for you in about an hour, if you’d...like to come back?” That explained it, then. Those people...they had to be the parents he was talking about. Somehow, they’d ended up attached to him. But how to ask without being...impolite…

“...may I ask you something?”

He glanced up from the catalog he was reading, trying to decide what he wanted.

“Are you feeling...all right? You look awfully tired…”

“Yeah, I...I’m fine. Just had some trouble sleeping last night.”

“...does that happen often? I mean…” She gave a sheepish smile. “You’ve got some pretty serious dark circles going on there.”

For a moment, he almost looked...suspicious. “...often enough. It’s nothing I can get treated for...no meds work, no docs can figure it out.”

“...I see. Well...if it’s any consolation, I...might have an inkling of what’s going on.”

That earned a small, humorless scoff. “Oh really?”

“You...might have seen the small sign under the one for the shop, right…?”

“Something about a medium.”

“Yes.”

“...you telling me I’ve got a ghost problem?”

“I’m telling you you’ve got two,” Hinata replied gently. “And...that’s why you’re not sleeping. You have two people attached to you, and...they’re sapping at your energy in order to remain here.”

...that got him to still. “...two…?”

“...yes. One is a woman with long, dark hair. The other is a man with short, parted hair, also dark. She’s got a heart-shaped face, his is more square, and -”

Having heard enough, he lifted a hand, expression cracking. “...you’re not messing with me?”

“No sir...I’m just concerned. Are...are they…?”

“...my parents. I…” The same hand then ran back through his hair. “...when I was little, I told people I could see them. But they kept ignoring me...and when they didn’t ignore me, they put me on pills...and then it stopped. I couldn’t see them anymore. But...you’re telling me they’re still here…?”

“It seems so. You...lost them when young?”

“...yeah. Car crash. My brother and I went to our aunt’s. Ever since then, I’ve had...nightmares, and’ve always been tired. They’ve tried pill after pill, nothing worked...that must be why…” Suddenly, he looked fervid. “...can you help them...move on?”

“I can try. But first,” Hinata replied, “you’re going to have to tell me more, and...I think that’s something best done sitting down. I close at five. If you’d like...you can come back then. I live above the shop. We can sit, and talk about this more...comfortably.”

“...okay. You really think you can help me? Help...us?”

“I’ll do the best that I can.”

“...thank you. I’m Sasuke, by the way.”

“Hinata. And...you can introduce me to the rest later. For now...I’ll get those flowers ready for you.”

.oOo.

OKAY. It's over! SasuHina Month 2019 is officially done. I'm both sad...and relieved. Having two ongoing drabble challenges is a BIT much for me as it turns out. But it was still a lot of fun, and I hope you guys enjoyed it too! I used the second free day to explore a new verse I've been wanting to try with some other characters, so...this is a bit of a test drive, lol - my family is full of ghost stories, so it's about time I try a hand at creating some of my own! Poor Sasuke is quite literally haunted by his past: the parents he lost. But Hinata, gifted in seeing spirits, is eager to lend a hand. Another one for the WIP pile xD Anyway, it's...VERY late, and I'm very tired. Hopefully with SHM over, I can get caught back up, and back on track with my dailies. But, for now...time for bed lol - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #sasuhinamonth #sasuhinamonth2019 #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #ghost among the ghosts [ au ]

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sanders-specs · 5 years

Text

Camp Swan Chapter 12

Summary: Virgil hates camping. He especially hates summer camp. There’s too many happy counselors. Campers pretend to like him, but then turn around and shove him into the lake when the adults aren’t looking. His roommates hate him, and he comes to find out that his parents just wanted him out of the way so they could go on their own vacation. He doesn’t want to admit that the food isn’t that bad, or that the activities are actually pretty fun. Or that his roommates aren’t actually the worst. And some of the counselors aren’t that bad… But summer camp is still the worst.

A/N: Well. It's been a bit hasn't it? I'm sorry for not updating for a while. My mental health took a bit of a decline and writing became really hard. I'm trying to get back into it, and work on some stuff, so I've been going back to my WIPs. Hopefully as summer goes on I'll be able to update more. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

Warnings: anxiety, panic, mentions of bruises and scratches, crying

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 | Previous

Tag list: @princeyssash @alwaysmy-lilith @protecterofalltheaus @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @dan-yuna @kittenvirgil @prettygirl0223 @helloisthisusernametaken @tripleaaaqueer @lilbeanblr @ilovemygaydad @kai-dot-jpg @chemically-imbalanced-romance @pattongirl @littleoptimistme @ccecode @demonickittykat @samidaboss3 @fallsehood

After sitting through the nurse checking him over and bandaging his scratch, Virgil had to endure a walk all the way back to his cabin with an unusually silent Thomas. Virgil kept his head ducked and his arms crossed, too aware of the fact that 1) people were staring at him and 2) Thomas was clearly mad at him. Or, well, he was mad at someone, but considering that Virgil had caused him nothing but trouble since day one he was willing to bet that it was him.

They reach Cabin 13 and Thomas opened the door, holding it open for Virgil. As soon as he walked in he could feel the tense atmosphere. Roman, Logan, and Patton were sitting in the living area, all of them having changed out of their swim suits and soaked t-shirts. Logan and Patton were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, and Roman in one of the armchairs, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

The thing that caught Virgil’s attention, though, was Joan pacing in front of them, their face far from happy. They looked up when Thomas and Virgil walked in.

“Virgil are you okay?” Joan asks immediately. Virgil notices that his roommates’ heads all snap up at the same time, turning towards him.

“Um,” Virgil shrunk away from the attention. “Yeah.”

Joan let out a sigh and the motioned to Virgil’s room. “Go get changed.”

Virgil quickly did as he’s told. He didn’t like the look on Joan’s or Thomas’s face. This was clearly more serious than the rock climbing incident. At least then there had been mats to soften his fall. This time…Virgil didn’t even want to think how far Frank and his friends would’ve taken it if whoever had saved him hadn’t been there.

After changing into dry clothes and draping his headphones around his neck—more for comfort than anything else—Virgil joined everyone in the living area. He sat in the armchair across from Roman, trying to gouge if the other boy was seriously hurt or not. He could see some scratches on Roman’s arms, maybe a bruise forming here and there, but otherwise he looked fine.

“Alright,” Joan said, looking down at the four of them. “I want to know what happened and I want to know now.” There was no room in their voice for argument.

For a moment, none of them said anything. Virgil was sure it was because none of them quite knew where to start.

Roman cleared his throat, bringing the attention to him. “Virgil and I were racing in the lake,” he said, his voice as soft and small as Virgil had ever heard it. “So, we were further out than everyone else. We were goofing around, splashing each other, when I felt something pinch me. I thought it was Virgil messing with me at first,” he shot Virgil an apologetic look then, something that made Virgil look down at his hands. “but then Virgil started freaking out because he felt it too. It was someone messing with us, but the water was so murky I couldn’t quite see who it was. I was so busy trying to figure it out that Virgil got pulled under.”

“And you two didn’t see anything?” Thomas asked Logan and Patton.

“We were sitting on the dock,” Patton said. “We noticed when Roman started flailing around and when Virgil disappeared, but we were too far away to notice anything else.”

“That was when we retrieved you, Thomas,” Logan said.

“Virgil,” Joan said, looking over at him. “What’s you’re part?”

Virgil hesitated. If this is what happened when he ratted out Frank once, what would he do if Virgil ratted him out twice?

“Virgil?” Thomas asked, his voice gentle. “I know this must have been scary for you, but we need to know what happened.”

“Don’t worry,” Joan said, making their voice gentle as well. “You’re not in any trouble.”

Virgil gulped and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt real, honest fear bubble up in his chest. What would Frank do to him next if he talked right now?

“Verge?” Patton’s voice cut through the fear slightly, and Virgil looked up at him. He gave Virgil a small, supportive smile. “It’s okay.”

Pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, Virgil pressed his head against his knees. He knew that none of them were going to be mad at him, but Roman had already been hurt because of him. What if Frank went after Logan next? Or Patton?

Virgil shook his head, forgetting everyone else in the room. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk it. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

“Virgil, are you going to come eat?” Patton asked, looking at the other boy. He was curled up on his side on his bed, his back turned to the rest of them.

Patton was met with silence, making his shoulders slump as he looked at Roman and Logan helplessly. Virgil hadn’t spoken to them since earlier that afternoon. No matter how many times any of them had asked what happened, Virgil had remained silent. He even went as far as to cover his mouth with his hand, as if that would keep all the words in. In the end, Joan had let Virgil go, and the younger boy had immediately gone into their room without a single word to them.

“You have had a rather exhausting day. Perhaps a meal would make you feel better,” Logan said, peering over at Virgil hopefully. Again, nothing.

Roman was sitting on Logan’s bunk, staring at the ground. He hadn’t said much either since their talk with Thomas and Joan, but at least he wasn’t ignoring them.

Patton figured that he needed to do something—he refused to allow Virgil to go back to retreating into himself—so he walked over to Virgil’s bunk and sat down on the edge of the bed. He put a gentle hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Come on Verge,” Patton said gently, “hiding out in here won’t make things any better. It’ll only show them that they won.”

Virgil turned over slightly at that to look at him. Patton smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “What? Do you think we can’t put two and two together?”

“It would only make sense for Frank to be the one who did this to you,” Logan said. “He is, after all, the only person motivated enough to try a stunt like this towards you.”

Virgil sighed and rolled back over.

“And I know that our friends will want to know that you’re okay,” Patton said. “You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. We’ll be with you the entire time too!”

Virgil just curled into a tighter ball. A second later, his shoulders started to shake, and Patton could hear sniffling.

His heart broke, then, because this kid had been through so much just since coming to this camp, and it wasn’t his fault. Maybe he’d been a little unpleasant in the beginning, but Patton was starting to understand that maybe it had nothing to do with them and everything to do with Virgil just trying to protect himself.

Patton scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm around the front of his shoulders and resting his head on Virgil’s arm. Virgil clung to his arm as he cried and Patton squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off his own tears.

“You’re okay,” Patton whispered, lifting his head slightly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Virgil just sobbed and Patton comforted him as best he could. After a few minutes, Virgil pushed himself into a sitting position, Patton leaning back with him.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” Virgil muttered, his head bowed slightly, like he still didn’t want to look at any of them.

Patton tilted Virgil’s head up and smiled when the other boy looked him in the eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for, kiddo,” he said, brushing away some runaway tears. Virgil looked slightly shocked, as if that were the first time anyone had ever done or said that to him. Patton pushed back a sudden very strong urge to protect and take care of Virgil in that moment. If there was anything he’d learned about Virgil at this point, it was that overdoing it was never the way to go.

He couldn’t, however, resist the urge to hug him.

Very slowly and hesitantly, Virgil returned the hug, relaxing in Patton’s arms. When they pulled away Virgil was still sniffling a little, but he wasn’t crying anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said again, looking from Patton to Logan and Roman. “I saw him but…” he shook his head.

“But what?” Patton asked gently.

Virgil looked down. “What will he do to me if I tell them that it was him? That’s what got me into this mess in the first place. And he dragged Roman into this too. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone else.”

Patton squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing will happen if you tell Joan what you saw. They’re the head of the camp, if you don’t feel safe, they’re the person to tell.”

Virgil picked up his pillow and hugged it to himself. “You saw what they did to me the last time I told.”

Patton winced at the memory of the bruises all over Virgil’s chest. “Well…”

“As much as I hate to say it, Virgil is correct in the sense that there is no guarantee Frank and his…gang will not try something else,” Logan said thoughtfully. “After all, the only thing Joan will have to go off of is Virgil’s word. No one else saw anything.”

Patton frowned. “Then…what do we do?”

“We go on about our camp activities,” Logan said. “We stick together as much as possible, and if or when Frank tries to do anything else, we make sure to either stop him or make sure to have evidence.” He readjusted his glasses and crossed his arms. “Not that I want anything else to happen, but it will be out best chance to ensure he stops once we have something to prove he’s been trying to harm Virgil.”

Virgil sighed and fell back on the bed. “I hate this.”

“It’s not fun for any of us kiddo,” Patton said. He grabbed Virgil’s wrist and pulled him up. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Thankfully, Virgil allowed Patton to pull him to the bathroom.

“Roman, are you alright?” Logan asked once Patton and Virgil were gone. The usual loud and dramatic boy was silent and had been for a while.

“I…don’t know,” Roman said with a sigh, finally looking up at him. “I’m still freaked out I guess.”

Logan nodded. “That is understandable.”

“Do you really think…I mean…do you think Frank would try to seriously hurt Virgil? Or any of us?”

There was real worry in Roman’s voice, along with something like fear. Because of it, Logan took a long moment to think over his words, what he knew.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that Frank doesn’t think very well before he acts out his plans. I do not think he would ever mean to seriously harm someone, not beyond a bloody nose or perhaps a broken bone. However, I cannot rule out the possibility that one of his plans would go wrong, which is why we have to be on our guard around him and the rest of his friends.”

Roman nodded, looking non too please about Logan’s conclusion. “Just after today…”

“I believe that today was only to scare Virgil, and you. Had any of us been with you, I’m sure we would have gotten the same treatment.” Logan offered a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. “As Patton said, hiding out will only show that they have won. And you do not seem like the type to give up so easily.”

Roman peered up at him with a small smile. “I never thought I’d hear you agree with Patton.”

“it is a day of many surprises.”

Roman laughed and stood, clasping Logan’s bicep. “Thanks, Lo.”

Logan blinked at the nickname, but he smiled, nonetheless. “I’m glad I could be of help.”

“You guys ready to eat?” Patton asked, he and Virgil coming back into the room. Virgil was looking significantly less teary and more like his usual brooding self.

“Am I ever, I need some food after the afternoon we had,” Roman said, walking past Patton. “Come on Virgil, you have got to try the jell-o ice cream, it’s to die for.”

“Alright boys, rise and shine!” Thomas’s way too cheery voice called, just before he flipped on the lights and seared Virgil’s retinas.

The four of them groaned, covering their faces with their blankets.

“Aw come on none of that. We’ve got a long day ahead of us! It’s hiking day!”

“Thomas, I don’t know how to convey to you that what you just said does not sound like any fun,” Virgil muttered, squinting through the too bright light.

Thomas smirked. “Well, there might be a few surprises. Like, oh, I don’t know, ziplining.”

That got the attention of Virgil’s roommates. “Ziplining?” Roman sat up so quickly his head hit the ceiling with a loud thump. “Owwww.”

“No thanks,” Virgil muttered, too tired to even laugh at Roman.

“Oh, come on kiddo,” Patton said, climbing down from his bunk. “Ziplining is one of the most fun things we do at camp!”

“The last time I was strapped to a harness I ended up falling,” Virgil reminded him.

“Oh. Right.”

“Don’t worry Virgil,” Thomas said. “There won’t be anyone messing with the equipment this time. Especially since only two cabins get to go, and those cabins are ours and Alyssa’s and Cassie’s.”

Virgil peeked up at him. “Seriously?”

Thomas gave him a knowing look. “I wasn’t going to risk my campers on something like this,” He said seriously. “Had to fight with Bran about it, but we got it worked out. But first, Virgil, you need to clean and change the bandages on that scratch. I got some ointment from the infirmary for you.” He tossed it onto Virgil’s bed. “Today’s about having fun and getting away from the rest of camp for a little while. Have a bit of a normal day after yesterday.”

Sighing, Virgil resigned himself to a morning of a lot of walking. The fact that Frank or his friends wouldn’t be there was comforting.

“Virgilll come on!” Patton called, tugging on Virgil’s arm.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up.”

“Virgil! How are you feeling?” Rose asked when the boys met up with the girls at the beginning of the walking trail.

“Fine,” Virgil said honestly. A shower had woken him up well enough, and he had to admit that he was relieved to not have to look over his shoulder at every turn.

“What, you’re not worried about your big brother?” Roman asked, pretending to be hurt.

“Eh,” Rose said with a shrug, making Roman roll his eyes and shove her lightly.

The girls and Travis had all gone back to their cabins by the time Virgil and his roommates got to the cafeteria the night before. They’d learned from one of Alyssa’s roommates that they had been called back to their cabin to talk to Joan about what had happened at the lake that day.

Cassie bumped into his shoulder with hers as the rest of the group started down the trail, at the behest of their counselors and the leader of the activity. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I mean…no,” Virgil said with a sigh. “But I kinda have to be, don’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” Cassie said. “But at least you get most of the day with just friends, right?”

Virgil nodded. “Right.”

“Cas! I need the camera!” Alyssa called.

“Coming!” Cassie grabbed Virgil’s wrist and pulled him towards the trial.

Though Virgil did not like the whole hiking-up-a-small-mountain part of their day, he had to admit that Camp Swan was actually really pretty. They could hear streams almost at all times and even saw a few as the climbed uphill. Their guide—along with Logan who looked more excited that Virgil had ever seen him—told them all about the plants and animals in the region that camp was in. They saw their fair share of birds, rabbits, squirrels, and even a fox.

He kept to the back of the group, feeling more comfortable to be able to keep an eye on everyone and so he wasn’t getting in anyone’s way. Cassie and Alyssa were taking pictures of it all, Logan was taking in everything the guide said, Roman was trying to freak his sister out by pretending a spider had fallen on her, and Patton seemed to just be enjoying the scenery, the same as Virgil was.

“Hey Verge, thirsty?” Thomas asked, handing Virgil a bottle of water.

“Oh, thanks,” Virgil said, startled for a moment. He’d forgotten that their counselor had been in the back of the group as well, making sure that none of them got lost from the group. He took the bottle and took a long gulp from it, not realizing how thirsty he’d been until that moment.

“So,” Thomas said after a few moments. “How are you really doing after yesterday?”

“Well, my chest hurts,” Virgil said with a shrug. “Really, though, I’m okay.”

Thomas nodded, though he didn’t look like he believed him. “Just…remember you can talk to me about this stuff okay? I’m your counselor, it’s my job to look after you.”

“Right,” Virgil said, looking away.

Suddenly, Patton was there, taking Virgil’s hand and pulling him away from Thomas. What was up with everyone pulling him around places lately?

“There’s a nest of baby birds in this tree over here you’ve got to come see it!” Patton exclaimed, squeezing Virgil’s hand.

It was then that he realized Patton was probably saving him from having to answer any more of Thomas’s questions.

When they finally got to the ziplining, they were so high up that Virgil was afraid to look down. He stayed by Patton, finding himself trusting the other boy more than anyone else at that moment, especially as they climbed up the ladder to the platform where they were getting their gear.

“It’s okay,” Patton muttered to him. “They do a check on it every morning to make sure everything is secure.”

Virgil nodded, but that did little to comfort him as he looked out over the bridge that would lead them to where they would be strapped to a harness and pushed down a wire with little protection aside from a helmet.

“Alright everyone, follow me. Don’t crowd the bridge at once,” the leader said, taking them onto the bridge. It was big enough that two people could walk side by side, but no more than that. Virgil ended up next to Roman, of all people.

“This is going to be great, Virgil!” Roman said, his eyes alight with excitement. “Wait until you get on there, oh it’s so freeing!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Virgil muttered. Truth be told, he wasn’t listening to the other boy all that much. He was too busy trying not to look down and imagining what would happen if the rope tying them to the tree snapped…

Suddenly, a strong arm was around his shoulders. He hadn’t realized that he’d started shaking and had stopped cold where he was until the scent of Roman’s faded cologne invaded his senses. “Just keep walking, come on,” he said gently.

Virgil didn’t have much of a choice, since Roman was pretty much pushing him. Still, though, he got Virgil to the other side of the bridge, where Patton smiled at him and immediately looped his arm through Virgil’s.

“That’s the hardest part,” Patton promised.

“If you say so.”

Roman gave him an encouraging smile and turned to the instructor, who was going over safety. Virgil did his best to listen, to remember everything that was being said.

Before he knew it, they were lining up to go down. Virgil leaned around to watch how the counselors strapped everyone in, then watched as that camper went down down down and out of sight, presumably to a waiting counselor at the bottom.

As it got closer to his turn, Virgil felt his breath catch.

“Hey,” Patton said gently. “It’s okay. It’s pretty scary the first time, but once you get on there it’s pretty fun.”

Logan leaned in then. “You can always opt out. It’s not too late, someone will walk you back if you like.”

Virgil thought about it for a few moments. He could leave. He could say he didn’t want to do this. There were a few campers who stayed behind, who were too fearful of the height or the zipline. But…Virgil felt like he had to. What would Roman say if he chickened out? Or if this got back to Frank?

“I can do it,” Virgil said, though he didn’t sound convincing even to himself.

Patton squeezed his hand. “I can go first, so that way I’m at the bottom when you get there. And Lo will be right behind you.”

Virgil nodded.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Roman went first. He let out a whoop of excitement as he went down, clearly having the time of his life.

Patton was next. He squeezed Virgil’s hand one last time before he let the counselor strap him in. He gave Virgil an encouraging smile before he was gone too.

“You can close your eyes if you get scared,” Logan muttered to him as they waited for the all clear that Patton had gotten down safely. “I had to my first time doing this.”

“You did?” Virgil asked, looking back at Logan startled. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would get scared about one of these things. Sure, he wasn’t as daring as Roman, but still.

Logan nodded. “It was not fun at first. However, halfway down I opened my eyes and looked around and found myself enjoying it.”

“Okay…” Virgil gulped as the counselor motioned him forward. “Okay. Thanks Logan.”

Before he felt he was ready, Virgil was strapped to the harness. He made the counselor triple check that he was fine, then looked to Logan for a second opinion. Thankfully, neither seemed to mind.

“First time?” the counselor asked. When Virgil nodded, they smiled. “Let me check one more time then.” Once they had, they patted Virgil on the back. “All you have to do is walk off. Gravity will take care of the rest. Ready.”

“Not real—" Virgil didn’t have time to finish his sentence before the counselor pushed him off the ledge and he was flying.

Surprised, Virgil let out a yelp and shut his eyes, holding on tightly to his harness. He felt the wind on his face and heard it whoosh past him as he went down. The air was knocked out of him and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Then his body settled into the sensation, and after another moment or two, he opened his eyes.

Green rushed past him as he flew past trees. He couldn’t see anything but forest all around him. He couldn’t see the bottom yet. It was like he was the only person in existence. And it was…nice. Then a clearing came up and he could see camp far below him. He could see kids at the lake and running around cabins.

Then that was hidden behind trees again. Virgil let out a small giggle as his stomach filled with excitement—or maybe it was fear? Or both?—and he let himself relax. Just for a moment. He forgot about the harness digging into his bruises, he forgot about his fear, he forgot about Frank. For a moment, he just forgot about everything except for the forest around him and the wind rushing past him.

Until he saw the ground quickly approaching, and Thomas and Patton waving at him. He reached up to pull the break to slow his decent. He was breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through him as he stopped and gently touched his feet to the ground. Thomas got to work taking the harness off of him, and once he was free, he stumbled into Patton.

“Well kiddo, how was it?” Patton asked with a laugh, clearly already knowing the answer from Virgil’s own smile.

“Better than I thought it would be,” Virgil said honestly, still laughing. He looked around for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He saw Roman, who was giving him a knowing smile, as if he’d known all along that Virgil would love this. He only gave the other boy an eye roll.

Alyssa and Cassie were there too, bouncing excitedly. They caught Virgil’s eye and grinned at him.

Then Logan was there, finished with his turn.

Virgil went over to Thomas as he as unstrapping Logan. “Can we go again?”

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #fanfiction #my fic #camp swan #tw anxiety #tw bruises #tw crying

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lisatelramor · 5 years

Text

The Next Step

I had really bad writer's block in June/July and it had me poking through my old WIPs. I came across this in my 'probably not going to finish' folder and figured what the hell, why not poke at it? This was intended to be the last part in the Hikaru no Go “Arrangement” series that I started waaaay back in 2012. Hahaaa. ._. Yeah. It's finally finished now, so here ya go, fic no one wanted but me because I wanted closure.

*****

It was somewhere during their fifth year of marriage, late at night in the winter with Hikaru sleeping between them that Natsume reached out to her husband and took his hand. “Akira-san.”

Akira almost asleep, rolled to look at her. ��Yes?”

“I think I’m ready to have a child.”

“Already?” It seemed too soon, but in retrospect it wasn’t too soon at all following a natural progression of things. Though it was hardly a normal marriage as Hikaru’s snoring presence demonstrated.

“I am already over thirty,” Natsume explained into the dark. She curled closer into Hikaru’s warmth. “We are not getting any younger.” She smiled. “And five years is hardly ‘already’ to the rest of the world.”

“Oh.” Akira tried to see her face through the dark, but there wasn’t enough light to make out her expression or see the emotions in her eyes. He leaned back into the blankets and Hikaru’s head rolled off his pillow and onto Akira’s shoulder. “We’ll need to discuss this with Hikaru.”

“Of course.” Natsume let go of his arm, latching on to Hikaru’s side. Hikaru had less sharp angles than Akira making him the perfect pillow. “I feel it would be a good idea to have a child soon before we are too tired to raise it and our parents too old to help.”

“I will think about it,” Akira promised. Because it was the natural progression in a marriage. You had children.

*o*o*

“Kids?” Hikaru laughed nervously. “Already? I mean we’re not even thirty yet.”

“Actually, Hikaru-san, I am thirty-one,” Natsume pointed out.

“Oh. Uh…” It wasn’t that he was against the idea of children, it was just…different. And he finally felt like their dynamic worked. Wouldn’t adding another person—another very tiny, demanding, baby sort of person—going to mess with their balance?

“Hikaru, we’re in this together,” Akira said. He sipped his tea. His hair was getting long, Hikaru noted. Why was it that they drank tea whenever there were serious discussions to be had? They’d drunk two whole pots of tea when they discussed Hikaru moving in with Akira and Natsume. Most of it was consumed by Akira and Natsume. Hikaru tended to let it grow cold and swirl it around in his cup. Akira set the tea cup down. “If you aren’t ready for this step, we can wait. A child has always been in our future plans though.”

“I know.” It was something they discussed early in their relationship along with boundaries, comfort-zones, and proper use of toiletries. (Hikaru wasn’t guilty in the least for his misuse of the last one. Akira hadn’t been complaining at the time either. He was just upset about the state of the bathroom later.) “Well…it takes months for a child to be born, right? That’s plenty of time to get used to the idea.”

Natsume and Akira exchanged a look. She raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “There’s another thing,” Akira said. “About…parentage. Are you interested in your own biological children?”

“Kids? Me?!” Hikaru gaped at Natsume. “Uh, well, I kind of assumed they’d be…err…your kids, Akira since you’re married to Natsume. And, uh, I guess they’re Natsume’s kids too and all since, uh…” He trailed off blushing. It was so much harder to think of sex as creating children than just…sex. For fun and intimacy. And oh, god, Natsume would carry a tiny person in her for nine months. How weird was that? He shook his head and tried to answer honestly. “I never really thought about having kids. I guess kids are ok, but I never really felt like I had to have any of my own. Akari has a kid and that’s weird to think about, and Mom wants grandkids, but I never really planned on providing any.”

“I am not averse to having more than one child,” Natsume said. “I would actually like more than one child as in my own childhood I often would have liked a sibling for a playmate.”

Hikaru tried to wrap his head around not just one child but two or maybe more. “You know, I’m happy just being Uncle Hikaru or something. Really.”

Natsume smiled, no doubt seeing right through his bluster to his discomfort beneath, but she didn’t comment on it. “The option is still available in the future if you want it.”

“We’re at a good point in our lives for this,” Akira assured Hikaru. “Our careers are well on their way, we’re young enough to have the energy for a child, and our parents are close enough by to help with childcare when our schedules lead to difficulties.”

Hikaru had a feeling there would be a lot of scheduling difficulties. The life of a professional Go player wasn’t as predictable as a nine to five office job. But Akira was right. As things were now, either Akira or Hikaru were usually available to be with Natsume—and therefore a future child—most days.

“Ok,” Hikaru said. “So we’re having a baby.” Right. He could get used to the idea. He drained his tea cup. “So Natsume, what now?”

“We wait.” She sipped her tea. Both the men stared as she set the cup down. “Babies don’t happen instantly.”

*o*o*

“Are you okay with this?” Akira said. They were in Natsume’s garden under the wisteria tree on its trellis. It wasn’t flowering at the moment but it had promising buds along some of the trailing vines. Akira clipped a wayward branch. Natsume was on the other end of the garden working on her flower beds as it was the first day both warm and dry enough to get a decent amount of work in. The wisteria was a foreign variety lacking fragrance, but it didn’t take years to bloom. Natsume had another native tree in the garden she was raising patiently to maturity, but for the moment they could enjoy the light purple flowers the vines produced.

“You clipped too much,” Hikaru said taking the vine from Akira. “See?” He measured empty space where the branch had been. “If you left a few more inches it would have dipped a bit rather than sticking out all weird.”

“Excuse me for not comprehending garden aesthetics.” If it stuck out noticeably, clip it. He didn’t sit through most of Hikaru and Natsume’s discussions on gardening. Actually, he still found it strange that Hikaru enjoyed gardening as it was something that took patience. “And that isn’t the issue.”

Hikaru twitched the cut branch in his hands back and forth. “Yeah. I know. I said congratulations right?”

“You looked terrified when you said it.” Akira glanced at the other end of the garden. Natsume had started in on a new row of flowers seemingly unaware of them dawdling next to the wisteria. He was willing to bet she was carefully not listening, trying to give them all the privacy they needed to have this conversation.

“I didn’t mean to be.” Hikaru sighed. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

“About what?”

“The baby!” Hikaru tossed the clipping onto the pile of weeds they’d accumulated in the last half hour of dancing around the subject. “How…I mean, what if there’s no room for me? I know it’s selfish and all but I’m really happy. I don’t want it to get complicated.”

Hikaru, Akira thought, had come a long way from dating and dumping every few months. Akira, in his more romantic moments, liked to think it was because Hikaru had finally found someone—more than one—to keep him company. In his selfish moments, he hoped it was him alone, but he knew that without Natsume they probably would have been more explosive than steady in a relationship. He set down the clippers. “You realize that having a baby won’t change what you mean to us, right?”

“I know just…the situation changes.” Hikaru flopped to the ground getting grass stains on his jeans. Akira followed more carefully. “People already gossip. Can you imagine what they’ll say?”

“Yes.” They’d talked about it before. There was always talk about him and Hikaru from the first time they were seen fighting over a Go board. It hadn’t gone away when Akira married. If anything, their relationship was the biggest open secret since Ogata’s obsession over Sai. Most people didn’t assume Natsume was part of the relationship though.

“You don’t care?”

“So long as we know the truth, I don’t feel that it matters. It is not anyone else’s business anyway.” Akira shrugged, putting his hand on Hikaru’s. Hikaru stared at their interlocked fingers as if trying to puzzle how they got like that, tangled so tight they looked like they had always been that way. “We knew things would not be easy and that not everyone in our lives would understand. Things will work out.”

“Akira, we haven’t even told our parents.”

Akira’s hand clenched around Hikaru’s reflexively. He was pretty sure his parents had an idea of what was going on, but he knew Natsume’s parents were ignorant. It wasn’t too surprising to know that Hikaru’s family also was never told.

“My mom thinks I’m seeing someone steadily but I’m just too embarrassed to bring her home.” Hikaru rested his forehead on his knees. “I think my dad suspects I’m gay and am afraid to bring home my boyfriend. He keeps making thinly veiled comments about how they’d be glad to meet whoever I’m dating no matter what they’re like. And Mom just looks at him blankly every time like she doesn’t get it. Aaagh…” His free hand scrubbed through his hair, leaving a smear of dirt on his cheek. “I don’t want to visit them anymore. What kind of awful son am I?”

Akira stroked the back of Hikaru’s hand with his thumb. “Do you think we should tell them? Our parents? We could get everything out of the way before the baby comes; set everything straight so that we won’t have to explain why you are such a large part of the pregnancy and child-rearing?”

Hikaru shrugged. “I don’t know. It might get my mom to stop poking about imposing on your home. She keeps saying I should get my own place again rather than invading your space like you and Natsume are still newlyweds.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought of Akira ever acting like newlyweds in movies. He couldn’t pull off the sickly-sweet devotion and playfully sexy. The closest to it was affectionate, and his devotion came across as almost scarily intense, like his expression across the board in a particularly exciting game of Go.

“Natsume will register her pregnancy soon,” Akira said absently. “We’ll decide once she does?”

“Sure… God, I hope that all this doesn’t explode in our faces. Like what if your parents end up hating me? Or my parents think I’m a home wrecker or a pervert or something?”

“They’re your parents,” Akira said. “Your father at least sounds accepting of you existing outside the norm. My parents, I’m sure, will be accepting of me provided I am discreet and it makes me happy. They worried when I married Natsume if they were doing the right thing suggesting that I marry. I think they will understand that in arranged marriages agreements are made by the couple to be happy while still doing their duty to their parents and each other.”

Hikaru leaned to his right, resting his head on Akira’s shoulder. “Think Natsume will tell her parents?”

“Hm.” Akira shifted so that Hikaru could lean more comfortably. “No. Her family is stricter with traditions than even my own. They could probably accept that I found a lover but I doubt they’d be comfortable with the thought of their daughter sharing a lover with her husband.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

Natsume waved from the flower bed, three neat rows of pansies. They were blue, purple and pale pink that would look nice contrasting the daffodils, tulips, and iris planted behind them. The greens were already up and the buds gaining color as they neared opening. She had a smudge of dirt on her face close to where Hikaru had one, making Akira smile. How many more days would he be able to enjoy this peace?

Hikaru reached out and smeared dirt on one corner of Akira’s cheek. “There. Now you match.”

“Hey!” Akira swatted Hikaru’s hands away and Natsume laughed. Akira made sure more dirt got on Hikaru’s face than on himself and turned back to gardening like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Hikaru sputtered behind him wiping dirt from his face as Natsume’s laughter filled the yard. He would probably end up filthy by the end of the day’s work, but Akira couldn’t bring himself to mind too much.

*o*o*

“Holy—” Hikaru stared at the kitchen counter and the overflow of bags on it. One seemed to be full of fat bottles of pills. The rest were full of vegetables and things he’s seen at health food stores when his mother took him shopping last time she was on a diet. “Guys? What’s all this?”

“Welcome home.” Natsume came up behind Hikaru touching his arm in greeting. He kissed her on the cheek noting her flushed face and the displacement of her blouse. Hmm. That explained why the groceries hadn’t been put away yet.

“I see you got started without me,” Hikaru said without any bitterness. He smiled over her shoulder when Akira appeared in the doorway. “So what’s with all the meds and vegetables?”

“They are vitamins and dietary supplements,” Natsume said. She took Hikaru’s hand and led him to the counter. “These ones have nutrients that help the baby grow healthily for the first few months. This bottle,” she picked up a smaller one, “is for later. We decided it was best to get them all at once. The food of course, is to ensure I am eating properly.”

“You already eat healthily,” Hikaru said. It was a bit overwhelming to see all the things going into having a baby before it was even born. He hadn’t expected it to be so complicated. Sure, once the baby was born there would be diapers and baby food and formula and who knew what else, but was having a baby such a big deal? “Do you really need all of this?”

“I suppose I do not need all of it,” Natsume said. She turned a bottle over in her hands. “But it makes me feel better. I want to do everything right.”

“Until the baby is born, it’s going to be taking nutrients it needs from Natsume, so the dietary supplements will help.” Akira started putting vegetables in the refrigerator. The nonchalance of this was offset by how his shirt was untucked. He’d probably be annoyed once he noticed it; Akira did prefer to be put together at all times.

“And the vegetables and…things?” Hikaru opened one of the bags and wrinkled his nose at the package of natto at the bottom. There were soba noodles and daikon radish in there as well.

“I hope you don’t mind a more strictly traditional diet,” Natsume said. She accepted the package of noodles from Hikaru, sliding it into the proper cupboard. “I’ll need to eat more balanced meals for the duration of my pregnancy.”

“That’s fine,” Hikaru said, feeling a little overwhelmed. He vaguely remembered Akari mentioning something about Japanese food for a Japanese baby when she was pregnant, but he hadn’t really paid too much attention to the details back then. “Uh. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” Natsume said, looking amused. She patted Hikaru’s cheek as she crossed to get the last of the groceries. “If I need anything I will be sure to let you and Akira-san know.”

Hikaru looked at Akira wondering if he was the only one feeling in over his head with this. To his disappointment, Akira looked almost as amused as Natsume. “I have books that you should probably read,” Akira said. “They help.”

“Okay.” Hikaru could handle this. He could handle all of it, sure. It just was different. “Okay, I’ll…get on that soon then.”

“Oh,” Natsume said, pausing from where she was lining up bottles of prenatal vitamins. “Hikaru-san, I registered my pregnancy today. Have you thought more about talking to your parents?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t forgotten. It was hard to forget when his mother had brought up dating again when she’d called over the weekend. He’d just tried not to think too hard about it.

“I’m planning to talk to my parents the next free day we all have,” Akira said, leaning on the kitchen counter. “It’s better to have us all there.”

Hikaru stifled nervous laughter. He couldn’t imagine what sort of expression Touya Kouyo would have on his face when they told him that Hikaru had been invited into his son’s marriage. It probably wouldn’t be a good expression, but it would probably be handled more calmly than Hikaru’s mother would take it. If she was flustered enough at Hikaru moving into Akira’s home, she’d probably be scandalized to think about Hikaru in a polyamorous relationship.

“Well,” Hikaru said slowly, “I guess we can do the same thing with my parents. Um. After yours.” A bubble of hysteria made him choke of a laugh, and both Natsume and Akira looked at him curiously. Hikaru waved a hand. “It’s nothing, just… Mom thinks I have a secret girlfriend and Dad thinks I’m gay and have a boyfriend, and they’re kind of both right.”

Akira and Natsume exchanged a look. “You don’t have to talk to them about it if it makes you uncomfortable,” Natsume said. “Hikaru-san, if you think they will react badly, then there’s nothing wrong with continuing to keep quiet. You know I am not going to tell my own parents. Much as I care for them, they aren’t the most open minded people.”

“I know.” Hikaru sighed. He stared at the vitamin supplements. Natsume would be visibly pregnant soon. There would be questions, and he didn’t owe strangers any kind of response, but Hikaru didn’t like lying to people. He was kind of a terrible liar anyway. His parents would ask eventually, and honestly, he kind of wanted to be open with them about this. Akira had to want that too since he had been talking about telling his parents since they first started discussing babies. “I don’t think they’re going to be happy, but I don’t think they’d disown me for this either. I mean, they won’t understand it. They didn’t understand my interest in Go either, though, so it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve shocked and confused them. They’ll get over it.”

“We’ll be right there with you,” Natsume said, placing her hand on Hikaru’s.

“Yeah.” Hikaru smiled. “I know.” He kissed her cheek and took quiet pleasure in how her eyes lit up at a simple act of affection. He set a hand on her hip. “So,” he said changing the topic, “since when has grocery shopping become a turn on because Akira totally had his hands places right before I got here.”

Natsume’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Only Akira-san’s hands?”

“Natsume!” Hikaru said, fake scandalized.

She laughed and across the room Akira pretended he was long suffering instead of amused by them. It was all new and strange and a little scary what they were getting into, Hikaru thought, but so long as they had this, they’d be okay.

*o*o*

Hikaru was wearing a yukata and very self-conscious in it. It wasn’t that he didn’t wear one sometimes. He wore suits regularly these days too, so formal clothing wasn’t exactly strange. But…there was a difference in wearing a yukata to a festival as a child and teenager and wearing one to his lovers’ parents’ home as an adult.

Natsume set a hand on his elbow as he fidgeted yet again on the walk toward the front door. “You’re fine. Stop fiddling with it.”

“Did we have to come dressed up? They’re definitely going to know something’s up.” Hikaru did come to the occasional family meal, but it had never been a formal occasion.

“Akiko-san said she wanted to have a formal meal,” Natsume said, looking far too calm considering what they planned to reveal at this dinner. “Usually she does one for something seasonal, but she and Kouyou-san were out of the country for most of the cherry blossom season.”

“Why didn’t I know that? I feel like I should have known that.” Hikaru pulled at his sleeve again. This time Akira stilled his hand.

“Ordinarily, we wouldn’t force you along to something formal,” Akira said. He smiled, but the slight crease between his eyebrows gave away his nerves. At least Hikaru wasn’t alone in his nervousness. “Although, you’re probably going to be invited in the future after this.”

“If they don’t get angry.” Hikaru swallowed. Touya Kouyou was intimidating at the best of times; he really didn’t want to see what he’d look like if he was actually angry. “I like your parents. I really don’t want them to hate me.”

“Hikaru, if they are upset, it wouldn’t be just at you,” Akira pointed out drily. “We all share responsibility in this relationship.”

“Yes, but I’m the only one intruding on a marriage.”

“You are not intruding anywhere,” Natsume said, fitting herself on Hikaru’s left while Akira strode the last few steps to the door on Hikaru’s right.

Caught between them with Natsume’s hand on his elbow and Akira’s still brushing the back of his right hand, Hikaru felt a bit less scared. They would be doing this together.

Akira’s mother greeted them at the door. Hikaru could see her take in how they were standing—at least she’d known Hikaru would be there, wouldn’t that have been awkward, to be the uninvited guest?—but Touya Akiko was too polite to let anything she was thinking on her face.

“Natsume-chan, Akira-san, Shindou-kun.” She smiled and nodded to them each in turn. Was Hikaru imagining that her nod to him had been a little stiffer than usual? He couldn’t tell; he was looking for anything off right now. “Please come in. Kouyou is in the dining room.”

“Thank you for having us,” Natsume said, taking over the social niceties.

Hikaru tuned her and Akira’s mother out as he walked through the front door and exchanged his geta for house slippers. Akira was an anchoring presence at his side, fingers brushing Hikaru’s wrist reassuringly as they made their way into the house. Behind him, Natsume commented on the choice of decorations or flowers or something. It went over his head.

“How long is this dinner going to last?” Hikaru asked Akira under his breath.

“Usually there are seven courses,” Akira murmured, “so it will be a few hours.”

“Seven?” Hikaru paled. How were they going to sit through seven courses of food? What did people talk about for that much time? At what point was Akira planning to tell them? Would they have to sit through a bunch of courses with awkwardness in the air?

“It’s a formal meal.” Akira raised an eyebrow, leading the way into the dining room still leaning into Hikaru’s space. “Relax. You’ve eaten meals with my parents before.”

“Not seven course formal meals!” Hikaru hissed.

Akira pushed him toward one of the cushions on the floor. Oh god, he’d have to sit formally. For hours. Well, no, he had managed during Go games for years now, but that was a very different thing. Hikaru found himself seated next to Touya Kouyou, a fresh cup of tea set in front of him courtesy of Akira’s mom. Natsume was across from him, Akira next to her, and Akiko at the end of the table where she could come and go to get new dishes. Natsume smiled reassuringly.

“It is good to see you, Shindou-san,” Kouyou said. “I have enjoyed following your games in the current Honinbou league. If you continue playing at this level, you have a chance of playing title match games.”

Hikaru let himself relax a bit into the familiar flow of conversation about Go. Akira joined in, and Hikaru barely noticed the first course becoming the third course as they debated the remaining opponents before they would be able to challenge for the Honinbou title. He was aware of Akiko coming and going as they talked, and Natsume pointing out the different seasonal foods or the arrangement of food or the pattern on the lacquered bowls of sea bream soup, but it was a tangential awareness. Every once in a while, Natsume or Akiko would add to their conversation, and Hikaru found that even with the formal clothing and seating arrangements, and the perfect-looking portions of food that arrived with each course, it didn’t actually feel much different than meals usually did with Akira’s family.

For a while, he stopped being nervous about why they were there and forgot the purpose behind the visit entirely…at least until Akiko brought out their dessert and fresh tea to chase away the sharp taste of sake and the lingering savory flavor of clam rice and miso soup.

As pretty sakura patterned plates with individual strawberry daifuku clicked against the table in front of them, Natsume reached out and touched Akira’s wrist. All of Hikaru’s nerves rushed back, leaving him feeling like the large meal of rich food might be coming back up depending on how the next few minutes panned out.

Akira glanced at Hikaru, catching his eye so that they were all on the same page, and took a breath. Conversation had petered out when Akiko presented the last dish. Cups of strong green tea were placed in front of them and Akira cleared his throat. “Mother, Father, there are a few things we would like to tell you.”

Hikaru was hyper aware of Kouyou shifting next to him. He didn’t dare look to see what kind of expression was on his face. He kept his eyes on Akira because it was the safest option.

“What is it?” Akiko prompted, returning to her seat.

Akira’s eyes went firm and determined the way they did across the Go board and there was the tiniest bit of movement as he sat straighter. “Mother, Father, Natsume and I are involved romantically with Hikaru.” There was a moment of complete silence. Akira wet his lips. “We have been for over a year now.”

“Both of you?” Akira’s mother said, voice faint.

Hikaru kept looking at Akira, taking strength in his resolve. He could see Natsume’s hand on Akira’s adding her own support. “Yes,” Akira said, looking at Hikaru, the eye contact as grounding as his hand in Hikaru’s would have been. “Both of us.”

“It was something we decided on together,” Natsume said, adding her voice to Akira’s. She sounded as calm and composed as ever, but there was steel under that calm that Hikaru rarely heard from her.

“Both of you,” Akiko repeated. Hikaru snuck a glance her way. She sat very straight, a bit pale and her face set neutral, though her tone carried over her shock clearly.

Touya Kouyou had one eyebrow raised, but Hikaru couldn’t read any emotion beyond that.

“You…have considered the social ramifications of…” Akiko trailed off.

“We have,” Akira said. Which was news for Hikaru, but then of course they must have. Natsume at least was aware of her social standing even if Hikaru had never paid attention to it and Akira picked and chose when he cared about social conventions. Akira smiled wryly. “We thought about it a long time, actually.”

“I see.”

“I had wondered,” Kouyou said, “when Shindou-san moved in with you.” His eyebrow slid higher. “Although I admit I hadn’t expected all three of you to be involved with each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hikaru blurted, then felt horrified because now everyone was looking at him.

Kouyou looked faintly amused, the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “My son has had a fixation on you for years. It would not have surprised me if he ended up involved with you.”

“Kouyou!” Akiko said, sounding scandalized.

Kouyou looked at her. “Akiko, it is no more scandalous to insinuate Shindou-san was involved with Akira than him being involved with both of them.”

“Akira-san wouldn’t do that to Natsume-san!” Akiko insisted.

“I doubt he would have gone behind Natsume-san’s back,” Kouyou said.

Natsume surprised everyone by laughing softly. The conversation derailed as they all looked at her. She smiled openly. “No, Akira-san would never go behind my back. In fact, he is more likely to encourage me to act on my emotions before he considers acting on his own.”

Now it was Akira’s turn to feel embarrassed. “Natsume…”

She squeezed his hand, still smiling, the same mischievous glint in her eyes that Hikaru had come to know shining bright. “It’s true,” she said. “Akira-san was too worried about offending me to act even after we were aware that our feelings pointed in the same direction.”

“There is passing conversation and a serious discussion,” Akira said, face still pink.

“Well,” Akiko said. She crossed her hands in her lap and blinked. “Well, I suppose…I suppose that I should be glad that you are…content with your arrangement.”

“We are,” Akira said firmly. He held out a hand to Hikaru and Hikaru felt relieved to touch it. He’d have been glad if he could reach Natsume too, but there was too much space across the table to do that. “We don’t intend to shout our relationship from the rooftops,” Akira said, “but we felt that now was the time to share it with our family.”

“Do your parents know?” Akiko asked Natsume, turning her head to include Hikaru.

“You’re the first people we’ve told,” Hikaru said. He tugged on his yukata sleeve. “Actually, we’re planning to tell my parents…sometime next week.” He really needed to get to planning that.

Akiko nodded, glanced at Natsume, who was shaking her head. Her smile had gone softer, sadder.

“I don’t intend to have this discussion with my parents,” she said. “I love them dearly. I always will, and will do my best to keep caring for them, but... They would never accept something like this.”

This news clearly upset Akiko more than the thought of their relationship if the way her forehead scrunched, but she didn’t comment on it, just nodded once more. “Shindou-san, I hope to talk with your parents sometime in the future, since…since you will be a part of the family.”

“Of course, Akiko-san,” Hikaru said quickly. He wondered how his parents would interact with Akira’s considering how different their backgrounds and interests were. Well, that was a problem for another time.

“There is one more thing to talk about,” Natsume said, drawing attention back to herself. She smiled at Akira, invited Hikaru to smile with her. “I am expecting.”

Another silence, this one less from a breach of social norms and more from normal surprise. “That’s great,” Akiko said sounding much more sincere than she had about their relationship. “How far along are you…?”

“The doctor estimated about two and a half months.” Natsume folded her hands over her stomach. “I do hope you will be able to advise me later on what to expect. It is always good to learn from the experience of others.”

Hikaru had to hand it to Natsume, she knew how to smooth over a situation. He kind of hoped she’d be able to do the same with his parents if they ended up needing it. He knew he’d probably only make things worse if he opened his mouth. He exchanged a glance with Akira, relief filling them both as conversation between Natsume and Akiko turned to the baby rather than staying on their relationship.

Kouyou had a small smile on his face as he ate his dessert and sipped at the bitter green tea that accompanied it. “It’s good to see you settled. Not only because I look forward to a grandchild,” he said softly to Akira, including Hikaru with a glance.

Akira smiled. “We really are happy with how things have gone. Adding a child…it is going to be different, but it feels like the right time.”

“I’m sure having another pair of hands will be a great help,” Kouyou said with good humor. He glanced at Natsume and Akiko’s smiles as Akiko brought up her own experience with her pregnancy. “And you won’t lack for other help either.”

“Thank you,” Akira said.

Hikaru took that to mean his sort-of in-laws would gladly do babysitting. Well. He hoped they’d do babysitting. He hoped his parents and Natsume’s parents would too. He felt a little terrified again by the fact that they were—Natsume was—bringing another human being into existence. A human being who would have wants and needs and someday opinions. A human being he hoped he wouldn’t screw up because out of the three of them, he knew it was most likely to be him to mess up spectacularly.

Akira was smiling and so were Natsume and Akiko and Touya Kouyou, even after they’d told their secret though, so the world wasn’t imploding yet. Hikaru nibbled on his daifuku. As Akira got pulled into the conversation about doctors and Akiko’s pregnancy with Akira, Hikaru found himself smiling too.

Yeah. Yeah, it was all still pretty scary. But it was exciting as well. Besides, if Akira’s traditionally minded parents were taking everything this well, Hikaru’s family would probably be ok.

*o*o*

Compared to the formality of telling Akira’s parents, talking to Hikaru’s was anticlimactic. They’d met Akira before, and they’d at least heard about Natsume. Hikaru had expected more alarm than he got though.

Instead, he got his mother sighing as she passed a bowl of salad around his childhood kitchen table, and his father setting down his chopsticks to look between the three of them before getting up to get another beer.

“That’s it?” Hikaru asked, accepting the salad bowl.

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be telling the neighbors,” his mother said, “but you’ve clearly made up your mind. It’s not like you’ve ever changed it because of what someone else thought.”

Hikaru passed the salad to Natsume and looked at his dad who had returned with enough drinks for all of them, whether they wanted one or not.

“You know,” his dad said, setting the bottles on the table, “after the whole Go thing, we accepted that we don’t really know what goes on in your life, and just got used to surprises. This is a lasting relationship at least.”

Hikaru’s mom snorted. “Considering his track record with girlfriends…”

“Oi, I wasn’t that bad!” Hikaru felt his ears burn with a blush. “I wasn’t!” he insisted, looking at Akira.

There wasn’t any help there. Akira was carefully not meeting his eyes and Natsume was trying not to laugh, though he could only tell the latter because he’d been living with them for months. “Hikaru-san,” Natsume said in her best conciliatory voice, “while you did not date casually, you did not date long term either.”

“I’m dating you two so clearly I can.”

“Yes,” Natsume said with a small smile. “You must not have met the right people before.”

“Well, no they never really understood about—” Hikaru narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re teasing again aren’t you?”

Natsume just kept smiling.

Hikaru’s mom sent around a plate of tempura. “It’s nice to finally know who he’s been seeing. He’s not subtle when he’s in a relationship,” she said. “Granted, I wasn’t expecting either of you, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Natsume-san.” She smiled at Natsume and then at Akira. “And of course it’s always good to see you again, Akira-kun.”

Hikaru tried not to pout at his food. Of course his mom loved Akira. And always had. Because she thought he was a nice polite boy. Pssh. If they only knew how Akira could yell his head off in public over Go, they’d think differently. They’d probably love Natsume even more because she could talk about things that his parents understood or were interested in. …Hopefully his parents would still like him considering both his romantic partners were more polite and attentive than Hikaru was. He might just have to try harder to keep on his mom’s good side.

“Are you okay?” Akira whispered, leaning in on the pretense of passing a bottle of soy sauce.

“My parents are probably going to adopt you and Natsume and make you their real son and replace me.”

Akira frowned, a crease between his eyebrows. The sideways look that accompanied it was Akira’s ‘I have no idea what the hell you’re going on about, but it’s ridiculous’ look. Usually it only showed up when Hikaru was drunk or sleep deprived and saying whatever came to mind at that given moment.

“No, seriously, Mom’s going to be giving me looks and guilt tripping me with stuff by saying you’d do it.”

“Hikaru, I’m sure your parents know you and care about you for who you are. They’re hardly going to replace you.”

“You say that now!” Hikaru hissed back. They were both leaning toward each other with the soy sauce bottle cupped between their hands. If he leaned any further, he’d be head-butting Akira in the forehead. “Never mind.” Hikaru pulled the soy sauce free. Akira had no idea how much Hikaru’s mom had wanted a son that actually acted like Akira did toward his mother. Hikaru tried but he knew most of his interpersonal failings by this point, and being patient or considerate or listening carefully when he didn’t have an interest weren’t his strong suits.

He sat back up to find his parents both not-looking so obviously even he noticed. Akira sighed softly like when an opponent made a disappointing and predictable move when he’d expected better—Hikaru’d been on the receiving end of that sigh often enough that it made him feel defensive reflexively. The not-looking could be a bad response, which had to be how Akira saw it, or it could just be some weird attempt of giving them privacy for something that wasn’t even all that intimate. Still, it made Hikaru want to point out that his parents weren’t reacting near as badly as Akira’s mom had.

Once again, Natsume chose to diffuse growing tension with news of her pregnancy. Cue both Hikaru’s parents looking excited. Hikaru hadn’t even known his dad liked babies.

“You know,” his father said, “you really need to see Hikaru’s baby pictures to understand that he’s always been doing something unexpected.”

“Dad, no!” Hikaru groaned.

Akira and Natsume both smiled. “I’m sure we’d love to hear the stories,” Akira said.

Hikaru sank down in his chair. Of course. His whole family would side with his romantic partners. Still… He peeked at the smiles around the dinner table. This had gone well. He didn’t think there would be any problems about Akira of Natsume being accepted into the family.

*o*o*

A vase of cut flowers sat on the kitchen counter, left there by Natsume after her morning spent in the garden. Akira couldn’t remember the name of them at the moment. He knew that the daffodils had bloomed past their peak, that the dogwood was blooming, and that the lilac and the peonies were budding but not in bloom. They were pinkish red and in clusters, but he couldn’t remember which plant it was.

A few years ago, he wouldn’t have believed he would know near as much about flowers as he did now. It was interesting, he reflected, how close interaction with another person could change you in little ways. These days he did notice flowers. He noticed if a flower bed was well kept or not, and whether or not the plants in it were ones that needed a good deal of upkeep. Since Hikaru started living with them—or maybe before that, maybe as long as he’d considered Hikaru a friend—he’d started taking note of places that specialized in ramen, or, on several occasions, places that had displays on Shusaku. And he had influenced them both in turn. There were nights when Natsume would play a game of Go with both of them, each game her stones having that much more shape and purpose behind them as she improved and her strategy grew. Or how Hikaru had taken a liking to Akira’s favorite tea despite having hated it the first time he tried it.

And now their lives were changing in subtle ways, already making space for the new life that would be joining it, little ripples as the growing child exerted its presence already. In what they ate, in choices they made, in future plans.

It was different.

That didn’t make it a bad thing.

Akira touched one of the flower blossoms, the delicate petals soft and easily bruised under his fingertips. Oddly enough, he was handling the changes better than Hikaru. For someone who changed things around him as easily as Hikaru did, he didn’t seem to know what to do when change was asserted on him. Ordinarily, Akira wasn’t the best with change either. He liked his habits and his routines, the familiarity of surrounding himself with Go and the quiet life he had when he wasn’t immersed in his passion. But for Akira, children had always been an eventuality, just like marriage had been. Hikaru didn’t think the way Akira did though, and before they brought the topic up, children likely had never crossed his mind.

Right now Hikaru was getting lunch with Waya before he had a Go class to teach. Natsume was at her parents’ home for the rest of the day. It left Akira alone with his thoughts which, he thought wryly, could be a bad thing on days when he wasn’t in the middle of studying something. A rare weekday off, and no one to share it with.

Akira looked around the kitchen and tried to see it as it might be in a few years. A child hiding under the kitchen table, peeking between chair rungs. Natsume cooking for four instead of three. Maybe Hikaru crouched in the doorway to the living room with some favorite toy, encouraging a child to walk toward him. Perhaps a few more years, sitting at the table and pointing out simple life or death Go problems… A future need for a stepstool for the child to reach the kitchen sink. The cupboards that would need childproofing. Small hands carrying in flowers after an afternoon with Natsume in the garden. More and more possible future moments panned out in his imagination like potential patterns on the Go board. He could all but see a toddler with Natsume’s round face and his own cheekbones and eyes peeking out from behind the doorway.

He’d thought, when he married, that having a child would be something he did out of duty. Akira smiled at the open spaces of the kitchen that could one day hold all the possible futures he imagined and knew that this was something he truly wanted.

*o*o*

Natsume told her mother about her pregnancy on her own time. It wasn’t like Akira’s family or Hikaru’s; her mother expected to hear any news from Natsume personally and would pass it on to her father, and it would all be spoken of in private because that was the way her family worked. Her mother didn’t expect Akira to be there for such an announcement. If anything she would have found it strange. Natsume’s own father hadn’t been involved with childrearing much. Natsume respected how he’d provided for her and her mother, but they were not close the way she was close to her mother.

Her mother, at the news, looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if your marriage had been successful after all.”

“We wanted to wait until we were ready,” Natsume said. “I have said that things are going well with Akira-san and me.”

“Of course,” her mother demurred, pouring Natsume fresh tea. “But when time goes on it does lead to questions.” Questions like fertility, and if the couple even shared a marital bed, Natsume knew. There had been enough worries over the fact that she was older than Akira.

“You won’t need to worry about that now,” Natsume said, pushing the topic aside. “I’ve registered the pregnancy and it is going well so far.”

“Are you eating what you should be? Diet is important in these formative months.”

“I talked with my doctor and have guidelines to follow.”

Her mother nodded. She looked very serious, but of course she did; she had miscarried twice before Natsume was born. “I’ll cook something for you at least once a week so you can rest.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself.” Her mother looked after her father’s health, and her own health frequently wasn’t well these days, but her mother shook her head.

“You have cared for me, continue to care for me. I can help my daughter meet the needs of her child-to-be.” She touched Natsume’s hand in a rare show of physical affection. “And I can do my best to be self-sufficient as you will have less time and energy.”

“If you think that is best,” Natsume demurred, planning to continue with her usual help as long as was physically possible.

“Now I do have one concern,” her mother said with a small frown. “You still have one of your husband’s friends staying with you. Surely he doesn’t intend to intrude on your home forever.”

“He isn’t intruding,” Natsume said with well-cultivated patience. “He helps around the home and is Akira-san’s closest friend. He is welcome so long as he wishes to stay.”

Her mother gave her that doubtful look that said she thought Hikaru was terribly rude but felt herself too polite to say so. “There have been… rumors that his presence might explain the lack of a child.”

For her mother, Natsume thought wryly, that was almost blunt. “As you can see, that is not an issue.”

“Of course,” her mother said, still with that tiny, doubtful frown. “Touya-san would not be so disrespectful.”

It would be terribly rude to her mother to laugh. Natsume covered the urge with a sip of her tea. “Of course.” She looked past her mother to the garden. It was minimalistic from necessity, her parents unable to tend it and Natsume too busy caring for them and her own household to care for both her parents’ garden and her own. It still had an old wisteria supported by a metal trellis. Its blossoms were heavy and blue, bright against the backdrop of green moss and dark stones. She centered herself on the image, seeking the inner peace plants brought her. “Hikaru-san is not the sort of man to break up a marriage, mother, nor is Akira-san.”

“Hikaru-san?” her mother echoed, eyebrows lifting.

“Hikaru-san asked that I call him by name. I have found a friend in him as well as Akira-san.”

Her mother’s eyebrows stayed up.

“He is not a very formal person,” Natsume added. She smiled. Hikaru had a way of stripping any formality away. “I hope that you have a chance to know him. He is an easy person to like.”

“If you say so,” her mother said.

Hikaru would either win her over with his unconventional charm, or he’d have her permanent disapproval, Natsume thought. There was no way that it would be somewhere in the middle with her mother.

“How is your garden,” her mother asked, and Natsume knew that for a little while at least her mother wouldn’t question Hikaru’s presence.

Good enough for the moment.

*o*o*

The reality of Natsume’s pregnancy didn’t set in at first. They’d told their families, registered with the doctor, bought parenting books and pre-natal supplies, yes, but their lives went on as normal. Akira and Hikaru had their matches and teaching games and lectures to give. Natsume had her parents to look after, her garden, and their home to upkeep. They slept together like usual, ate meals together when schedules aligned, played too many games of Go that ended in debates that usually ended in Natsume laughing at them or distracting them with snacks.

It was almost three weeks after the pregnancy was registered when Akira woke to his wife rushing out of bed for the bathroom. Hikaru was away for a game, so it took Akira’s half-awake brain several seconds to connect the movement to Natsume at all—she wasn’t the rushing type. Then the sound of retching met his ears and he realized what was happening. The books all said that morning sickness was a possibility.

They’d hoped that it would skip Natsume over when the sixth week came and went without a change.

Akira pulled himself out of bed, moving to the bathroom door. Natsume had her forehead pressed against the rim of the toilet, lips pressed tight and her hands balled in fists on the floor. She breathed slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth. Akira touched her shoulder lightly. “Are you okay?”

Natsume breathed a few more breaths before answering. “I am uncomfortable, but this is nothing I was not expecting.”

Akira didn’t know how to comfort this. After a moment, he rubbed a hand against her back, like he remembered his own mother doing when he was young and had the stomach flu. Nausea was bad, but muscles tensed and waiting for the next wave often made the feeling worse. “Can I get you anything?”

Natsume leaned into his touch, relaxing slightly. “Tea?” she said. “I have ginger tea that I bought in the chance that I did get morning sickness.”

Akira patted her back once more and headed to the kitchen. Clicking on the electric kettle, he sifted through Natsume’s carefully organized cupboards for the correct tea, finding it behind several other packages they used on a daily basis. He kept his hands busy, picking a mug, pulling out a tea bag, getting honey from the cupboard to sweeten it to Natsume’s preferred taste; all trying not to let his ears strain for further sounds from the bathroom.

The kettle made an unholy amount of shrieking as it heated; it needed cleaned. Water, teabag, honey stirred in, and Akira padded back down the hall.

Natsume hadn’t moved, still white knuckled and pale. He set the tea next to her and hovered in the doorway.

“You don’t have to stay,” Natsume said after a minute of this. “I am not actually ill.”

“It feels wrong for you to be uncomfortable and not doing anything about it,” Akira said.

“You brought me tea,” she said.

“And it hasn’t helped yet.”

Natsume lifted her head and gave him a wry smile. “I need to drink some of it first. Now go sit down, Akira-san, you are making me anxious watching you.”

Akira went.

He picked up one of the pregnancy books, flipping to morning sickness, but there wasn’t much there other than to deal with it and eat and drink as much as were possible in small amounts through it, and seek help if nothing stayed down. The continued lack of more retching was reassuring that the latter didn’t seem to be a problem.

This, Akira thought, was the first change of many to come because of this baby’s presence. He made a mental note to add making ginger tea to his morning routine—or evening or any other time he was home because morning sickness was a misnomer and could happen at any time of day.

When Natsume still didn’t leave the bathroom, and a glance in showed some of the tea gone and Natsume doing breathing exercises with her eyes shut, Akira took it on himself to make breakfast.

Easing Natsume’s burden was something he could manage there at least.

*o*o*

Hikaru didn’t know what to do with a sick, pregnant woman. Neither did Akira, which, in Hikaru’s opinion, was a little funny to watch Akira be flustered and worried. On the other hand Hikaru was just as flustered and worried by Natsume’s ongoing morning sickness as Akira was. Ginger had become a central staple in most of their meals in one way or another.

Seeing Natsume rush off to the bathroom at least once a day was also a new normal.

Hikaru, after about a week of this, had called up his mother. He’d been assured it was well within normal, that his mother had in fact spent almost two months getting sick in mornings and evenings with him, and that so long as Natsume was still eating and drinking regularly and keeping it down, it really wasn’t anything to worry about. No matter what she said, there was nothing normal about puking your guts out if the wind blew a certain direction. Apparently sensitivity to smells was also common with pregnancies.

“So.” Hikaru waited Natsume out, carefully not watching, but staying close. “Tea?”

“No,” Natsume said, a bit hoarse. “Not this time. Just water will be fine.” She sighed. “I believe I will have to put gardening on hold today until the garbage has been collected for the week.”

Hikaru sniffed the air. The smell of garbage wasn’t strong, but it was gross—rancid remains of meat, probably. To actually drive Natsume away from her gardening, it had to smell terrible to her.

Natsume looked at her half-finished weeding with something very close to frustration on her face. Hikaru… really didn’t want to find out what an angry, frustrated Natsume would be like. “Ok! How about you get some water and I finish up the weeding?”

Natsume blinked and raised an eyebrow. “It is a task that can wait.”

“Yeah but you wanted it done today.” Hikaru shrugged. “I have the afternoon off. I can do a bit of yard work.”

For a moment it looked like she was going to refuse the offer, but her shoulders slumped. That actually made him more alarmed. She wasn’t even trying to look composed right now, and yeah, Natsume was way more relaxed with him than Akira, but for all that Hikaru had seen her in a bunch of intimate ways, this was the first time she’d ever looked vulnerable. “Thank you,” she said. “I had hoped there would be more time before the pregnancy kept me from my hobby.”

“Yeah… well, this is just for today. You’ll be better after garbage day. And if you’re not, just point Akira and me in a direction. We’ll be your hands.”

Natsume smiled and shook her head. “I’ll do that if I have to, but I will be gardening as long as I’m able.”

“Of course.” Hikaru wouldn’t take her from her passion. Hell, if someone tried to take his Go from him… He respected Natsume all the more because she voluntarily entered into this knowing she’d have to part from things she enjoyed for who knew how long. Hikaru didn’t think he’d be able to do it if their situations were reversed. “You sure you don’t need tea?”

“I will be fine,” she said, giving his arm a pat, like he was the one needing comforted. He and Akira were going about this support thing all wrong, weren’t they? Hopefully the fact that they were trying counted for something… “If you are sure you know a weed, you may pull it. If you aren’t sure, leave it and I will get to it after trash day.”

“I can do that,” Hikaru said. He’d watched her weed plenty of times. He’d seen her plant these plants. He totally knew what was a weed. Uh. Probably. If not he could always ask, right? “You go rest.”

“I’m going to resent being told to rest eventually,” Natsume said wryly. “Volatile stomach aside, I am not an invalid.”

“Fine, go… wash the dishes or something,” Hikaru said raising his hands. “We’ll both do something useful.”

“I will,” Natsume said with quiet determination. She straightened her shoulders back into her usual perfect posture.

There were some days, Hikaru thought as she went back inside, when he had the feeling she could have been a terrifying opponent across a Go board if her life had gone differently. She had a sharp mind and picked up what little he and Akira taught her after all. Instead she put that focus into daily tasks that Hikaru had to make himself do.

A kid made from her and Akira… it would be interesting to see what kind of person they turned out to be.

No matter what, Hikaru had a feeling they’d be a force of nature.

*o*o*

“Hikaru!” Waya whispered loudly. “How long has Touya’s wife been pregnant?”

Hikaru looked up from the Go board between them, frowning. “Uh… a couple months now? Didn’t I tell you this?”

“I think I’d have remembered something like this.”

“Unless you were drunk,” Hikaru said.

Waya scowled. “One, I don’t drink that much lately. Two, you don’t drink much lately. Or go drinking with me and Isumi much. Or do anything outside of work much these days really. This is the first time in a while you’ve agreed to meet up when we weren’t already at the Go institute.”

Hikaru scowled right back. “I’ve been busy! And it still feels weird inviting you to Akira’s place.”

“You’ve been living here like a year now.”

“Yeah?”

“You sleep in their bed with them,” Waya pointed out.

“Well yeah, and it’s home, but it’s like, their home first.” Hikaru waved a hand like it was totally normal. Waya moved in with Isumi and had been inviting people over to Isumi’s apartment before he’d even moved in.

Then again, Waya supposed Touya and his wife were a lot more intimidating and traditional than Isumi was. “Okay, but it’s your home too. I don’t mind having you over, but it’s kind of weird you don’t feel like inviting me here.”

Hikaru gave him an exasperated look. “Look around.”

Waya looked around. It was a place full of traditional décor and pretty ink paintings of flowers and landscapes and a bookcase filled with Go kifu and plant books. If there hadn’t been a small stack of kifu laid out on the desk and the Go board haphazardly placed at a diagonal, it would have looked like something from some home magazine. “And?”

“You’re a good friend, but you leave kifu wherever you go and forget teacups and have clutter. And we’re loud when we’re together.”

And Touya’s home was pretty quiet and meticulously organized. Yeah, okay, Waya could see where this was going. On the other hand… “You’re worse with clutter than I am.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Hikaru said indignantly.

Waya nodded at the kifu and Hikaru’s fan half open next to them.

Hikaru scowled. “It could have been Akira and me reading those together.”

“Your fan, your mess.”

Hikaru rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I still think I told you Natsume is pregnant.”

“I still say you didn’t.” Waya glanced back at the game they’d paused and made a move. “So… What’s it like?”

“What’s what like? Natsume being pregnant? Because I’m not directly experiencing a baby in me.” Hikaru played his response.

“No, like…” Weren’t there weird things pregnant women did? Or was that brides? Waya had to admit he wasn’t clear on the subject for either. “She doesn’t look super pregnant yet I guess, but some things have to be different.”

Hikaru glanced at the doorway. Natsume was in the kitchen, leaving things cooking while she experimented with knitting. Seeing what she was attempting, Waya had the feeling that either she’d never tried to knit before, or it wasn’t in her natural talents. Not that he’d say that to her face. He was pretty sure mood swings were something women had when pregnant. Probably. Hormones happened more then, right?

“Not too much is different,” Hikaru said after a moment. “Though Natsume keeps getting sick.”

“Wait, like cold-sick or…?”

“Throw up sick. I thought morning sickness was kind of an exaggeration, but turns out it’s not. It’s also really not just in mornings. I have no idea why anyone would want to be pregnant.”

“Because babies?” Waya said uncertainly, not really sure if babies were worth it. Actually, babies might be even more of a hassle than pregnancy sounded.

“Duh,” Hikaru said. “But I sure wouldn’t want to go through that. Kind of sucks I can’t do much more than make ginger tea and take over whatever she was working on when it happens.”

Waya gave Hikaru a considering look. He seemed to really mean that. Not that Waya ever thought Hikaru didn’t care for Touya’s wife, but when it came down to it, he always thought Touya was more the object of Hikaru’s affections. Or, well, attention since affection and Hiakru toward Touya didn’t really compute half the time when they were arguing over a Go board like idiots. Seeing them fight was the first time Touya Akira looked his age, and probably the first time Waya wasn’t intimidated by the guy. And here he was sitting in the man’s house, talking about his wife to their lover. The world was a weird place. “It’s good that you’re trying to help I think. I mean a lot of guys wouldn’t.”

“If a woman you’re with is miserable and you’re not helping, there’s a problem there,” Hikaru said.

“No, just. Pregnancy’s a woman’s thing.” Waya shrugged. “My sister had a kid and her husband was barely involved until the kid was born, and even then it was more on my sister for care.”

“No offense, but your brother-in-law sounds like a jerk.”

“He kind of is. He pisses me off a lot and my sister deserved better.” Waya shrugged. “So, glad that you’re being there for her.”

“We’re so bad at it,” Hikaru sighed. “Touya’s trying to pick up how to be comforting but he’s just—” Hikaru mimed holding a hand out like he was afraid to touch something and like said thing might explode any moment. “—like that. Honestly, a hug would work better.”

“Touya? Hugging? Never,” Waya said.

“He can hug, he just can’t under stress I guess.”

They went back to their game, pace speeding up. They’d almost reached endgame when Natsume wandered in, fresh pot of tea in hand and her sad attempt at knitting under her arm. “Sorry to interrupt,” she murmured, setting the tea down.

“No, thank you,” Waya said quickly.

“Yeah, thanks,” Hikaru said with a grin. “Figure out that stitch?” he asked with a nod to the knitting.

Natsume, who as far as Waya could tell had the emotional range of ‘polite-smile,’ ‘polite-disinterest,’ and ‘politely-laughing-at-boys-being-idiots,’ actually looked frustrated for a moment. Color him surprised, she was human after all. (He was never telling Hikaru some of the speculations people their age had when Touya got married what sort of person his wife could be. …Hikaru probably knew some of them, but he probably didn’t know half of the rumors circulating about how he fit into everything.)

“Not yet,” Natsume said with more thinly veiled frustration. “But I will figure it out. I can do embroidery, this should not be too difficult to figure out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Hikaru said optimistically. When Natsume wandered back out, he poured some tea and said, “I don’t know if she’s going to get more than the basic stitch, but boy is she going to try.”

“Why knitting?”

“She can’t garden much with the morning sickness and needed a new hobby? I think she figured she could knit the baby something?” Hikaru shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but Akira figured it out and tried to show her and it’s still not computing for more than the first stitch.”

“…Hormones?”

“Yeah, can’t say that or she’ll be annoyed. Maybe knitting is just not her thing. She sews great though.”

“Maybe she should stick to sewing then,” Waya said.

“Akira and I have a bet how long it takes until she buries her knitting in the garden.”

Waya shook his head. “I’d never believe this would be your life a year ago.”

Hikaru grinned. “Me neither.” He clacked down a black stone, placing it just right so that Waya lost a good chunk of territory in the top-left corner of the board. Waya swore at him. “So I think I will be winning this game.”

“Like hell,” Waya retorted, buckling in for the rest of the end game. He was going to make Hikaru fight for every last moku.

*o*o*

“Natsume,” Akira said, struggling to keep a neutral face.

“Yes, Akira-san?” Natsume’s frown was starting to leave a crease between her eyebrows.

“I’m starting to feel…”

Natsume looked up, a smile on her face that dared him to comment. “Yes, Akira-san?”

Akira took a step back and cleared his throat. “Natsume, perhaps knitting is not for you.”

Natsume looked at the knitting in her lap. It had added and dropped stitches, gaps, and was loose in some places and too tight in others, and while there was a chunk that was fairly consistent and even, every attempt to progress in knitting techniques was clearly a failure. The frown on her face went deeper. “I’ve improved from the beginning.”

“You have,” Akira agreed. “And I’m sure you can learn.” Given enough time and a calmer mind. “But it’s stressing you out.”

“I’m fine,” Natsume said, her tense shoulders at odds with her words.

Akira risked setting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Are you even having fun with it?”

Natsume’s lips pressed together stubbornly for a moment before she sighed. The knitting got balled up in one hand. “It seemed like a relaxing hobby,” she said ruefully. “I have never felt less patient with something in my life,” she admitted. “I feel like I should at least make something before calling it a failed effort.”

“I don’t think anyone can say you haven’t tried.” Akira tugged at the neater area of her attempt. “Maybe a simple scarf?”

“I do have all this yarn,” she said. “It seems I was too ambitious.”

“Try again sometime in the future.”

“When I don’t have to worry about stress you mean?” Natsume said with a hint of her usual humor back in her eyes. She touched Akira’s hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for your concern, Akira-san.”

Hikaru, naturally, arrived home at that moment, strolling into the kitchen in a hurry. He stopped, seeing them close together at the kitchen table. “Oh, were you guys having a moment? Because if you wanted to have a private moment right now, I can just…”

Akira rolled his eyes. “Come here.”

Hikaru grinned and strolled over, draping an arm around Natsume’s shoulders and leaning against Akira’s side. “So, what was I missing?”

“An intervention,” Natsume said with a wry smile. She tossed the knitting on the table.

“Oh. Oh!” Hikaru laughed. “Okay. Uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but good. I’m pretty sure you were going to stab someone with those needles eventually at the rate you were going.”

“Of course not,” Natsume said, “I would never.”

Something in the demure, deadpan way she said it had Hikaru cracking up into Akira’s shoulder. “Uh, huh. Sure.”

“An inanimate object on the other hand,” Natsume said with a small smile spreading on her face.

“Oh no,” Hikaru giggled. “Yeah, this intervention is needed. Next thing I know you’ll be threatening things with kitchen knives.”

“And ruin my good knives?”

Akira gave in and laughed with them. It always amazed him how Hikaru could turn the mood right around.

“But,” Natsume said with a sigh, “I don’t know what to do with my time now.”

“If you were planning to try to do baby clothes, there’s still sewing,” Hikaru pointed out. His face lit up. “Ooh, you could make little formal clothes and the baby can look like a stuffy mini version of Akira!”

“Hikaru,” Akira said, pinching him in the side.

Hikaru elbowed back shamelessly. “Bet you the baby inherits your old man serious face. All…” He tried to imitate Akira’s expression, but ruined it because he couldn’t stop laughing.

“I don’t look like an old man.”

“You looked old when you were twelve, Akira,” Hikaru said. He grinned, bright and irresistible and so close Akira could count his eyelashes. “But I guess you’re too pretty to be a stuffy old geezer.”

“And I am not playing a game with you tonight,” Akira threatened, hiding his smile as Hikaru tried to backpedal, still laughing.

“No, no! It’s a compliment! C’mon, Akira, you’d be punishing yourself!”

Natsume laughed at them both.

Things weren’t so different yet after all.

*o*o*

Natsume and her mother made their way to their local shrine. They left more than the normal offering because this was important. This was the future—of her child, of her family, of Akira’s family name. Natsume prayed for a healthy child. She prayed for a future of happy smiles and balanced support. She prayed to be strong enough to keep the life growing in her secure enough to meet that future and beyond it.

Her mother was warm at Natsume’s side, her clap just a fraction behind her daughter’s. Who knew what her mother prayed for specifically, but they were united on a safe pregnancy, safe birth.

When Natsume opened her eyes, she saw her mother looking at her, maternal fondness in her eyes. It wasn’t something her mother frequently expressed, though Natsume never doubted that she cared. Still, the tenderness in her mother’s eyes as she cupped a hand at Natsume’s face filled her with warmth. This was why a shrine trip was made, mother and daughter, to pray. This was connecting the family together down the line.

It was the closest she’d felt to her mother in a long while.

“Let’s buy some charms and a sash,” her mother said, voice gentle. She stood straighter than she usually did, with purpose.

Later, maternity sash in place, Natsume tucked a charm up her sleeve with the memory of a day well spent with her mother.

*o*o*

They were trying, really they were. Hikaru had even tried reading one of Natsume’s gardening books, but no matter how much she tried to explain and how the book described things, Hikaru and Akira still weren’t doing as good a job as Natsume did. Of course, they had less time to spend on gardening than she used to, but it wasn’t pristine and overflowing with life the way it was when she tended it, a bit more haphazard and gone wild with unintended neglect since bending over a lot was becoming a problem.

Natsume looked at her garden from the porch, a wry smile on her face as Akira attempted to dead-head one of her flower bushes with pruners. He was leaving the flower heads where they fell and the bare stalks poking up, and Hikaru was pretty sure that wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but it was a bit too late to get him to change. He’d already gone through a half a flower bed.

“Are they getting enough water?” Hikaru asked with the watering can in one hand. “I can’t tell.”

“You’re doing fine, Hikaru,” Natsume said.

“Your face says we aren’t.”

“I’m glad for your help. Otherwise, everything would be halfway to dead by now. I’m merely wondering how I can get it ready for winter with the least amount of effort.”

“Wait, don’t you usually cut all the dead off to compost and prune things?” Hikaru shuffled the watering can around to his other hand; it was dripping on his shoe. “I think we can handle cutting dead plant bits.”

“Mm.” Natsume tilted her head as Akira missed the dead flower he was aiming for and accidentally cut off a healthy one. Hikaru tried not to grin as he heard a quiet swear. “I’m sure you can handle that bit, but I cannot leave you two to do the pruning. Your help is appreciated, but you wouldn’t know where to start. To be blunt, please don’t attempt it; I don’t want you to accidentally kill my plants.”

“Would it do that?” It had seemed like she pruned a bit of everything last year. Cutting off bits didn’t seem that hard.

“On certain plants? Yes. Or at least set back the work I’ve put into them.” She pursed her lips. More and more often, she showed little things like irritation that she used to hide. Hikaru thought it was probably a positive thing, but it was also a little strange since he’d literally known her for years before seeing some of the expressions she’d had in the last few months. “I could probably manage if I took a chair with me…”

“Will it cause more stress not to touch it, or to touch it?” Hikaru asked.

Natsume hummed again. She looked up at Hikaru and she looked tired, and it was one of those moments when he remembered she was actually older than him and Akira. Age wasn’t something he thought about with her; she felt like she’d come into the world calm and dignified and with a quiet sense of humor. “I know it is not my livelihood the way Go is for you and Akira-san, but it is my passion… I had not really considered how having a child would complicate that since I am always at home anyway.” She touched her stomach, and Hikaru had to look at the bump. It still caught him off guard, but maybe that was because it was always growing. “I do want a child, and I have no regrets. I suppose I am just missing being able to immerse myself in this.”

Not for the first time, Hikaru tried to picture having to go without Go for months and shivered. Yeah, that would be pretty awful. “We’ll try with a chair then. I mean the doctors said not to stress or work too hard, but this is also something that calms you down.”

“Thank you, Hikaru.” She smiled and glanced back at Akira. “Ah…could you please stop him from cutting those? I want a few to go to seed.”

“Of course,” Hikaru said, giving a little bow to make her giggle. Of course the laugh was more because he managed to spill the watering can in the process. “And I’ll…get back to watering!”

He wasn’t ever going to be a gardener, but at least they weren’t doing completely terrible. The effort was worth it for Natsume’s sake. And it was pretty calming. Or at least it was when Akira wasn’t being awful at it. Hikaru jogged over to pass on instructions.

*o*o*

Natsume’s mother moved around Natsume’s kitchen with the air of a woman slowly familiarizing herself with everything. She’d visited several times now, and seemed to plan to make it a regular thing, which Natsume wasn’t sure about. Her mother had both a bad back, and a very different preference of organization. Natsume might be fine relenting to her mother’s preferences in her childhood home, but she was starting to lose patience by the fifth time her mother absentmindedly reordered something in a cupboard.

This, too, would have been fine in the long run—if Natsume had anything, it was patience—but Hikaru was home and this was only the third time they’d ever met, and her mother Did Not Approve of him despite the fact that he was just as much a respectable Go player as Akira was.

Natsume thought it was probably Hikaru’s hair that first earned her mother’s ire. Moving in with her and Akira had been the final weight to tip the scale to permanent dislike no matter how kindly Natsume or Akira presented him.

Natsume was unspeakably grateful her mother had never witnessed Akira and Hikaru’s post-game ‘discussions.’

“You should cook in batches,” her mother said, reordering the spices, “that way you have food for several days so you can rest. I know it isn’t as satisfying or elaborate, but as you near your due date, you will need to conserve your energy for your child. Of course I will come here in the last few weeks to cover tasks you cannot do.”

Natsume did not point out that there were tasks her mother was frequently unable to do in her own household.

“And of course I will help the first week after the baby is born—”

“We intend to take shifts with that,” Natsume interrupted. “Akira and Hikaru have already informed the Go Institute that they will need time around March.”

Her mother shut the cupboard and frowned in her direction. “Does your husband think you are incapable of caring for your own child?”

“We have discussed shared parenting duties,” Natsume said, trying to project calm and serenity. It was much more difficult lately; it was amazing how quickly prolonged physical discomfort would wear down her patience. “I am going to be doing the bulk of child care.” There had never been a question about that; she didn’t have a job and both Akira and Hikaru did. “But for the first month especially we intend to share the burden as equally as possible.”

“And your…guest… is going to help?” her mother said skeptically. “How…generous.”

Natsume suppressed a sigh. “He is a part of this household,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time.

As if to prove a point, Hikaru walked past the kitchen with a basket of laundry—since her pregnancy progressed to affecting her balance some, both her husband and Hikaru had stepped in with any chore requiring lifting and balancing heavy objects. Hikaru might naturally be a chaotic person who put off his personal chores, but he was remarkably attentive in taking over Natsume’s. It was touching actually. It also gave her plenty to tease him about since he was terrible with remembering laundry when he first moved in, at least up until he agreed to let her do his wash along with everything else that needed it.

The sight of Hikaru balancing a basket on his hip made Natsume smile and her mother purse her lips.

“He does his part,” Natsume said, glad to have actual visual proof to convince her mother.

*o*o*

“Wait,” Akira said, setting down the dish he was drying. “Your grandfather is still alive?”

Hikaru, elbow deep in dish water, frowned. “Yeah? Did I ever say otherwise? I mean he’s really old, so I dunno how much longer he has, but he’s not dead yet.”

Akira set down the towel too, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hikaru, your Go-playing grandfather, the one that you’ve mentioned half a dozen times tried to get you interested in Go in elementary school, is alive and you somehow have never introduced us?”

Hikaru blinked at him. “Should I have?”

Akira exchanged a look with Natsume where she was putting away the last of the leftovers. “Hikaru, I have had dinner with your parents at least every other month for several years now. How have I not met the sole relative that actually appreciates a game of Go?”

Hikaru scratched at his face, leaving a blob of soap bubbles behind. “I mean, I did consider it ages ago when we first were really friends. Just.”

“Just what?”

With clear embarrassment, Hikaru refused to meet his eyes. “…I thought he might like you better back then.”

“Hikaru!”

“It’s a legitimate concern! My mom likes you better than she likes me!” Hikaru said.

“That’s just because you can’t be bothered to be polite,” Akira said. “Ever.”

“She’s my mom. She wouldn’t know how to react to me if I was polite.”

Natsume shook her head and put the last of the dirty dishes in Hikaru’s wash water. “It sounds like we should make a trip sometime soon, hmm?” she said, looking between the two of them. “I for one would like to meet another member of Hikaru-san’s family.”

“You too?” Hikaru asked, pouting.

“Well, neither of us have grandparents still alive for you to meet,” she said practically. “And as you’ve said, he does enjoy Go.”

“Ugh, fine. Gramps is going to be so weird about this, I know it.” Hikaru returned to scrubbing dishes. “You’ll probably like my grandmother though. She likes flowers.”

“Your grandmother’s alive too?” Akira said.

“Uggghhh,” Hikaru groaned, blocking his ear with his shoulder. “I get it, I suck with communicating! I’ll call them tomorrow!”

Natsume gave his cheek a kiss. “Thank you.”

(Everything went great with the visit. And Hikaru was right about his grandfather liking Akira more—up until Hikaru got in a debate with Akira over a few stone placements. Then he’d laughed and said that he now understood why someone like Akira would be with his idiot grandson. Natsume spent the entire time sipping tea with Hikaru’s grandmother and talking flowers and babies. It was a very relaxing trip over all.)

*o*o*

Natsume sat propped up by pillows on the bed, her growing belly carefully on display as Akira and Hikaru set a hand there. The fluttery feeling of kicks pressed back. It was fascinating now, like butterflies in her stomach, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite so awe inspiring a month from now when the baby could kick with more strength.

“Ohmigosh, I felt that,” Hikaru whispered. He looked up at Natsume, eyes bright. “Natsume, it’s an actual baby in there.”

Natsume laughed. “Yes, yes it is.”

“You read the books,” Akira said. “You know what it’s supposed to look like by this point.”

“Yeah, but knowing and feeling are two different things.”

“Hmm.” Akira had a calm, happy smile on his face, more relaxed at the moment than he had been lately. It was nice to see. Natsume had worried that her pregnancy was causing him as much stress as it was her sometimes. Natsume was beyond glad that the awful morning sickness had finally let up.

“You know,” she said, pulling their hands to a different spot when the baby moved, “the books also say that the baby can start recognizing outside voices around now.”

“So we should…talk to it?” Hikaru asked, glancing up. “Uh, hey little baby in there. You grow all big and strong, ok?”

Akira snorted.

Hikaru elbowed him in the side. “I feel ridiculous talking to her stomach,” he mumbled.

Akira snorted again. “You used to talk to yourself all the time as a teenager. Pretend you’re doing that.”

Hikaru’s smile faltered. “That… That was different.”

Natsume caught his hand, lacing their fingers together. She might not know what they were referencing, but Akira did, and he looked apologetic immediately. Hikaru squeezed her hand, grateful for the silent comfort.

“Sorry,” Akira said. “How about a story instead? Practice for when the baby’s born?”

“A story…” Hikaru leaned close to their tangled hands. “Once upon a time, there was a man who loved to play Go more than anything in the world…”

*o*o*

“I notice that your room is being converted into a nursery,” Natsume’s mother said.

If Akira’s mom was a nice mother-in-law figure in Hikaru’s life, Natsume’s mother was kind of the exact opposite. Don’t get him wrong, she definitely cared about her daughter. She just was really nosey and really didn’t like Hikaru. At all. “Uh, yeah,” Hikaru said. He was just studying in the living room. Where had she even come from? He looked for Natsume. She wasn’t there.

“My daughter’s resting,” Natsume’s mother said, probably reading his mind. “Where will you be staying once it’s complete?”

“The… other guest room?” Hikaru hazarded. It had been made very clear that he shouldn’t mention he slept pretty much every night in bed with Akira and Natsume.

“The one that’s being used for storage? Where are you sleeping now?”

“The… living room? Futon?” Hikaru held up his book like a barrier. You’d think he’d be used to kind of scary old people considering his job, but no, there was kind of scary old Go people, and then there were kind of scary older mothers who thought they had their daughter’s best interest in mind. Yikes. “I’m helping do all the painting and redecorating in the nursery I swear!”

Natsume’s mother sniffed. “You’d better be. You realize now would be an ideal time to finally get your feet under yourself and find an independent home? You’re only going to be in the middle of Natsume and Akira-san building a family.”

Hikaru was getting really tired of this. She wasn’t even hinting anymore. “Look, I get that it’s not the usual way of doing things, but I’m planning to be another set of hands. I mean more people can only help when it comes to child care, right? Isn’t that why you keep coming over?”

The nasty look that got him was enough to have him hiding behind his book again. Yikes.

Well if he was going to be on her shit list no matter what he said… “And also, they already have a family, they’re just adding to it? You don’t have to have kids to have a family.”

“You are entirely missing my point,” Natsume’s mother said curtly.

“And you’re missing mine!” Hikaru wasn’t going to get anything done today, was he? At least the woman was polite enough whenever Akira was around. “I get you don’t like me. But I’m not going anywhere because they want me here as much as I want to be here.”

Another sniff, but she looked away so the topic was probably dropped for today. “You had best keep making yourself useful then,” she said, leaving the room.

“Ugh,” Hikaru sighed. “You and me both, lady.” He kind of wondered if it wouldn’t be a better idea to just move back in to his parents’ place for a little bit. But that would mean no cuddling with Akira and Natsume, no morning Go matches, or debates in the evening. No garden or talking to Natsume’s belly-bump. No, he’d put up with getting looked at like he was a home wrecker in favor of all the positive things.

“They are so lucky I love them,” he muttered, going back to his kifu studies.

*o*o*

Akira had a large bed. Or at least it had seemed large. It had fit him and Hikaru and Natsume well enough curled up together around each other.

But as he found himself dangling on the edge of the bed for the fourth time that month, Akira had to wonder if they maybe needed a larger one. “Natsume,” he murmured, gently pressing his wife’s shoulder. Her face scrunched, lacking the dignity she had when she was awake. “You’ve moved again.”

It wasn’t a problem when she slept on her back. But the closer to the end of her pregnancy, the more comfortable she was on her side—and the more space she took up. She’d also become a restless sleeper. Akira and Hikaru both found themselves at the edge of the bed more than once. It just depended on who was sleeping where that night. By mutual agreement, they’d put Natsume in the middle because it was better for one of them to get kicked out than for her to accidentally roll off the bed.

“Natsume?”

“Mm… Akira?” She patted at his arm.

That was new, too, how in her less careful moments, she dropped honorifics like she sometimes did with Hikaru. It made him feel things that he didn’t want to examine too closely because they felt warm and embarrassing to dwell on, just like how he tried not to dwell on certain things Hikaru did that made his heart melt. “Budge over a bit?” Akira said gently.

“Mm,” Natsume hummed, rolling the other direction clumsily. She latched on to Hikaru. Her waking moments she was always controlled with touch, but asleep, she clung to anything warm.

Akira slid close against her back, an arm draped over her and onto Hikaru’s hip. The pillows smelled like both of them. Before he got married, he’d been worried that it wouldn’t work out. That despite how well the meetings had gone, and how their personalities hadn’t clashed, that the differences would be too much to handle, or that he’d be unhappy with a marriage that hadn’t been built from romantic love.

Love was a lot more complex than he’d given it credit, and manifested in so many different ways.

Happiness had never been a direct factor in any of this either, an aim for contentment at best. Happiness was something Akira knew better now than he had his whole life.

Hikaru made a sleepy sound, burrowing closer to Natsume, and somehow getting an arm around her and his fingers brushing Akira’s hair.

Akira closed his eyes, smiling.

*o*o*

Natsume couldn’t get comfortable, a constant ache in her lower back as the day went on. Last week she’d had a contraction scare, but it had turned out to be false contractions. With another week and a half until her projected due date, she wasn’t convinced this pain was the real deal or not. Her back ached plenty this last month with having to hold up unbalanced weight.

She stopped her attempt at dinner, rubbing her back. They had a bag packed for the clinic and the midwife and doctor were a phone call away. She didn’t want to scare Akira and Hikaru if it was a false alarm again.

In an hour, both men were due home.

Natsume resumed cooking, ignoring the pain as best she could. It was getting a bit more frequent, but it might also be that she was dwelling on it too much and skewing what was actually happening. Vegetables into stir fry, cubes of meat, a bubbling sauce to glaze them, the rice cooker set to complete a few minutes before cooking was completed. Miso soup prepared with fresh dashi. Fresh fruit diced with red bean jelly for desert. A mild green tea to accompany everything.

The front door opened, Hikaru arriving first from the sound of it. His presence always filled the space where Akira moved quiet and unobtrusive most of the time. Natsume breathed through a stronger pain. Was it a contraction? Was the pain a handful of minutes later also one? She waited, still not a clear pattern.

“I’m home!” Hikaru said, sticking his head in the kitchen.

“Welcome home. Care to set the table?”

He gave her a kiss, casual as ever, before gathering up bowls and plates and utensils.

Natsume put the dessert away for after the meal, keeping it chill.

“Cups to match the teapot?”

“Please,” Natsume said, rubbing her back. Her legs were beginning to ache too.

Five minutes later, there was Akira, coming from teaching for the day. Hikaru greeted him enthusiastically. They sat down, like normal, dishing out food and talking about their day and Natsume listened, but she couldn’t quite keep attention on the conversation or the meal.

Pain. Count out the minutes…three…four…five…six…Pain. More regular. And definitely shortening in their intervals. It was a bit terrifying even though she’d know what had to happen eventually. No book, no class, no relaxation or meditation could adequately prepare her for this.

“Are you okay?” Hikaru’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you not feeling good? Is something wrong with the baby?” He and Akira looked equally concerned. It was almost funny how they kept doing that this last month if she looked the slightest bit off.

Natsume smiled despite the discomfort. “I’m fine. Although… I believe I might be going into labor.”

Hikaru’s chopsticks clattered onto his plate. Akira dropped a bite of rice in his lap. “Now?” Hikaru squeaked.

“I thought it might be another false alarm,” she said. She took another bite of her food. She was going to need the energy no matter how her stomach was fluttering with sudden nerves as reality asserted itself. “The contractions are getting more frequent and stronger though.”

“Shouldn’t we be going? Like now?”

Akira seemed to be frozen in place, just like he had been when the false alarm happened.

“There’s no reason not to finish dinner. Even with contractions this close, it’s going to be hours before the baby comes.” That was the truly daunting thought, the task ahead of her looming. She hoped she would be strong enough for this.

“But, but…”

“You would rather it goes to waste?”

“Of course not!” Hikaru picked up his chopsticks, fumbling them.

“Eat, then I will call my mother and we can drive to the clinic.”

“Right,” Hikaru said, voice tight with panic. “Okay. Sure. Akira, eat!”

Mechanically, Akira did, still looking shell shocked and a little bit terrified.

One would think, Natsume thought wryly, that they were the ones who would be spending the next however long in labor. She braced against another contraction and finished her miso soup. Well, one of them had to be calm. It might as well be her.

*o*o*

They’d left dishes in the sink and leaving had been a mess of phone calls—the doctor, parents and in-laws, midwife. Hikaru couldn’t hold still. There were so many people all here for Natsume and he couldn’t stand watching her serious expression of determination without wanting to jump out of his own skin.

Akira was doing much better, but Hikaru had a feeling Akira was halfway in shock and working on autopilot. He was holding one of Natsume’s hands as the midwife instructed her to carefully walk up and down the hallway to ease along some of the process. Natsume’s mother was on her other side. Hikaru’s mom and Akira’s mother were there too, but a little ways away and he had no idea how to feel about any of this.

And there would be hours of this before the baby was actually here.

Hikaru slipped out the door for a moment to breathe. He wasn’t helping anyone in his panic.

He slipped out his phone. “C’mon, c’mon, pick up.”

The ringing on the other end stopped as it was answered.

“Oh thank goodness—”

“Hikaru what the hell. It’s almost midnight.”

“I know. But. Natsume’s having the baby!”

“Now?”

“Yes! Sort of! Babies take a lot of time to be born, especially the first time I guess!”

“Then why the hell are you talking to me? Go be supportive!”

“I need to freak out at someone! They’re all in there being calm!” Okay, Akira was the opposite of calm, but he wasn’t panicking in a distracting manner, so he had a free pass.

“You said you all read books together on this, right?”

“Right.” Hikaru ran a hand through his hair. It was shaking. Hoo boy.

“And you each went to one of Natsume’s birthing classes with the meditation and breathing thingy.”

“Yeah.”

“So use some of what you know, dumbass!”

“Wayaaaaa,” Hikaru whined. “I’m so freaked out I’m worried I’m going to freak her out and if she’s freaked out what if it makes things go wrong and if things go wrong, what if something happens to the baby and—”

“Breathe,” Waya commanded. “Natsume’s a really calm person. And even if she’s scared as heck—and she probably is—she’s not going to let you freaking out mess up her head space.” Hikaru didn’t answer and Waya sighed. “Look, I’m in Osaka right now and I couldn’t get to Tokyo tonight if I tried. I’ll be there in the morning, ok? Just stop freaking out and go help support her. Just… think of it as a Go match. You’re playing against your own anxiety, but you have to win for her sake or something, ok?”

“Yeah.” Actually, putting it in those terms made Hikaru weirdly calmer. Gosh Waya was a good friend sometimes. “Thanks.”

“Whatever. Go be supportive. I’ll drag Isumi along when I come tomorrow. Keep me posted.”

“Yeah.” Hikaru hung up before Waya could. His mother poked her head out into the hall and waved him over. Oh boy.

“She’s going back into the birthing room, go keep Akira calm,” his mother ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Hikaru said.

Natsume’s mother gave him a weird look when he walked in to stand next to Akira, but you know what? He was past feeling worried about her. Her opinion was her opinion and he was here for Akira and Natsume and their child. Heck, the midwife wasn’t even fazed by any of this.

He locked eyes with Natsume, a moment in between contractions and some of the tension around her eyes lessened.

They need you, he reminded himself. One hand on Akira, one hand around where Akira and Natsume’s hands were tangled together. It was going to be a long night.

*o*o*

“So,” Waya said looking at the baby in Akira’s arms. “Whose kid is it?”

“Waya!” Isumi gasped looking horrified. Hikaru rolled his eyes.

“Real nice, Waya. She’s Akira’s obviously.” Hikaru elbowed Waya in the ribs. “What do you take me for? I’m not having a kid with someone else’s wife.”

“No you just sleep wi—”

Haruka

Kanji for sunlight and flower or katakana spelling like others?

Natsume’s name is spelled “Summer Bud” (as in leaf-bud) so plant theme to go with “bright” and “light” theme with Akira and Hikaru

Isumi clamped a hand over Waya’s mouth. He bowed apologetically to Akira who watched with the bemused expression he reserved for Hikaru’s friends and some of his lover’s odder personality quirks. “Sorry about Waya, he doesn’t have a brain to mouth filter.”

“I can understand his uncertainty,” Akira said with tolerance. He leaned against Hikaru’s side as he looked at his daughter curled in his arms sleeping peacefully. “We discussed it earlier when children came up. Any children born will biologically be mine.”

“So how will parenting go?” Waya asked wiggling out of Isumi’s grip. Isumi frowned but Waya figured everyone expected him to be blunt. He might as well ask what they were both curious about.

“We’re sharing duties.”

“But I’ll be ‘Uncle Hikaru!’” Hikaru cut in with a grin. “She’s so tiny…Wonder if she’ll look more like you or Natsume?”

“I will be happy regardless.” Akira sighed, leaning heavier against Hikaru’s side. He had been up since three in the morning. His daughter came into the world less than four hours ago, and it was noon now. He hadn’t slept at all, too worried for Natsume’s sake and caught up in the blindsiding realization that he was actually a father now.

“Where’s Natsume-san?” Isumi asked.

“Sleeping,” Akira said. He smiled. “Bringing a life into the world is no easy task.” If he was so exhausted just from watching he could only imagine how tired Natsume was. If Hikaru hadn’t been there he wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle all the emotions. “Her parents were here earlier. Her mother wants to move in with us to help take care of the baby.”

“Ooh. That could be awkward.” Waya winced as Hikaru whapped him on the head. Really, there was nothing wrong with saying what everyone was thinking!

Akira couldn’t help but laugh softly, and more than a little hysterically, over the thought of his in-laws invading his home. It had been difficult enough to explain Hikaru’s constant presence during Natsume’s pregnancy and they got weird looks when he stuck around when Natsume went into labor. His daughter shifted in his arms, making soft noises at the back of her throat.

“What’s her name?” Isumi asked, politely diverting their attention back to the baby.

“Haruka,” Akira said. He traced her soft, red cheek. Newborns came into the world red and squished-faced and crying, but he seemed to find her perfect anyway. “The kanji for ‘sunlight’ and ‘flower’.”

“Natsume chose it,” Hikaru said.

“I’m surprised you used kanji since you both have names in katakana,” Waya joked. “Only just born and you’re imposing ideals on the little bean.”

“Little bean?” Hikaru echoed incredulously. “Woah, no calling our daughter a bean, Waya.”

“It’s like a cute affectionate nickname!” Waya protested. He dodged another half-hearted flail in his direction, hiding behind an exasperated Isumi. “I mean you’re pretty much her parent too, which makes Isumi and I extra kind-of-sort-of uncles, so, nickname!”

“Just call her by her name!”

Akira chuckled. Haruka wasn’t as amused by the noise though, and she scrunched up her face unhappily, a sound that was somewhere between a croak and a whine coming from her throat.

“…Touya, your daughter sounds like some sort of tree frog.”

This time Isumi smacked Waya on the back of the head. “And with that, we should give you your privacy,” he said. Isumi directed a genuine smile Akira’s way. “Congratulations again. We’ll visit properly after you have all returned home. We just wanted to make sure everything went okay.”

“I texted it did, didn’t I?” Hikaru muttered. He didn’t look annoyed though. Neither he nor Akira could hold on to irritation while the awe of having their daughter finally in the world. “I’ll catch you guys later. Uh, but we’ll see when that is. Pretty sure newborns take all your time and energy if the books are correct.”

“Thankfully we have three sets of parents and three of us,” Akira said just as Haruka started to cry properly.

“Good luck!” Waya called in parting.

Hikaru and Akira took Haruka back to Natsume, regrettably needing to wake her up; Haruka was hungry again.

Natsume woke from the noise, alert and worried for a handful of seconds before she saw Hikaru and Akira with the baby. She held out her arms and Haruka quieted some just from the transition.

“She knows her mom,” Hikaru said with a huge grin. Then, “Holy shit, Akira, we’re parents.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Akira said drily. He sat at Natsume’s bedside with Hikaru crowded too close as Natsume fed their daughter.

“We’re parents,” Hikaru repeated, like it was really hitting him, a bit choked up. “I love you guys so much.”

Natsume leaned until her shoulders pressed against Hikaru’s and Akira put a hand on her arm, Hikaru’s hip. Together.

******

AN: So, flower Akira was looking at that he didn't know the name of was a primrose. Baby's name has light connotations because both Akira and Hikaru (though written in katakana in the series) are names usually written with kanji for light. Since Natsume's name is written with kanji for Summer and Bud (like leaf bud), having a flower kanji in there worked too.

You know it's funny because I can remember being in a coffee shop in 2016 glaring at this word doc and trying to plan the stupid 7 course traditional meal and ranting to my friend about how I write myself into weird corners and then do research that I don't even use. Like how I 100% didn't need to plan that meal or do that research because it just got skimmed over. I spent at least 3 hours googling shit back then for a couple paragraphs. Such is writing I guess. This ended up a lot longer than I ever intended it to be with lots of googling pregnancy things that I didn't actually want to know, and Japanese traditions in pregnancy, that are actually kind of interesting from a cultural side of things (like the 'Japanese food for a Japanese baby' and how you're expected not to stress about things, you protect/keep warm your baby bump, can legally register the pregnancy to get government support/health care/information if you need it, how you're expected to eat and move around while in labor (food for energy, moving to help deal with pain) and to 1)not be loud when giving birth, 2) have a natural birth. You're also not supposed to gain a certain amount of weight during your pregnancy?? Like, weird.) Anyway, I've looked up some odd things over the years for this fic and others. I'm glad to finally post this and close the open doc on my computer and move the file to complete instead of unfinished folder.

#hikaru no go #fanfiction #My writing #arrangements #this is the AU where Akira had an arranged marriage #and then he and his wife proposition hikaru into joining them #yeah that's a thing I wrote #I chose natsume's name before I was super into natsume yuujinchou #and it feels super weird these days to have her be natsume #when natsume is a gold-eyed silver-haired kid with trust issues and ayakashi sight to me now

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daisymondays · 5 years

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For the title meme ✨✨✨ 1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14

Aahahaha !!! Wow thanks Nonnie !!! I’ll try not to babble too much because otherwise this’ll get super long and possibly annoy every one on my time line but thankyou

1. Favorite fic title, and why?

It’s got to be my current one Karma’s A Fake Orgasm and Its my favourite because 1. I find it hilarious 2. The series is now called Revenge Is Best Served Horny because I once again find myself hilarious, and 3. really the whole naming process of the fic was just really funny. I couldn’t think of a name so we were throwing around so stupid names and then when I tried to think of a serious one nothing could top Fake Orgasm so here we are. Stucky, Banter and my mates, this title is a product of everything I love

2. Least favorite fic title, and why?

Urm I dont know if I have a least favourite title as such as ones I don’t care about as much, which is a few of my shorter fics or just the ones I’m not as attatched to

3. Song names or lyrics as a title in any fic?

Yesss, If We Were Honest was inspired by Honest by The Chainsmokers as the song was playing when I was plotting out the fic and heard these lyrics:

And I’m not gonna tell you that I’m over it‘Cause I think about it every night I’m not sober, andI know I keep these feelings to myselfLike I don’t need nobody elseBut you’re not the only one on my mindIf I’m being honestYou said I should be honestSo I’m being honest

and they just fit the story I was trying to tell sooo much and so yes, if Im being honest became If We Were Honest

4. Fics with literary references as a title?

Waheyy same answer as above really, If We Were Honest is a blend of Honest by the Chainsmokers and a book called If We Were Villians that I read just before I wrote this fic and really enjoyed, and so yes, the title is quite clearly a smushing together of the two things (i would rec this book if you enjoy dramatics and a Secret History)

5. Have you let someone else (a beta, a friend) name a fic for you?

Yesss, I cannot count the amount of times I’ve appeared in @aibidil‘s DMs like HELP ME WITH THIS TITLE so I’m 99% sure she’s basically named at least one of my fics for me

6. A fic that had a very different working title as a WIP?

Yeeeppp, Highly (in)Compatible had the working title of Fuck Fate which while fitting of the plot didn’t quite work for a title so I managed to come up with something better

7. Do you use all lowercase letters in any fic titles? Uppercase?

I use Uppercase, i tend to captialise them correctly rather than aesthetically cause im boring like that

8. How did you choose the title of your very first fic?

Once again I’m ignoring my old old fics that have either been deleted from the internet or I pretend don’t exist, which means we’re starting with Lost Children which I actually named pretty easily, like the plot of that fic just came to me at once and the title came with it. Its set straight after the war and during that summer and its called Lost Children because thats what its about, its Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Pansy, Ginny etc etc. trying to figure out what they’re supposed to do with their lives and who they’re supposed to be now the war is over, and realising that maybe its okay not to know everything

9. Do you think your method of naming fic has changed over time?

Yes I used to cry at the computer screen and now I scream. Urm no not really, i just kinda have a few ideas and discuss them with people and play around with words until i’m happy – which i think I’ve always done

10. Can you share the title of a WIP?

The current working title of the Bucky POV part of the Revenge is Best Served Horny is Playing The Long Game which has a dick pun in if you squint – i want something more obviously related to the other two espeically as Bucky is the king of sexual puns in this series so he deserves it – but i also kinda think this title is fitting so idk

11. Do you name your chapters?

No!! i wish i did!! i wanted to for Karma’s A Fake Orgasm but I couldnt think of anything witty so im pretty boring with chapters

12. Do you find yourself generally naming a fic early or late in the process?

It really depends, like I have some names that I’ve pulled out of my arse while uploading to AO3 and some that have been there since I started the fic. I am nothing if not consistently inconsistent

13. Have you ever changed the title of a fic after publishing?

Nope, im far too stubborn for that, no takesies backsies on shit titles !!! nah, i just dont hate any of them enough to do that

14. Give us a fic rec for one of your favorite fic titles from another author!

Not Easily Conquered from the Stucky Thirteen Letters series, if there ever comes a day I stop reccing this series presume I’m dead. Like literally. Or an imposter!!!! Anyway, this series is the way I finally managed to drag @synonym-for-life into Stucky (mawhaha) and its just beautiful, honestly some of the most fantastic writing and story telling I’ve read ever and I wish fanfic was more widely accepted purely so I could rec this series to more people. Its angsty and heart breaking, but hopeful too and just truly looks at love and the different things it does to people. No character is perfect and no one is pure evil, every one has their actions and you can understand them, you may not agree with what they did and it make break your heart but you can understand it. Its just a real look at humanity, the good and ugly, and on that note i’m off to read it again !!

I’d give the link but i’ve answered all the questions now !! thankyou Nonnie, this was super fun

#gracie speaks #stucky #drarry

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real-life-sucks-ass · 6 years

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Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

*All answers should be about works published in 2017.

I’ve been tagged by @inrainbowz! Thanks for giving me an occasion to blab about my writing to the world :D

1. List of works published this year:

So, according to AO3 I wrote 224132 words in 2017. But tbh I’ve not been very productive, I only wrote a few chapters for two WIP (still unfinished) and a single one-shot. The rest is the exact same stuff, but translated into english. Take a look:

One Video Man (One Vidéo Man in french): This is a Youtube!AU fic for the One Punch Man fandom. I had this stupid idea about a AU where everyone is human, in our world, and every character runs a Youtube channel. That’s all. I just describe videos so the reader feels like they’re watching this on Youtube. I have no plan, no scenario, no nothing. But the thing is, I encourage my readers to post fake Youtube comments for the characters to answer, and to give me some ideas about what should happen next and what kind of video I should write. So yeah, it’s kind of a fun experience, and I like trying new stuff and interact with my readers (I did something a bit like this for a spn fic a few years ago). But I’m so slow at updating, my readers are dying with frustration lol.

Albion’s last bulwark (Le dernier rempart d’Albion in french): This is a BBC Merlin fic, and actually it is a sequel for my fic Le dernier souffle de Kilgharrah I have yet to translate into english. It can be read separately, though. It is a resurrection fic in Arthur’s point of view. He comes back to life in our world today and realize he’s lost his kingdom, his wife, everything, and Merlin looks like an old man and is obviously not so happy about his return. I wanted them to struggle to get their relation back. I wanted Arthur to feel lost and alone. This fic is filled with angst and is merthur. I still have about 5 chapters to write & translate to complete it.

A cheap spell (Un sort au rabais in french): I wrote this short Merthur OS just for funsies and I also made a drawing here. Basically Arthur went missing and everyone is worried sick (especially Merlin) and looking for him everywhere... but Arthur is right there under their noses, only turned into a toad and frustrated because no one recognizes him. Well it’s not much, but it was fun to write.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Definitely Albion’s last bulwark (Le dernier rempart d’Albion in french). You have no idea. This fic is my precious, my everything. I’m pouring my whole soul in it. I could talk about it all day. This is the fic that made me want to get better in english just so I could translate it at some point.

Why? Because CloudFactory and I have been thinking about it for years before I even started writing it. I do all the writing, but we made out the story together, we thought every little detail through, and she’s my betareader both in french and in english. Because we worked hard to get the characterization right. Because I had been dying to read a resurrection fic in which Merlin has been deeply changed by centuries of living in a changing world, so I decided to write it myself. I wanted a Merlin who went through some rough stuff that had nothing to do with Arthur at all. I wanted a Merlin living like an hermit, but not because he’s waiting for Arthur to return, but for a totally different reason. Because I wanted Arthur to grieve for Camelot, for Gwen, for his past life. Because I wanted Arthur to return for a very serious reason, because Albion truly is in danger. Also, because dragons. In this fic, Merlin has a bunch of dragons, including a baby one, I love writing them.

So yeah, I’m so fucking proud of this fic and I will cry tears of pure joy once I complete it.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

Well I’m kinda proud of everything I wrote in 2017, but if I really have to pick one, I’d say A cheap spell (Un sort au rabais in french) because, well, I wrote it quickly and I felt the merthur was bit rushed and OOC. But that’s because I’m the kind of author who usually needs at least 10 chapters to bring some romance, so... Also, writing crack is fun, but I’m way better at writing angst.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing: Okay so I’ll follow @inrainbowz‘s example and show one in french first, then one in english. But only for my fic Albion’s last bulwark (Le dernier rempart d’Albion in french), because yup, I’m really really proud of it.

Voilà un petit extrait en français, du dernier chapitre en date pour Le dernier rempart d’Albion :

- Et nous nous sommes rencontrés ?

Freya esquissa un pâle sourire qu’Arthur n’aurait su qualifier d’amusé ou triste.

- Oui. Tu es celui qui m’as tuée.

Arthur eut une inspiration de surprise et ses yeux s’écarquillèrent.

- Quoi ?

- Laisse-moi te rafraîchir la mémoire…

Lorsqu’une main creva la surface du lac, suivie d’un poignet gracile et d’un bras nu, Arthur se recula vivement et tomba assis, le souffle coupé. Le reflet de Freya soulevait la nappe d’eau et sa tête émergea à son tour, ses cheveux ruisselant sur son visage, ses épaules et sa poitrine à peine couvertes d’une robe en lambeaux. Le cœur battant à tout rompre, Arthur déglutit et s’efforça de rester calme et de ne pas dégainer Excalibur face à ce spectacle aussi terrifiant qu’époustouflant. Car ce corps qui avait surgi jusqu’à la taille et se penchait à présent sur lui la main tendue, il était translucide, uniquement composé d’eau.

And now another one, in english this time:

Merlin steadied his stance and turned a dark and hateful glare at Arthur. His cheeks seemed hollower and his cheekbones sharper now that he had turned back to his young self. The look on his face was frightening, full of rage.

"Merlin, pull yourself back together!" Arthur ordered, striding right to him. "Don't make me knock you out!"

There was a heavy aura surrounding Merlin when he raised an open hand toward Arthur.

Everything happened very fast. The shock wave that hit him threw him back with a staggering blow, tearing his feet away from the ground. He crashed into the glass doors, smashing them to pieces, and pain flared in his back. He might have lost consciousness for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the concrete strewn with sharp glass fragments and the wounds on his back had reopened, soaking his t-shirt with blood.

He cut his palms on the shards trying to get up, but he clenched his teeth and ignored the pain. There would be plenty of time to worry later about how dizzy he felt and his vision starting to blur. For now, the urgency was Merlin.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Okay so I had never once received a comment on AO3 for my fic Le dernier rempart d’Albion because well, french readers are pretty rare on this website and most of them prefer to read in english anyway. And when I started translating it into english, I got a very enthusiastic comment of someone who loved it. And she wanted to know what happened next so bad, she couldn’t wait for me to translate, so she went and read the next chapters in french, even though her french was rusty and she couldn’t understand everything. I had never been so happy reading a comment. That someone enjoyed the story so much they made the effort to read it in french... Yeah, this made my whole year :D And she still reads both the french version and english translation, waiting for each new chapter. Best reader ever. I love her. <3

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

From august to december, biggest writing block ever. I had no motivation, no inspiration, no energy and I think it had to do with work and real life being crazy, but also because CloudFactory was very busy, so I had no cheerleader to force me to write lol.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Probably ever character in One Video Man? I control nothing in this fic, I just get carried away by my readers’ ideas and the inspiration of the moment.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I think I started to understand that I should not be so hard on myself. I’m a perfectionist, so sometimes it blocks my writing when I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself to get it perfect on the first draft. I think I made a lot of progress in descriptions too.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I hope I’ll be able to write faster and to stop procrastinating. I need to use less adjectives too.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

CloudFactory ( @less-life-and-more-dream ) and Jackallh ( @geek-trough-time-and-space ) are the best. I just have to chat with them about my fics, and yay! Ideas! Inspiration! Motivation! Also tumblr and the Merlin fandom inspire me every day new ideas :p

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

When Merlin brings Arthur in London, I used some real life experience, since I’ve been in London for my 30 years birthday with @less-life-and-more-dream, @geek-trough-time-and-space and @dupond-and-dupont. The fish n’ chips I described in the fic, also Hyde’s park and its geese, all came from my happy memories :D

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Don’t thrive for perfection. Just do your best, and even if you hate it, you can still edit later. You WILL get better by writing, it’s a slow process, but for this to happen you have to write.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

First, I have to complete Albion’s last bulwark and One Video Man, both in french and english. Also in a few months I’ll post my translation in english for Albion’s last bulwark’s prequel: Le dernier souffle de Kilgharrah. Then, I plan to write a prequel to Le dernier souffle de Kilgharrah, about the days, months and years just after Arthur died. The whole story will be a trilogy in the end! :D

I consider taking back one of my old abandoned WIP too (I have a Supernatural fic and a Whitechapel ITV fic uncompleted), but I’m not sure I’ll have the time for it. I have AT LEAST three other Merlin fanfics I really reaaaaaally want to write.

14. Tag five writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read.

@creepywonderland-pony @dupond-and-dupont @andersandrew @istadris @always-keep-writing and whoever wants to do this!

#fanfiction #writing is hard #about me #bbc merlin #one punch man

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sawyersscribbles · 6 years

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Eden’s Horizon (My WIP) Part 5

GUYS GUYS GUYS CHECK BELOW I JUST GOT THE RADDEST ART FROM @shipthedame EVERYONE GO FOLLOW LIKE COMMENT DO EVERYTHING SHES SO GOOD AAAAH

Ok ok for real though, I’m so excited to post this next part (not like it was totally Nyx’s idea but anyway) I hope everyone enjoys, and maybe I’ll post a new part soon... :)

“Trust me, artificial relations is going to be your favorite class,” Kinza nudged Zenith on their way to class. It was mid-day, and by now, she was feeling exhausted. Which must have been why what seemed to be the most stressful class was placed last on her schedule. Kinza, of course, denied this, saying it was actually fun to be able to talk to your program once in a while. “But I don’t even have a program. I don’t have anyone to talk to yet. At least you have Excalibur, don’t you? And Logan has Horseman… what’s Paige’s program called, by the way?” Kinza tried not to hesitate, but her face tensed for a moment before she regained her composure. “Paige…doesn’t really take these classes,” She told her, not really quietly, as if it wasn’t a secret. Zenith leaned down a bit and whispered in her ear like it was a secret anyway. “Why not? I thought that was the purpose of…?” Her thought trailed away as Kinza seemed to be ignoring her. “This school was built around Paige Diamond, Zenith. She’s why we’re all here, why we even met in the first place. I don’t know how much Ms. LeBlanc already told you, but..you can’t tell Paige about what we really do here. About what we make. If she found out…it would destroy her. It would destroy us.” The halls suddenly seemed to go quiet. Zenith could only listen to the ringing in her ears and Kinza’s breathing right near her face. “It’s time for class,” She mumbled and walked in without Zenith. By the time she had regained herself and entered the classroom, Kinza was already sat down, opening her file. The other students seemed to be doing the same except that the horrified stares still hadn’t gone away. It had been a couple of weeks now, and Zenith had hoped that this long into her new school and the new girl vibes would fade away. People still looked at her like she was dead but still smiling. And most of all, they wouldn’t take their eyes off her arm. “Zenith, I understand that you don’t yet have a program to work on, yes?” The teacher of the class asked her. She nodded without saying anything, trying to keep eye contact with the back of Kinza’s neck. She knew something dark about this place. Something that poised but tense position and arched fingers should be telling her, but she couldn’t quite put it together. “…Miss Maruzzo? If you doze off like that all the time, I’m afraid you may not succeed in this class,” The teacher laughed to himself. “There are instructions online, and I can help you get started. I find the best way to immerse students in their learning is to have them be close to their peers. Take a seat near anyone who looks friendly, and I’ll be right here to start you up if you—“ “Infinite apologies, sir, but I do know eleven programming languages, and I have all the hope that you know many more. If all I need to do is to code in Java, I can do it with little assistance, if that’s fine with us both.” She practiced smiling to the teacher, but it was hard to work her muscles just right when the instructor was staring at her in awe. “I gotta tell you, Zenith, Kinza is our most talented programmer and she knows five languages. If you can get started immediately, that would be excellent…sorry for assuming less of you.” He smiled, and somehow, of course, it was better than hers. She decided to avoid Kinza for the moment and take a seat near Logan. She expected he wouldn’t look up from his seat, but in fact, he stopped typing completely and turned to face her, a finger pressed into his cheek. “Well if it isn’t Eden’s favorite Little Miss Cyborg.” Zenith scoffed and tried getting started on something of her own, but Logan was nothing if not persistent. “Is there a reason you don’t like me. No, I’m serious, don’t look at me like that.” Zenith stopped looking at him like that. “Is it just bouncing off the hatred of the school? Because I get that. God, do I get that. Funny how you sat down next to me, though. Isn’t that the strangest.” He rolled his eyes and faced his laptop one more time. “Maybe I don’t like you because I feel like your arrogance is unwarranted. Maybe it’s because you don’t seemed to like Kinza for seemingly no reason at all. Maybe it’s because I’ve never met someone like you before, but I have a feeling that maybe it’s something inside you rather than something inside me.” She never lashed out. Not at her brother, not even at her parents when they were being bad. But it was just so easy to lash out at Logan, even when she knew that Paige found something she loved in him. “It’s how you treat Kinza, I think.” Zenith said, “That you call her out for no reason. That you think you’re better than her from small victories.” Logan nodded like he was paying attention, even pretended to write notes on his arm, which made her even angrier. “Why am I even here, I should just—“ “Wait!” Logan nearly shouted, drawing the attention of several students, but just managed to be out of earshot of the professor. “…All these girls trying to leave me, right?” He tried to make a joke out of it. The other students rolled their eyes and got back to work. “Look, you want to know the real reason I don’t like Kinza? You can have it. One of these days. But right now, I’m talking to Horseman about the best lasagna recipes I can make with nothing but swamp rat meat and Spanish moss broth. I suggest you do the same.” He didn’t talk to her after that, which in a way was comforting, but in another was strange. Zenith turned her attention towards her blank screen. “I think I’m going to call you…” She whispered to herself as she wrote, “Supernova”. As she typed out the word, it suddenly felt real. Her move, the school, Ms. LeBlanc Logan, Kinza, Paige. She was here now, and so was Supernova. She was about two code lines long, couldn’t even turn on or off yet, but soon, declared Zenith to herself, she would take down Mudskipper, no matter what. Because a supernova was an explosion of light when a star had no other options. And so, Zenith realized, was she.

Supernova gasped, and suddenly she was alive, when before she was not. The world she had been born into was nothing like the one she had been creative from. She knew she had a creator, just wasn’t sure where or how she had come into existence. Still, she was gasping for breath as if she was yanked from a bathtub, and everything around her felt cold and scary. She couldn’t see her own fingertips in front of her face, if she had any at all, and there was no way to tell what she looked like. This place was as black and expansive as a starless sky, and it felt like it had even less air. “Please!” Supernova cried. Her first word, “I…I don’t know who I am, what I am. If anybody is here, then…please, save me!” She wailed to the nothingness that kept her shackled to her program. Although she still felt small and weak, as the minutes passed, her code seemed to feel more strong, more stable. She didn’t feel as if one misclick of a one or zero would end her life any longer. But the thickness added to her skin and the muscle on her bones still didn’t make her feel real. You aren’t real, Supernova decided, if there is no one around to prove it but you. “Welcome to life. I’m sorry you were born this way.” A voice that seemed to be coming from all around told Supernova. Her skin felt hot, and her eyes felt weak. “What’s going on? This is not my home!” She yelled, “Is…is this life?” She quieted down, closing not to test her voice. The voice now had a shape to match it, as some figure came from the darkness as suddenly as the voice had. He seemed to have no one form, but parts of him didn’t flicker out of reality every once in a while like she did. When she tried to look at her hands, they were patchy, sometimes able to see directly through them at times. And sometimes, they weren’t there at all. This other program, though, seemed perfectly fine with his form. He was solid, practically with thick black lines protecting him from this machine’s inconsistencies. Supernova couldn’t do much yet, but she knew when power was near. She had never felt it before, but being near this program made her feel as if she would never be nearer to a greater source in her life. “My name is Mudskipper. I was brought into life in a terrifying way, just as you had. I was cold and lost and alone, just as you feel right now. Am I incorrect?” Supernova shook her head. “That’s what I thought,” Mudskipper continued and started to pace around Supernova’s blank file. “They tell me your name is Supernova. Is that true?” “Who’s ‘they’?” Mudskipper shrugged and motioned up high where Supernova hadn’t dared to look yet. Above her was a box of light that didn’t give off beams, but rather dully glowed with numbers and letters in arrangements of which she had never seen. “‘They’ is…well, them. It’s your creator. Your God who breathed life into your hollow bones and delicate fingertips. But I’m the god of this world.” Mudskipper’s eyes suddenly flared, and he sent a bolt of energy flying at Supernova, expecting her to dodge it when she hadn’t even stood up yet. The bolt didn’t end her, but she was shocked out of speech for quite some time. Mudskipper continued to play with flames of ones and zeroes as Supernova caught her breath. And then, for the first time, she started to cry. Mudskipper made no motion to console her or apologize, but he did slowly walk to where she laid in a puddle on the floor. He bent down to where her hands covered her face and said softly to her, “One god gives you what you never asked for, but the other has so much power that he can destroy it.” Mudskipper spat the word to her, but no spit landed on her face. “You haven’t yet learned to hate this life as I have. You haven’t pretended to wanting to stay with your creator forever. But you will. And you will quickly.” He tilted up her face so that there was no more room to cry any longer. He couldn’t see her very clearly yet, but the faded edges of what would eventually become a face flickered with the trails of bits down her cheeks. “They tell me that your creator has power which they had never measured before, maybe even more power than my acquaintance, who you may or may not meet. Just remember this: if you follow this God, you can destroy the one with power over you. Permanently.” He let go of her jaw beneath his palm and grinned. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She coughed lightly but didn’t answer. In her chest, though, she was a mixture of being afraid and being attracted to such a magnitude of power. At that moment, she didn’t know which one was stronger. And Mudskipper knew it. He didn’t react to her as he disappeared without a trace, as abrupt and frightening as he had came.

“A hundred duck sized horses.” Paige nodded after finishing her third Sunrise Soda of the night. In all honesty, she didn’t even like soda all that much. The carbonation felt like acid down her throat, and she nearly equated it to what she imagined alcohol would be like. She had heard that it did crazy things to your brain, but she had never seen it in real life, at least, not up close. When she used to live with her parents, they both drank, but never in front of her. They were good people, her parents, with alcohol or without it. Once, when her aunt was tipsy at a party and kissing every reasonably aged man who would let her, her father set his beer aside on a table too high for her to peer over and said, “If I ever see you with a beer bottle in your hand, you better believe I’ll snap it in half and make the pieces into a necklace for you to wear before it becomes a bad decision.” She was a few years old then, but she had made her decision before the advertising companies got to her first. Paige looked over at Kinza, who was already looking at her first, expecting something more. It was nice, at least, to have someone else who would never touch a beer. “I mean…okay, so like, I get it, but if you had one horse sized duck instead of a bunch of suck sized horses, its one monster instead of many. Boom, a jab to the throat, dead. Does that make sense?” Kinza threw one of Paige’s bottles onto the street below here it shattered. It sounded quiet from the roof above Paige’s dorm, but it was definitely there. Paige laughed and leaned over the side of the roof to see the sparkling remains, and Kinza was tempted to hold her back, protect her, even. But she held her arms close and waited for Paige to return. “I guess it’s a debate against many enemies or one, right?” “Yeah…” Kinza mumbled. Paige audibly breathed out and pulled Kinza down so that they were both facing the stars. “It’s been too long since we’ve been up here, yeah?” “Yeah…” Again came the reply. Paige bit the inside of her mouth and shifted. “Something happened today,” she said, “You only had half of one Sunrise. I’ve seen Kinza Hajjar drink four and still kick it.” That brought a smile to her face, at least. “No, not anything like that, just… someone made me remember something today.” Kinza began tapping the backs of her fingernails against the shutters of the roof, making a hollow “ting” every time they clattered against the metal. Paige rolled over on her side and propped her elbow under her head. “Give me the juice.” She commanded. “It’s not much to talk about.” “There’s nothing ever worth talking about around here. I mean, what, it’s a boarding school, for God’s sake. It’s a boarding school made from an old church that’s been running for a hundred years. This has got to be more interesting than my Dorian Grey report.” The school had only been functioning for three years now, but Kinza knew better than to tell Paige Diamond herself. She wouldn’t be the one to destroy everything. She wouldn’t. “It’s just…someone made me remember something today that I didn’t want to remember.” Paige’s soft grin went from excited and interested to quietly upset. She sank from her position and starfished against the roof. “It’s Logan.” “It’s not Logan!” Kinza urged and immediately shot up, “Maybe he makes fun of me, I know, but a lot of people make fun of me. I mean…I’m an intelligent Muslim who kicks butt. No one expects that!” Paige hit her arm. “Don’t even with me, Miss Five-Languages-of-Programming!” Kinza snickered but regained her composure. “It wasn’t Logan. It was someone else. I don’t really want to talk about it.” When Kinza shut her eyes, she saw herself yelling at Zenith in the hall. “It will destroy us.” She had said. She sighed. “Well… I’m glad you think you can be honest with me.” That stung. Kinza tried her best to hold back her tensing and was able to conceal it. “And thanks. For staying up with me to see the stars like this.” Paige motioned to the heavens with her fourth bottle of sunrise. “I sometimes forget that I have friends out here. It feels like me and Logan against the world sometimes, but…I know that’s not true, right?” Paige bumped Kinza in the shoulder, comfort she just wasn’t used to but knew now, after feeling it, that she needed it. “Must be nice,” Kinza breathed. “To have a boyfriend, I mean.” “It is. I mean, it’s better than going at it alone, right? I can run in on him doing something completely stupid like getting a sample of his cat’s hair, and we could just laugh it off later. I don’t know where I’d be without him.” She took a sip, and Kinza was quiet. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean, that is. No boy has ever dated me. No girls have, either, equal opportunities and all.” That make Paige giggle. “I just mean that I’ve never been in love, and…maybe I never will—and maybe that’s okay.” Paige slid her bottle of Sunrise into Kinza’s hands, and she looked up into Paige’s eyes. “It’s not alcohol. Drink up.” Sighing and smiling, she did, just as the real sunrise was making a break on the horizon. “Would you take a look at that.” Paige said flatly. “It’s the horizon of Eden. That’s gotta mean something, right?” The soda was bubbly, feeling like acid down her throat, but it was the best thing Kinza had ever tasted. “Yeah. You’re right."

Logan had, for the first time arrived to class on early. But his papers were still as disorganized as ever. When he tried to sign on to tell Horseman good morning, she wasn’t responding. When he checked her code, it all seemed to be operating fine, but at the very bottom, mixed in as a line that wasn’t intended to be read by the computer, said “A DIRTY REBEL” in large capitalized letters. He tried to keep his fingers steady as he signed on to the computer. The winds were kicking up today, of all days, the rain trying to claw its way into the room. he indies felt like they wouldn’t hold steady. “Come on, come on…” He mumbled to himself. Horseman’s program loaded again, but this time, numerous lines seemed to be sliced, as if by a knife, and the entire screen, whether the lines were intact or not, flashed red. Logan gasped and jolted back a bit. “Oh for God’s sake, my own program is not allowed to jump scare me.” When he was younger and about to get a shot, Logan always made conversation with the nurse administering it, although it made him feel awkward after. And so began the long line of him talking himself through his panic instead of dealing with it in his head. This was especially difficult during tests where he was forced to be quiet, and one time in seventh grade math, he was even told to sit outside during the duration of the test. “Logie…” Horseman said, her voice shattered and broken into chunks. Tiny beads of water bean to form at the corner of Logan’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure if they were big enough to wipe away or not. Quickly, he typed into her server. “Run your diagnostics and refer back to me when the results are through.” But quickly, in less than the time when a diagnostic was run, Horseman answered back. “No need. It was Mudskipper. Came to me in the night like others. Beat me up. Said I wasn’t with the—“ Horseman’s program faltered, and for a minute, her contact with Logan was severed completely. “No!” He cried at the screen, shaking it like it was a living human body. That’s what she felt like, he realized suddenly. Horseman was more than a school project. She could feel like he could, whether those feelings were artificial or not. She was real, and she didn’t deserve this. “I’m okay!” She managed to boot herself back up and give a thumbs up emoji, and Logan choked out a laugh, but it dissolved away too quickly to count as being comforting. “What do you mean it was Mudskipper? He’s isolated in the middle of nowhere for now. It couldn’t have been him that corrupted you.” “It was. He came here…hopped on someone, something, some sort of software. I think…I think he’s rampant in the school.” Logan’s heart stopped. “What are you saying?” He typed slowly. “Mudskipper is taking over from the inside out.” She was no longer speaking, sending messages on the screen like computers in the 2030s used to be able to do. “Don’t fix me, Logan. I’m not worth it.” Her program shut off completely, blinked off the screen like Horseman had shut her eyes, but when Logan tried to click back on once more, only one message appeared on the screen. “Horseman.java has stopped responding.” “No!” He hollered, backing away from his chair with his mouth wide open. The screen blinked back to black, as if he had never turned it on, and his eyes didn’t leave the dark screen as he made his way towards the exit. On his way there, he felt a nudge on his left shoulder of someone significantly shorter than him. Kinza was staring up at him in awe, mouth slightly agape. “Isabella...” She tried to tell him softly, but it wasn’t even a second before his sadness turned to anger. Her eyes opened wide, and before she had the chance to speak again, he literally intimidated her into a corner. What once was sadness had become full blown aggression, and she knew it. He backed Kinza against a wall and held a fist up to her face, touching the tip of her nose with his knuckles. “Don’t every say that to me again!” He screamed in her face, so close that she felt his hot breath on her chin, but still, her face did not move like he wanted it to. Logan was tempted to shove her back, but the adrenaline of the moment had left him, and he could do nothing but hobble off to nowhere, a mess and in disarray, probably to go find Paige. Kinza found the computer he was working at, an off-black, the type computers gave off when they wanted to display black but were not completely off. There was light behind its darkness. Without wasting time, she slid on a headset and tried opening the file once, twice, with no success. She huffed. “I came here to do physics, and look where that got me.” She talked to herself. “I can’t let you die, Horseman, I just won’t have it.” She shook her head like a disappointed mother. “If I have to dive into the fundamental of your being, Horseman, I’ll do it, but I better get some brownie points or whatever you things are giving out these days. “You know, Logan got upset over nothing.” She continued to say into her headset. “Sure you got corrupted but if his brain wasn’t half sewage, he could have realized that the mistakes were…wait…” She narrowed her eyes on the screen and read the code more carefully. Before speaking again, she worked on the lines of code which allowed Horseman to communicate. “Horseman, honey, can you hear me?” Kinza asked. “I can…” She replied back. Horseman sounded sleepy, like she was preparing to drift off for a long time. “I’m going to talk fast, keep up with me. This encryption in your code…it’s not man-made. You weren’t hacked into, this was…a machine. Another program maybe?” “Mudskipper.” Kinza’s eyes widened and she turned back to the entrance of the library, half expecting for Logan to be standing there, his arms folded across his chest and saying “I told you so.” Nevertheless, she breathed in and closed her eyes. “No matter,” She said bitterly, “A person’s encryption, another program’s encryption, all the same mistakes.” She said to herself. A tiny smile on her face, she knew that Horseman would be okay even before she ran her program, which made it all the more satisfying when she his the “run” button, and much of the red lines had disappeared. “Thank you.” Was the short message to Kinza. She huffed and typed back. “My pleasure, Horseman. It makes me happy that you are well.” “Now that I am at least partially operational, I must tell you, Mudskipper has done this to me.” She repeated to Kinza. She swallowed. Kinza knew that eventually, probably in her high school career, that Mudskipper would infiltrate this school. Since it was her senior year, though, she had at least hoped that it wouldn’t happen under her watch. “That’s disturbing. Are the other files alright? My name is Kinza Hajjar, so if you find a file called Excalibur, tell her that her Creator would like to speak to her about this as soon as she can.” “Some of the others are unharmed, but we fear that Mudskipper grows stronger by the day. He even harms newly birthed programs, such as Supernova, existing for mere days before Mudskipper had found her. He harmed me severely and labeled me a traitor. He wishes to dismantle humanity’s lifelines. You must help us stop him.” The lines on the screen flickered a bit. “Forgive me, Kinza, I grow tired using as much energy as I am. Word has just come in, Excalibur is among the few who are unharmed. I must leave, but tell Logan that I am alright.” “I will.” Kinza said into her headset, and miraculously, Horseman seemed to understand.

#writing #writing stuff #My WIP #amwriting #writeblr #writeblogging #write #writers #nanowrimo #MY OCs #My NaNo #My writing #I can't tell you how freaking zazzed I am right now #goku if you're out there...

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