He hears the slip up and it brings a small, mischievous smile to his lips. He doesn’t think Hubert is really angry; this is just a sparring match, isn’t it? It’s an odd thing for— a couple? mates? partners? what title fits them?—to do, he thinks, but it’s also fitting for them. They’re both warriors in their own right, and although it’s been a while since Guy has sparred with a military man ( Jade had the unfair advantage of being highly superior in combat and it was barely a match at all ), he hasn’t completely lost his talents with the blade.

It was easier when Luke was nearby to train with so often. He briefly travels back to Baticul in his mind and wonders who is keeping his former master in check. Probably Natalia. And who to challenge him? Guy always worries.

But back to the soldier opposite him. Even if he worries over Luke, he has faith the replica will be fine. Right now, the one that needs ( that deserves, quite honestly ) his attention is Hubert. He’s put the other through too much, so maybe that flair up of passion isn’t so unfounded. Maybe this is a way of releasing those feelings. True to the militant nature, words aren’t plentiful, so actions must be taken seriously.

Normally, he wouldn’t ignore such an obvious misspeak, and he’d use it as a means to tease and perhaps antagonize lightly. All in good nature, of course, but he doesn’t think that’s quite the best strategy here. Hubert gets embarrassed easily, and Guy doesn’t want to be just another person who picks at the vulnerabilities he sees. They’re quite apparent, after all. So, he has the good taste not to mention it directly. But he’ll fire back nonetheless.

“You can try! But if I win, you get to be my prize!”

God. He’d already lost, given up, weapon listless at his side as free hand covered his burning face. The petty anger and pent up frustration that had made him want to want to smack Guy a couple times in a spar had dissipated completely. Even the competitive desire to test his mettle against another warrior was gone. Completely. All that was left was an embarrassment that left him wanting to either crawl under a rock or bury himself in work ‘til it was all over and forgotten.

Bless Guy for trying to act like it hadn’t happened. Curse him for saying something as corny and embarrassing as ‘you get to be my prize’. How could he even say something like that without lighting up like fire cryas? The militant was certain his own face was was a brighter pink than Cheria’s hair. That line certainly made it worse.

@tomodachiguy | meme

As vexing as the blond’s height could be, there were its benefits (even if that four inch divide wasn’t truly that great). Being shorter, slimmer, put him in perfect position when seated by his side to rest his head ‘pon the other’s cheek and collar. A perfect fit, maximum comfort (though the ease with which he found himself relaxing was worrisome; what if this contentment were shattered one day? or worse; what if it stayed this way?). Though troubled thoughts were hardly at the front of his mind in the moment, melted away to easily ignored background noise by the warmth and comfort of being so close.

It was hardly a thought then, when the militant, in the midst of shifting, turned his head just a bit more, brushing ‘gainst the blond’s neck. The smallest, briefest of pecks–hardly a kiss at all, really, though it was enough still roused Guy from his own devices, brushing his cheek ‘gainst azure locks with a small, inquisitive ‘hm?’ (as if it’d get any answer, he’d already gone back to his book, and would steadfastly deny the action having occurred if asked). 

Still, his attention shifted from written word to side as Guy hummed to himself in quiet laughter from whatever thoughts it was that went on in his mind when he found the Oswell’s actions so amusing (and how often that happened! really, he was of mind he ought be more offended). His attention caught on rough, calloused hands that always gave the softest touches, and his own (equally rough–as t’was the mark of those who lived by combat) set about bookmarking and closing his diversion. 

   “Give me your hand.”   The order was abrupt and blunt, and immediately (with bemused air) answered. Lacing fingers between others’ he brought proffered hand up, and after moment’s inspection, met fore and middle fingertips to lips, holding for a beat before shifting again. His book went off to the side, their still-entwined hands down ‘pon Guy’s thigh as the militant’s body twisted to get a better position. And yet–now that he was there, facing the blond after a not as slick as he’d prefer transition to kneeling beside him, it was a bit, well–embarrassing. This was poorly thought out. In fact, it wasn’t thought about at all. This was what happened when he didn’t consider his actions through properly. 

Great, now he was flustered. That was extra embarrassing and the embarrassment quotient only rose as Guy did his darnedest not to laugh (and failed at trying to keep a straight face). The next great idea was to get so close he couldn’t make out the details of that awfully kept smirk–and so he did, quite a bit faster and rougher than necessary, and small snorts were replaced with both men’s low-volume ‘ow’s. At this, there was a full break in the blond’s composure, laughter ensuing right up ‘til Hubert’s hand (gently) slapped his cheek (and stayed there). Quieted in surprise, and then interest, the militant could now move on to the next stage, though he still wavered. Getting in closer, closer, a breath away–and he jerked back. Teeth grit, gaze fell down and side–but the hesitation was only momentary. He’d gotten this far–he might as well complete it, and so he did; briefly meeting lips, once, twice–

And with that done, if you’ll excuse him, he really must be going to think about every wrong move he’d just made and berate his lack of perfection, subtlety and skillfulness in, well, everything.

He’s only half-listening, nose stuck in a book as he leisurely reclined ‘pon the couch they shared. There’s only a brief flit of his eyes as first reaction–only a moment spared from the written word to glance at the blond, brow raised. Always with the silliness. Where did he keep coming up with such things?

   “Congratulations, you’ve won.”   Spare him the honor of joining such ridiculous competition. If Guy wanted to make a fool of himself, so be it; he didn’t have to drag the militant down with him. For so silly a thing as saying in different ways ‘I lo–’  for saying–l o v   l  

Saying what now? He must have misheard, surely. He’d said ‘like’, hadn’t he? Oh dear. Slowly the book dropped and his interest in words had changed dramatically. Oh dear. A flat snark come-back wasn’t the proper response after all, was it. What was? He couldn’t just–he couldn’t just say it back, surely not. He wasn’t–he wasn’t sure he felt quite so strongly as the blond did. He–wasn’t sure it was possible. Could he? The man had already left once. What’s to say he wouldn’t do so again?

And even then–it was inevitable, wasn’t it. Perhaps not that month, year, decade, but eventually. Heavens!–a decade. That seemed like far too much time. He could easily see himself with Guy a year from then, but a decade? Oh dear. That was a bit much. By then he’d really be expected to think about the family legacy. Was adopting two generations in a row an okay thing to do? He couldn’t just hand the family off to Raymond–things would fall back down into corruption and his cousin hadn’t quite the mind his father had. The family would be ruined.

Oh dear. He was panicking now–quietly, stoically, only noticeable in that the heat that burned his face when he’d realized what had been said had chilled into pale pallor as his breath came shallow and quick.  Okay, relax. Don’t take things so deathly serious for once. Stop clenching that jaw, and say something. Smooth it over. Those lessons in conversation and manners and such had to have some use, surely. 

* (2) word prompts

“-is not a playground. The two of you will amuse yourselves either in a room set aside for you or outdoors where you will not disturb any other residents or visitors of this manor. The two of you are the heirs to the throne, and need to learn-”

Natalia grit her teeth and looked down at her shoes as her uncle continued on with his rebuke. She and Luke hadn't even been bothering anyone while they played in the empty drawing-room, but Duke Fabre had still taken offense. She wanted to look over at Luke to see how he was holding up under this lecture, but she didn't dare move under her uncle's glare.

“Do I make myself clear?”

The tirade had finally ended, and both children knew what had to be said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Good. See that it does not happen again. You are dismissed.”

The two young children left the Fabre drawing room, neither one of them looking at one another or speaking. Just outside the door was Guy- the young servant clearly having heard the whole thing. Natalia looked up at the older blond, who responded with a warm, sympathetic smile.

“I can't run errands for an hour without the two of you getting into trouble, can I?”

His tone was a little exasperated, but mostly teasing, and Natalia felt Luke relax a little bit.

On the one hand, it’s Guy, and unlike Jade he’s fairly sure -- fairly -- that nothing the blond gives him will blow up in his hands or on his face. (Not to say Jade isn’t talented, he’s just a lot more likely to do that intentionally.) But on the other hand, Asch is still squinting suspiciously at the glasses when Guy holds them out.

“Fine,” he mutters, snatching them out of Guy’s hand and briefly hoping that he’s right and they won’t do something ridiculous (and alright, he’s curious, but you can’t make him admit that one) before putting them on. “....huh,” he says, somewhat less irritable than usual. “So what are they supposed to do?”

Flower And Tree Language Prompts || ACCEPTING!!!

The weight of One for All.

Nightingale had already been an experienced, seasoned hero when she received the power from the 6th successor. Responsibility and power and the threat of villains wasn’t new to her, but even she hadn’t realized just how heavy that mantle had been.

She had been a hero and she took that role seriously, but unlike All Might of the present it wasn’t her entire life. She had a family, a husband that she loved, and not long after a son.

Her hero-work was mostly local. She was well loved by those in the neighborhoods she patrolled but she wasn’t well known outside it. Like past One for All users, she kept a low profile, promising to nurture that power but not yet ready to do anything with it. It wasn’t ready yet to face All for One.

She hadn’t thought of it painting her family as a target. When her husband was murdered, she made the hardest decision of her life. An emotionally-driven one, but one she still believes to have been for the best; she gave up her own child for adoption.

“Why are you back in this forest? Are you looking for more ligers?” Her voice came out accusatory, clutching her beloved stuffed animal close to her frail body. She had no idea that Guy hadn’t even been part of the murder of her family, but he traveled with the people who had been.