Dive Deep into Creativity: Your Ultimate Tumblr Experience Awaits
Here is Suzanne Chazin's The Long Journey Home but in omegaverse, I don't know why I did this. I even posted this on ao3.
“A letter arrived from your mother,” my friend Aoi said, the thin air-mail envelope crackled like rice paper in her hands. I nodded but didn’t move. “Perhaps you’ll read it later,” she offered. I had arrived in Japan after finishing college. The trip was my mom’s graduation present, and he had talked excitedly about my returning home. But two months later I wrote that I might remain to teach English. I knew my letter would pain him, and I dreaded his response. As I sat in the sparsely furnished room, I recalled tales of my mom’s youth, riding the rails during the Great Depression. He had been a hobo then, as full of wanderlust as I was now. If I had vagabond blood in my veins, I’d gotten it from him. I thought about the gift that got my mom to quit his wandering. It was my favorite story of his life on the road - and I could practically recite it by heart. In fact, I could almost hear is Brooklyn-edged voice telling me now: He was 20, traveling in a freight car across the western foothill of the Rocky Mountains. The other men, mostly alphas in the car were scattered along the walls, their dusty faces as empty as their pockets. Their work clothes were worn, their hands callused from hard work. Each stared silently out the open doors as if he had some particular destination in mind. They were heading east, but they were all going nowhere. My mom had left New York a year and a half earlier. It had been easy to abandon the concrete stoops and corner stores of his neighborhood. There, young men worked odd jobs in factories, when they could find work at all. And old men - mostly Russian immigrants like my grandfather - whiled away their time talking about the motherland. In Russia, my grandfather had been an engineer who spoke four languages. In America, he was a house painter. His friends were counts who now waited tables, and captains who now opened doors and hailed cabs. Late at night, they would talk of the armies they’d led and the banquets they’d attended decades before. They were men who walked in their own shadows.
I can't fit it all in here so here (https://archiveofourown.org/works/62090032) is the link to ao3 where I posted it.