#✿┊your heart is torn and weathered but bleeds kindness and love. ( about. )

[analyticallyminded]

"i don't need the stars. i have you." is such a peak jemma in love line because the stars do mean so much to her and anyone who knows her knows that and that's how you know she's really fucked

[analyticallymindedaa]

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻 𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 ?

freshly baked bread.

key words: warm, inviting, kindness. you are the definition of cooking as a loved language and are at your strongest when creating something. others find you soothing to be around and feel at ease due to your genuine warmth and nurturing nature. you can be a mix of gentle and passionate, but it's that intensity that lives at the centre of your spirit that draws people to you most. compatible with: candle smoke, coffee, rosewater.

[writingforsimps]

Midnight Fang - Poly BTS x Reader (Chapter 0.5)

Summary: The werewolves thought they found all their mates. They never imaged they’d met another, let alone that she’d be a vampire.

Warning: Blood, Alcohol, Mate Au Supernatural AU, Poly Au, Unrequited Love, Rejection, angst (Specific Warnings not mentioned will be made in each chapter this is just a small none specific overview)

[Series Masterlist] -> [Prev] - [Next]

Hungry…

You liked the forest. Trees make only 28% of the oxygen you breathed when you were alive, but the plants and flowers gave a certain life the ocean just couldn’t. The bunny nibbling on bitter lettuce was proof of just how much life these plants brought with them.

The food chain, without those plants a bunny couldn’t eat, and without the bunny a fox couldn’t and so on till the biggest predator dies.

You’ve liked the forest since you were human. Your friend use to call you a forest hippy, going on hikes with you once in a while. The two of you didn’t have the slightest clue anything about nature. All you knew was you loved it, and she tagged along because of that reason. It just felt right. The sun in your face and the dirt in your nails.

Hungry…

Now the sun of your face burns hot even in cold weather and the dirt in your nails feels too odd, to new. The feeling lost to the habit and need to keep your hands clean. So you sit, with muddy white cloth gloves on, a white lacy sun dress that was covered in mud and tears, and torn shoes tied by their laces together on your wrist in a mock, heavy bracelet.

White, light, flow-y, breathable.

Stained, dirtied, cold, exposed.

You were cold, dirtied and your legs were exposed to the elements. The pristine angelic color assigned to you long ruined by the brown mud and dirt. Your dignity falling low, but never low enough to hide behind a trash can. What if a human found you? No, instead you’d die in the woods.

Hungry…

When was the last time you’ve eaten? Three weeks… A person can bleed to death in just five minutes. You knew that. Vampires feed on people’s blood because they cannot supply their own. So while the blood running through your veins and in your cheeks aren’t your own, you try and preserve it. Try not to run out of it.

A person can bleed out in just five minutes, but it took two months to die without food. For you, it’s like a small mixture of the two. Blood leaving your body, you were burning it like it was the energy food was to humans.

You sweat, panting heavily and leaning against a tree. The confusion and anxiety getting to you as you felt your more important organs finally start to shut down.

You knew you wouldn’t survive without a Nest… but that didn’t make it less painful to die.

No.

You couldn’t die. Not with your life like this. Not when you gave up so much to live in the first place. So, in a finally last ditch effort to live.

You screamed.

-

-

-

Jimin heard the screech before any of the his mate did. His ears just worked better then there’s, it was a curse. A curse he thanked every full moon for because that’s how he met his mates. The scream was primal, life or death. Jimin’s head immediately flung in the direction and it was like his body moved on its own when he started running.

Namjoon ran after him, tripping over his own paws at the suddenness of the boys new behavior. He just… took off! It was seconds later he heard the scream as well. A second wave before the quiet. But… why did the quiet make his heart squeeze more then the screams did?

They both raced to the voice. It was odd, usually when you hear screaming you run away but it was like their instincts took over.

_______________

Hi! So I made this chapter as chapter 1! Then I realized I didn’t want it to be chapter one (reasons). And I also couldn’ add it to the prologue! So I’m making it chapter 0.5! Or a teased kind of thing. It’s cannon to the storyline placed in the middle of chapter 1 and the prologue…. Do with that what you will!

It’s really short because it’s half a chapter, real chapters will be longer. dw

[watatsumiis]

A kind of experimental, poetic little Scaramouche song(?)fic done for a request!

The song in question (?)

Content info: Gender neutral reader x Scaramouche, some general Scara-centric angst, romantic in tone. A lot of imagery and pretty prose-y bits!

You live here in me and for me,

It was dark on the night you met, but those eyes - your eyes - were so full of warmth and light. Reaching out a hand to he who had been so alone for so many long, long years.

You are my source of inspiration.

Despite the way he pushed you away, pulled all his emotions deep inside, still you pursued. Time and time again, stubbornly determined.

You love, sound, breathe, and cry,

Just as he witnessed your best, he weathered your worst, standing still and stoic, though his heart felt like it were being torn asunder all over again to watch your cracks begin to form as he lashes out for the millionth time.

I am the salt in you, I am your kind executioner.

Yet still, you stayed. You pushed as he pulled, and pulled as he pushed, warring back and forth like dogs fighting over scraps. Often, one who is afraid of getting hurt is the one who deals the most pain. The last thing he ever wanted was to injure you, to inflict you with the same scars that he still nurses to this day.

I wish I didn't know you.

Day in, day out, he curses the Archons above, the demons below, and everything inbetween that brought you together on that fateful night, that pulled him into the orbit of your radiating light and warmth and once again brought up his fear of being left all alone.

Laugh at fate, play with you.

Like a cliff face battered by endless waves, he slowly, slowly starts to give in. To soften. To let himself be vulnerable once again. He hates it with every fiber of his being, but he loves it, he loves it, he loves it.

Now I want to save you while you sleep.

He can't stop thinking about you. The way you smile, the way you laugh, the way your hand fits so perfectly in his. It hurts him in the same way that it heals him.

You are my happiness without a doubt.

He didn't want it to be this way. He never wanted it to be this way, but gods, it's happening again. He's being pulled in, his sturdily crafted walls are beginning to crumble.

My pain. Wings in defeat.

He gives in. His broken heart, barely mended, exposed and beating, bleeding raw for you to do with as you please, as much as he denies it, as much as he tries not to believe it.

I am your sky in reflection.

You're so completely open, so kind and gentle and freely handing your love out to those who are in need of it - him especially. He doesn't feel worthy of basking in your light, for the shadow he casts is so long, so dark. He doesn't wish to taint your light.

You know me like I don't.

You learn to know him better than he knows himself, love him like he never learned how.

You are my morning, bright morning.

But slowly, slowly, his skin begins to warm under your radiance. Your adoration for him is unconditional, you'd never willingly leave him behind.

You are my sun, I am the eclipse.

Dark on the inside, but learning how to let light and warmth through, small, inexperienced attempts to reflect your own affections back at you as he finally begins to realise that you aren't going anywhere - at least, not without him close by your side.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.

[analyticallymindedold]

which  two  greek  gods  are  your  parents ?

—  poseidon  &  athena

oh, sweet child of the sea and law !  your father guards the borders of the sea, and your mother crowned of wisdom and war.  a life of greatness stands before you dictated by emotion, balanced thought, and logic.  no man can tell you what realm you preside over, but look to themes of rivalry and ports as you grow into your power.

tagged  by :  @pulchramortis​ tagging :   @warhunting​ (or whoever you want!! charis would also be interesting); @ashesburnt​; @dukecrocker​; @mirafirstmate​; anyone else who wants to do the thing.

[analyticallyminded-a]

tag dump 1/???

ic

[analyticallymindedarchive]

tumblr ate my tags 3/???

[randomfandomimagine]

Secret Identity (Peter Parker x Reader)

Characters: Peter Parker, Miles Morales, May Parker

Fandom: PS4 Spiderman

Tags: Secrets, protectiveness

Warnings: Briefs descriptions of injury and blood

Word Count: 2,7k words

Summary: Y/N realizes Peter is behaving strangely, though nothing seeems to make sense until Spiderman appears on Y/N’s house, needing their help.

A/N: I don’t know if anyone actually reads these or not, but anyway. I love some parts of this but I feel kind of insecure about this as a whole, so it would be lovely to get some feedback about it, pretty please? And do reblog if you enjoy it!!!

Peter Parker x Gender Neutral Reader

_

Peter Parker, always so busy… but you didn’t mind dropping by to meet him. You missed your friend, and since it was hard to catch him sometimes, you didn’t mind going out of your way. Besides, maybe you could give a hand while you were there.

When you arrived at F.E.A.S.T., you went directly to the kitchen where Peter was usually helping his aunt. But there was only May there, so you went to say hello.

“Hi, May” You greeted her as you approached her on the table. “Do you need some help?”

“Oh, no, thank you” She smiled at you, dedicating you a quick glance before returning to her vegetables. “If you’re looking for Peter, he’s right there”

Following the direction she absently pointed at, you saw him in the main area talking to Miles. Seeing Peter made your day, as usual. You smiled at the sight of him, at the way he kindly patted his friend’s shoulder with a beautiful bright smile.

“Thanks, I’ll go talk to him” You told his aunt, and went to meet with him.

It had only been a couple of days since you last saw him, but you were so excited that the smile stayed on your lips as you went to stand next to them. He glanced your general direction as you approached, and he had to do a double take when he recognized you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Peter smiled, like every time you met. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today”

Miles smiled at you to reciprocate the gesture, even if he did in an amused way.

“Hello” He glanced from you and back to Peter. “I have to, uh… go help May”

“Thanks” You chuckled, knowing he was just trying to let you two chat.

“What are you doing here?” Peter seemed surprised, yet his smile lingered like yours did.

“I was hoping to go for lunch with someone” You nudged him a little. “You know, talk for a bit? Do that thing that friends do… uh, hang out? It’s that what it’s called?”

“Okay…” He rolled his eyes a little, still amused by your playful tone. “I know I haven’t answered your calls, but-“

“You’re busy, I know” You punched him in the shoulder, still in a joking manner. “I just miss you, Parker”

Peter winced in an exaggerated way, teasing you as always, and held that spot. This time it was you who rolled your eyes.

“Okay” Peter laughed a little. “Just let me say bye to May and then we can leave”

_

You had just exited the building when Peter suddenly gasped. You frowned, worried about his mild outburst. It was then when you heard a voice behind you, causing you to turn around in alarm despite his friendly tone.

“Peter!” It was a man dressed in a black and white suit, bearing a kind expression.

“Mr. Li…” Pete replied, although in a much drier tone. You opened your mouth to ask what the matter was. However, Peter suddenly put an arm around you and held you by the waist.

“Thanks for dropping by today” Mr. Li, whose name you remembered hearing from both Pete and May as being the man behind F.E.A.S.T., lingered on his friendly tone. He seemed unfazed by Peter’s uncharacteristic coldness.

“Sure” He merely replied, never taking his eyes off him.

“Who’s this?” The man looked at you, which caused Peter to press you against his side while still staring at Mr. Li.

“That’s Y/N”

“I see. Nice to meet you, Y/N”

“You t-“ You were about to hold out your hand to shake his, but Peter squeezed your hip with surprising force, which caused you to lower your arm.

“Well, I have to go” Mr. Li still smiled, apparently oblivious to his whole demeanor. “Take care of your… friend”

“I will” Peter assured, following the man with his gaze as he walked away. His jaw was suddenly clenched so much that the bone stood out under the skin. Your heart began racing, knowing something was definitely wrong.

“Pete?” You piped up, barely daring to raise your voice.

“Yeah” He absently replied, still looking at the point Mr. Li disappeared to.

“You’re hurting me, Peter” You tapped his hand, still tightly holding on to your waist.

“Oh!” He immediately released you, seemingly returning to his usual warm self. “Sorry”

“What’s wrong?” When your eyes met, you discovered something new in his, a certain seriousness that you hadn’t experienced before.

“He’s dangerous” He muttered, glancing to that far off spot again.

“But he runs things at F.E.A.S.T., and he looks so nice!”

“He’s not, believe me”

“How do you know?”

“I just do”

There was a tense pause in which Peter took a deep breath. Then turned to you again and gently put his hands on your shoulders. Even that soft gesture seemed to hold an incredible sense of urgency.

“I gotta run, sorry about lunch” He tried to show you a smile, but failed miserably. “Go home, I’ll see you soon”

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me, Pete”

“It’s nothing, just go home”

“No, I won’t leave until you tell me-“

“It’ll be alright” His haste seemed to subside for just a second in which he tenderly stared into your eyes. “Just… trust me, okay?”

“Okay” You nodded your head, much to his relief. He visibly sighed and relaxed his shoulders. “Call me later, will you?”

“Will do” As a goodbye, Peter gave you a friendly kiss in the cheek before running off.

You stood there, watching him leave in a rush. There was something strange happening and you weren’t sure you truly wanted to know what it was. You were too scared to know.

-

Heeding Peter’s odd warning, you went home and stayed there. It had started to drizzle, and the pitter-patter of the rain that fell against the glass of your window filled the bedroom. Sitting in your desk, you tried to distract yourself from what had happened a few hours ago. Despite your efforts, you obsessively glanced at your phone waiting for Peter’s call.

Just when you were looking at the screen for the tenth time, a noise startled you.

“Ah!” You exclaimed, turning to the window, where the sound came from.

“Hey…” A muffled voice said as the person knocked on the glass again.

You gawked at the image. Spiderman was standing outside your window. He was there, and you had to rub your eyes to make sure you weren’t seeing things. What was Spiderman doing at your house?

“S-Spiderman!” You quickly ran to the window and opened it. “Are you lost?”

He stumbled inside as soon as you did, shielding himself from the bad weather. Blending in with the raindrops, a crimson liquid began staining your floor. That immediately gathered your attention to Spiderman’s side, where his suit was torn and a fresh deep-looking wound was bleeding profusely.

You pointed a finger to his abdomen, opening your mouth to ask him about it. What had happened? Would he be okay? Did he need you to call someone? What…?

“No…” He breathed out, struggling to keep his balance. “I made it”

And then he collapsed, limply falling to the floor. Your hands flew to your mouth in startle, stifling a scream, and you threw yourself to help him. As you knelt down beside him, you froze for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then, of a sudden, you wondered again why none other than Spiderman was in your house. In all of New York, he could have gone anywhere. Why go to you? Was it a coincidence? What if… what if it was deliberate? What if he knew exactly where he was going, who he was asking help from?

“No way…” You whispered, moved by a hunch. On an instinct, your hand moved up. “It can’t be…”

As your fingers shakily gripped the end of his mask, your mind was boiling with thoughts. All of them seemed to point to the same thing, and to the same person. It was like all the pieces of a puzzle you didn’t know you were trying to solve were finally coming together. You pulled at the mask to reveal his face and…

“Peter…�� You gasped, watching your passed-out friend. “It’s you…”

His face was pale, sweaty and filled with bruises, but it was him. His messy brown hair stuck to his forehead and temples because of the sweat, dirt and dry blood that gathered on his skin from all of those small cuts. But it was him.

Now that you knew about his secret identity, everything made sense. Why he was always late, why he seemed so busy and why he acted strange. Especially, his caution about Mr. Li. It wasn’t Peter Parker being suspicious of him. It was Spiderman having certainties about whatever crimes that man had committed.

“I have to do something” You nervously said to yourself, panicking as you tried to put some order into your thoughts. It had been alarming enough to see an injured Spiderman in your bedroom, but the situation only worsened when you realized him and Peter were the same person. Pete was hurt, and he might be dying. Your friend needed you.

Not wanting to stay on the floor, you sneaked your arms under his armpits and tried to hoist him up. You grunted, finding him a lot heavier than you thought. Then you moved him, dragging him to the bed and hoping you were strong enough to lift him up just enough to lay him down. Once there, you would do your best to treat his wound.

-

Blood, there was blood in your hands. It stained your fingers and your palms. Your heart raced at top speed. It was the only thing you could hear, even over the loud sound of your frantic breathing. It was trying to tell you something was missing. Something you should be focusing your entire attention on. A blur or red and blue passed your field of vision, making you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Spiderman was swinging around the city, leaving a trail of crimson while he did. He was hurt, why would no one help him?! Then you realized… it wasn’t only Spiderman, but Peter. He was bleeding. Peter was bleeding, he was dying, he…

You sighed when a warm hand stroke your head. Finding comfort in that gentle touch, you urgently squeezed what you were holding. As that hand shook you slightly, your mind began understanding you had been dreaming and it started pulling you into reality once more.

“Y/N” A voice gingerly called you, one that you knew well.

“Huh?” You mumbled, still dazed and sleep. Nonetheless, you raised your head and looked at him. “What…?”

Slowly, you came to your senses. That heartbeat in your dream wasn’t your own, it was Peter’s. It was what you heard, as your head had been resting over his chest, your ear pressed over his heart. It was a relief that it was still beating. You were also relieved, as you glanced down at his abdomen, to see that all that blood was part of the past.

“Peter?” You smiled, suddenly reinvigorated at the sight of him. “Pete, you’re okay!”

“Hi” He weakly smiled at you, although his meek expression drastically shifted. “Wait”

Peter touched his face, probably noticing he wasn’t wearing his mask. That reminded you of everything that happened. How Spiderman, or should you say Peter, had stumbled into your bedroom, hurt and bloody. You had done a terrible job at healing his wound, as you confirmed when you looked at the crappy bandage on his torso again. Still, it had done the work and it had stopped the bleeding.

“It’s okay” You comforted him, squeezing what you realized was his hand. “Sorry that I took your mask off”

“I should have known you would” He chuckled, even if that sound was a shadow of its former self. “You would have found out sooner or later anyway”

“How are you feeling?” You rubbed your eyes, feeling silly for having fallen asleep. All your bones and muscles ached from the posture, as you were still sitting at the chair by the bed, leaning down on him.

“I’m good” He grunted, doing an enormous effort to sit up. “I gotta-“

“Don’t you dare” You scolded him, not losing a second in pushing him back down. “You almost died, you’re not going anywhere”

Peter watched you, frowning and bearing an absolute sadness in his eyes. He took your hand again, the gesture holding great urgency and emotion, and sighed.

“Sorry for worrying you, I didn’t know where else to go”

“I’m just glad you made it in time”

“Yeah, it was fun swinging when the buildings were moving. It was a challenge”

You rolled your eyes, even if you were used to his bad jokes to break the tension.

“That’s not funny, Parker”

“Parker, huh? That’s not good”

“I’m serious… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to, but…”

You stared at him, and the longer you looked the more you read his thoughts and the more you realized… he was scared. Telling you his secret was complicated and risky, and he had been too scared about many things. About how you would react, about the danger it could potentially put you in, about how many things could go wrong because of it. About the many consequences it would have for you.

“I understand” You spoke up, and even if Pete had been averting his gaze, he peered up at you now. He smiled a little and nodded his head, realizing what your words meant.

You weren’t only forgiving him for keeping it a secret. In a way, you were also thanking him for caring so much about you. At the same time, you were asking him not to keep you in the dark like that anymore. And despite the few words spoken, he understood all of this too.

A noise outside suddenly startled you two, making you hold on tighter to the other’s hand. Your eyes moved to the window, to the blurry police alarms blasting in the distance. Then you glanced at each other. Your heart skipped a beat with the dawning realization that you knew what he would say next.

“I have to go” He sat up this time, letting go of your hand.

“But you’re hurt…”

“I heal fast”

“Peter…”

“I’ll be okay, don’t worry”

Peter stood up from the bed, moving slowly and stopping for a moment when a dizzy spell apparently hit him. You nibbled on your bottom lip, hating to see him in this state. He had his eyes closed, but as soon as he recovered he opened them to look at you. A small smile formed on his lips, which somehow managed to ease your anxiety.

“Where’s my mask?” He asked, and you quickly picked it up from the bedside table and gave it to him. Your fingers brushed when he took it from you, and the tingling feeling that grazing touch gave you lingered as he moved away and put it on.

“I’ll call you when it’s over” You wanted to smile in appreciation, moved that he knew how worried you were and wanted to let you know he was okay when it was done.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. In any case, Peter was heading for the window. He opened it, letting the cold and the rain in. He was about and leave, to swing away from you and straight into danger again.

“Pete!” As soon as he turned to face you, you threw yourself to hug him and kissed him in the cheek before nuzzling his shoulder. “Come back in one piece, will you?”

“I promise” He held you close against him, embracing that last moment of happiness and comfort. Like the calm before the storm.

When you broke away, you stared at each other for a long second. Then he took a deep breath, nodded and left. As you saw him swinging form building to building, you were conflicted. You were incredibly proud of him for being Spiderman, but you were just as worried. And scared. Still, a smile made its way to your lips. You couldn’t explain why, but you felt better when you closed the window. Because Peter’s presence lingered for a little longer even after he left, like a promise that he would be okay. Maybe it was that Parker magic. Because that wasn’t just Spiderman, it was Peter Parker.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ / @trunks-kiwi​ / @andreasworlsboring101​ / @kylosdankdealer​ / @timelords13​ / @anxiouslyreckless​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[thedarklingxalina]

A Darklina fic I'm playing about with but not committing to yet. This would be the first chapter. I need to finish Dark Guardian first but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Eclipse

Summary: Alina is an investigative journalist, investigating the death of her childhood friend, Mal.

Alina is reunited with her other childhood friend, Aleksander - known to the world as Kirigan, a famous actor and grisha rights activist. All too quickly though, Alina begins to discover Aleksander is hiding a dark secret.

Modern Grisha AU. Everyone has their powers. Mentions of suicide. Mild torture.

Saints, give me strength. 

Alina stared at the rusty mesh gates through the rain speckled windscreen. A barrage of warning signs prohibiting entrance were pinned across the fencing. Keep out. Danger. Risk to life. On one fence was a display of withered flowers entwined around the metal, with hand-made laminated pleads to stay away, to remember that someone out there loves you. 

It was a somber sight. Careful reminders of the danger that lurked behind that run-down gate, past the abandoned warehouses, looming at the end of decrepit wooden bridges. Even from here Alina could see the mass of swirling shadows, an endless stretch of darkness that tore Ravka in two.

And here she was armed with wire cutters, ready to break in. Foolish, reckless, stupid. Exactly what she had been told not to do. 

This is for Mal, she reminded herself.  

Alina took in a deep breath and left the warmth and safety of her car. She put on her medical face mask, slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and tucked her camera inside her satchel. 

She didn't plan on staying here long, but seeing as research into the side effects of prolonged exposure to the Fold was ongoing, she decided to err on the side of caution. 

Gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the fence, making her way to a part hidden by the treeline. There she cut a reasonable size hole for herself to squeeze through. 

So far, getting into the site was easy. Too easy really, considering the dangers of this place.

Abandoned heavy equipment littered the rubble ridden grounds. Metallic, battle-worn Skiffs (centuries ago once manned by Squallers before new technological advancements replaced them) laid in ruins around the site; rust-encrusted, dented and torn up. The warehouses were dilapidated, weathered down and overgrown with weeds. 

And that wasn't even mentioning the bridges that crossed the ten foot moat, giving unhindered access to the Unsea and the monsters within. 

This place was a death trap. 

"Why in the Saints name did you come back here, Mal?" Alina asked. 

He had loathed this place. Everyone in Os Atla had. There had been vocal opposition from the public for decades, demanding the site be shut down. The residents of the city uncomfortable with an access point to the Fold being right on their doorstep. 

This skiffyard's infamous reputation for being the most dangerous, certainly hadn't endeared it to people, no matter the flow of trade it provided. It had the highest fatality and injury rate of an skiffyard. Budget cuts producing poorly made Skiffs that broke down frequently and were east pickings for Volcra. Breaching person capacity on each trip to increase profit. Bribing of safety inspectors. Understaffed. Overworking their employees to exhaustion. 

The place had been a nightmare. The stories Mal had told Alina about it over the years still made her recoil. 

The final nail in the coffin for Skiffyard 13 had been when three urban explorers had snuck into the docks, using it to bypass the the forest and ten foot moat separating the Fold from the city - deterrents erected over a century prior, to keep the public safe. The three individuals, the youngest only fourteen years old, had never came out again. 

The dock had been shut down. Workers like Mal had been relocated to other docks outside the city.

Yet despite this, the site had never been dismantled. It was too expensive, was the frequent excuse. The go to excuse for all failures in protecting the general public from the dangers of the Unsea. 

Now, it was the easiest access point to the Fold. No workers to sneak past, no checkpoints, and no maintenance to the gates and various deterrents. There wasn't even video surveillance or electrical fencing, as electronics were unreliable this close the Fold. And much to the people of Os Atla's grief, no armed patrols or guards dogs to keep trespassers like her out.  

Oh, the mayor promised they would upgrade the security on access points to the Fold regularly. But those promises seemed to be forgotten after the elections had passed. Funny that. 

As Alina scanned the deserted skiffyard, the Fold a short walk away, she realized the bitter irony of it all.

It didn't take long for Alina to find the place she was looking. Dock Six. The last place Mal had last been seen alive. 

Alina took a shuddering breath, her grip on her satchel tightening. she closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes.

Another life lost to the Fold, the news reporter had said. A tragic suicide, the police had decided, he left a farewell note on the dock.

A farewell note that doesn't mention me? His childhood best friend. That doesn't mention his girlfriend Lucy who he had planned to propose to on her birthday? 

But Alina's protests had fallen on deaf ears. She was nothing but a grieving girl in denial to them. Even Lucy had tried to discourage her, wanting her to accept-

No. Alina wouldn't hear it. Mal didn't take his own life. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Alina had spoken to him days before. There had been something he had wanted to tell her, something he hadn't felt safe discussing over phone or email. A story, he had said, that people need to know. Then that phone call the night he vanished. That desperate, breathless voice pleading with her through a breaking line. 

Alina... don't... Atla... away- 

Mal? Mal, is that you? I can't hear you, the line is terrible. Where are you? 

Distant shouting, five loud bangs, more static.

Mal? Mal!

Stay away... sorry... sorry...

Something had happened to Mal that night. Something awful that the police were refusing to look into. Alina was sure of it. And come hell or high water, she was going to find out what. She owed it to Mal, to Lucy, to herself. 

Alina scouted the area, alighting her hand with a soft glow to light her way.

It took a while, but the Saints finally took pity on her and Alina found something. Something that she suspected to be the source of the bangs in that final phone call. Gouged into a floorboard of the dock, into a post, and a concrete wall. 

Bullet holes.

They weren't old. The moss overgrowing the post and floorboards having been blasted off with the impact, yet to have grown back. 

Alina snapped some photos. 

After an hour prowling around each bullet hole site, sometimes on hands and knees, getting caked in dust and mud, Alina was ready to give up when an idea sprung to mind. She summoned her light, shining it across the ground until something silver glinted back. 

A bullet, hidden among the overgrown weeds. Alina took more photos before putting the bullet in a labeled ziplock bag. 

Suicide in deed, Alina mused bitterly. Had the police even bothered to check the scene? 

"I'll find out what happened to you, Mal. I swear it."

Alina rose to her feet, dusting her trousers.

Mal had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, someone had killed him for it. But what could be here that was worth killing over? 

There was only one warehouse stable enough to enter. Warehouse three. Alina didn't bother to pick the lock, just melted it off its hinges then crept in. 

The warehouse was massive and surprisingly well maintained. Everything was clean. There was no debris. Creates and boxes were stacked high and neatly.

Alina frowned, extinguishing her light in favor of using a battery powered torch.

If there were people here, she didn't need them knowing she was Grisha. That element of surprise could be the difference that mattered. Besides, there were too many out there that despised her kind; having people know you were Grisha was like walking around with a bullseye on your back. 

Alina crept behind a row of shelves, occasionally taking photos. She stopped at an easy to reach pile of boxes and pulled back the lids. 

Oxygen canisters, boxes of personal protective equipment, bullets (but not the same as the one that she found outside; these were longer and bigger, meant for something... larger.) 

This is all essential items for crossings, Alina realised. And it's all new. 

Someone had to making illegal crossings across the Fold, using these docks as their access point. 

Alina closed the lid, a dreadful unease settling over her. 

What are they taking across the Fold that requires all the secrecy? 

Maybe the answer was in another crate. Alina moved to open another- 

A sharp tug on her heart stilled her, making her choke for air. Alina fell to her knees, the energy in her body bleeding from her.

As darkness consumed her, one though flickered through her mind. 

Saints above, she hated Heartrenders.

☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑

Alina was no stranger to danger. Her investigative journalism had gotten her into many a difficult situation. But nothing ever quite this bad. 

When Alina had awoken, it was to find herself tied to a chair, her hands separated and bound to a steel bar (rendering her powers useless). She was blind folded; inconvenient and certainly unnerving, but it gave her some hope. Whoever had assaulted her, cared if she saw their faces. If they were going to kill her a blindfold wasn't necessary.

"Who are you?" A man asked. Middle aged by the deep roughness. Ravkan by the accent. A grumpy git, by the tone. 

Not the person you're looking for, Alina wants to snark, but thinks better of it. They might not be fans of Star Wars references and honestly, she is too exhausted to try and be smart. Besides, snarky quips and teasing here would only charm her way into a pair of cement boots and a dip in the river. Or the Unsea. 

Alina tried not to shiver. 

"I said who are you?" Grumpy demands. 

"Alina Starkov. Investigative Journalist for the Ketterdam Express News."

There's no point lying. They probably already know who she is with a quick internet search. Lying will only make them mad. 

"What's a small-time news journalist doing in Os Atla?"

Alina twitches at his comment. 

This time the man who speaks is younger. He has a scratchy voice and bratty attitude that made Alina want to kick him in the shin. 

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nothing more. He went missing three months ago and was last spotted working at the docks you snatched me from." 

Wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? Put a bullet through his head perhaps? 

"Name?" Grumpy asks.

"Mal Oretsev."

"Never heard of him. Seems you've wasted your time, Nancy Drew," Bratty said. 

I doubt that, Alina mused bitterly. She had clearly stumbled onto something if they were willing to kidnap and interrogate her. 

"That's a shame," Alina said with exaggerated glumness. "Well, if you could just untie me I can head off. Wouldn't want to keep you guys later than need be."

Grumpy snorted. Bratty let out a nasty chuckle (Alina would wager a week on gossip column duty, that Bratty had a very punchable face).

"We can't have snoopy reporters buzzing around here," Bratty says.

Don't panic, Alina tells herself. Don't-

Alina hears the rustle of fabric, then the dreaded sound of a gun's safety clicking off. 

-starting to panic.

"And you think a dead one will prevent that?" Alina swallowed down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, but there was still a frantic edge to her voice. "There are people who know where I am and know to call the police if I don't make it back soon. Within an hour this place will be swarming!" 

"She's bluffing." 

"You think I'm stupid enough not to have a back up plan in case something like this happened?" 

If she said it strongly enough, maybe even she would believe it. Because really, a smart journalist would have done that. 

"You were stupid enough to get caught."

Prick.

"You have a heartrender, that's cheat-" 

Someone slapped her, Bratty she would bet. Alina cries out as pain flares hot on her cheek.

That'll leave a bruise, Alina muses bitterly.

"That's enough," Grumpy snapped, his footsteps loud as he got closer. "Tell us, what information do you have on Project Likhoradka?"

Alina frowned. The name rung a bell, but it was too distant to make out. Likhoradka... why would they think she had any information on it? Was it because she had mentioned Mal? Did it have something to do with the illegal Fold crossings? 

"I don't know anything about-" 

Someone slapped her again, worse than before. Where his hand had connected, her skin burned and ached.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Alina thinks, gritting her teeth.

"I don't know anything! One of you is a heartrender, you know I'm telling the truth!" Alina snarled. 

Alina strained against the bonds on her wrist, tied behind her back. If only she could melt through them. She could distract them with a flash of blinding light, turn invisible, then flee into the night. Had they known she was Grisha and that was why they bound her this way? Or was it just a precaution?

A phone buzzed, cutting the interrogation short. A moment later, Grumpy spoke again. "The boss is here."

Alina heard the whirling grate of the warehouses large doors lifting. A brief wind tickled her face. Then a new set of footsteps, slow and precise, made their way closer. 

Damn it. How many of them where their now? Three inside, but could more be waiting outside? More heartrenders or maybe other Grisha? Infernis, Squallers, more heartrenders?

Alina swallowed hard, sniffing back the tears welling behind her eyes. Hope of making it out of this alive was dimming like a setting sun. 

"And what is this?" A voice asked. He had a pleasing voice; gentle, smooth, young, yet firm. The boss, she'd guess. Boss of what though?

"Nosey reporter from Kansas-"

"Ketterdam, I'm not Dorothy," Alina muttered. But Bratty would certainly make a perfect Scarescrow; no brains and all.

Bratty smacked her again; this time across the head, more chiding than malicious. Speak when spoken to, the message was clear. 

"Does she know anything?" The leader asked. 

"Don't know yet. But she said she's friends with Oretsev." So much for not knowing him. "We figure she has to know something about-"

Bratty stops talking. Footsteps come closer and Alina holds her breath as someone takes a delicate hold of her chin. She gets the impression they are studying her features intently. Long fingers brush aside the hair from her face, lightly tracing the scar on her forehead. 

A scar she had gotten when she was a child, when a group of bullies found out she was different from them. Witch, demon, freak... stones flying through the air... frightened shrieks and tears... and a little boy with onyx eyes, arms out stretched, shielding her from it all... 

The man inhales sharply. 

The heartrender knocked her out again. 

[analyticallyminded]

jemma has hozier vibes. deeply romantic and slightly unsettling.

[analyticallymindedaa]

HOW DO YOU TRAGICALLY DIE ? betrayed in the plot twist. that shady ally you and your buddies have turned out to be a rotten egg after all, and you're their victim. the audience saw it before you did. being stabbed in the back hurts like a bitch; i don't envy you, but take solace knowing your death was the single most pivotal moment in the entire story.

tagged by: @anlgesic tagging: @captainzoom, @mythosar, @kurjaks, idk who else man if you haven't done it say i tagged you

[charming-2d-boys]

angsty hisoka sceanrio??? leaving the imagination up to you but i love angsty situations that would give my anxiety irl but like angtsy to fluff situation type thing ahaha

Ooooh, my favourite kind of thing: drama, spice and everything nice 😂💕

Thank you for requesting this! Enjoy! 😄💕

A/N: The song that I used for inspiration is Forever by The Amity Affliction. God, I love those guys ❤ Also, I suck at describing fighting scenes and coming up with fighting strategies, but I'm actually pretty proud of this one 😄

Warning: somewhat graphic descriptions of serious, fatal (for normal people, that is) injuries; also slight spoilers in case you haven't read Ishida Sui's Hisoka's Past

We can't live forever - Hisoka x Reader

   Hisoka couldn’t believe it.

   He had just talked with you the previous night about this match. He had bragged about how much fun it would be to break his opponent and about the reward you were supposed to give him after he won. You had laughed as he hugged you to his chest, both of you still sweaty from your previous trysts. You had assured him that you’d definitely reward him, like you always did, and also promised to give him a massage for all the hard work, ending your promise with a kiss on his cheek.

   And now, it was like everything was flashing right before his eyes. Strangely enough, it wasn't the way he'd heard it would be. It wasn't his whole life flashing before his eyes - there was almost nothing from his past, from when he was a child.

   He briefly saw his mother as she was showing him the Ace of Hearts. He chose that card when she was shuffling them and she guessed it. That was one of the first card tricks he had ever seen.

   Then, he remembered his time at the circus, with Moritonio and Abaki. The smell of popcorn surrounding him and the taste the Bungee Gum left in his mouth.

   An amalgamation of people’s faces, places and blood as he travelled and developed his Nen.

   Then the first time he saw you. Your first date and the way you laughed when some kid's cotton candy got stuck to his clothes. The many kisses shared and hours spent together...

   All going rapidly through his head as he was stuck to the ground by pointy poles of steel that his opponent managed to catch him with, one of them jutting right out of his chest and between his symbol suits. Hisoka could barely breathe, no matter how much Aura he was projecting to stop the bleeding. The sound of the rainy weather outside seemed somehow foreboding now, compared to how he felt about it in the morning, as the two of you were getting ready - a slight inconvenience.

   His opponent was wiping his mouth of blood as sweat rolled down his face, eyes blazing at Hisoka’s figure on the ground as he made another pole with his Nen. This guy hated Hisoka. That much was clear from his bloodlust.

   You were watching them. Hisoka could feel your eyes and he saw you, in the stands, in the first row to his left. You were crying and he could see your hands clasped together as you were praying for Hisoka to get up, to not die on you, not now. Your eyes moved to the opponent, watching as he started advancing slowly towards Hisoka’s body, his own injuries and fatigue slowing him down considerably.

   Am I really going to die here?

   Hisoka looked away from you and to the ceiling, wishing he could see the clouds and feel the rain on his face - just wash the blood away. His fingers were either torn off, broken or crushed; both of his arms were broken and pierced through because of the poles, rendering them pretty much useless; he couldn’t feel his right leg from the knee down and he was sure that a few of his ribs were broken.

   What could he do? His enemy was coming closer, intent on winning and possibly even killing Hisoka. He could feel your eyes on him. Those beautiful, teary eyes of yours. God, he always hated when you cried. What would you do if he died? He couldn’t just leave you alone like that. One of the few truly good things in his life. Always so happy to see him. And now you looked like your very heart was breaking right in front of his eyes.

   I'm not afraid to die.

   He really wasn't. Hisoka always felt that he'd rather die doing something he liked rather than dying from anything else. Too bad you had to witness it.

   “Lovely! If I die...” His voice was loud and harsh, blood going down the left side of his mouth as he turned his head towards you. It was hard to breathe. His opponent was still approaching. If only his other hand wouldn't have been broken and now falling limply at his side, Hisoka was sure he would be carrying two poles, mostly as a way to make sure he ended the magician forever.

   He wondered how many knew about the two of you. With how affected you looked now and all the looks you were getting, probably enough.

   But I'm so afraid of leaving you here.

   "If I die... I'll see you on the other side~ ♥️" He winked and smirked at you. You could only shake your head and mutter no as you saw Hisoka turn back to face his opponent. He was back to his usual self - despite the blood, the pain, your tears. Hisoka felt lighter already.

   "Ready to die, Grim Reaper?" His enemy asked, pole up over his head, ready to go through Hisoka's face.

   "Only if you lead the way~ ♣️" Hisoka responded with a smile, faltering a bit with a wince as he moved his left leg just a little.

   "I'll wipe that smile off your face right now!" Hisoka thought he heard a scream right before the pole struck.

   You couldn't watch. You didn't want to. And you almost felt like collapsing to the ground when you heard the thud as Hisoka was declared winner. You jumped over the wall and ran to Hisoka's side, ignoring the audience's cheering and the commentator the second you snapped out of your shocked state.

   The pole embedded deep into the ground besides your boyfriend's head was heavy and didn't seem like it would budge anytime soon. You listened to Hisoka's instructions as you pulled his opponent's body off the pipe in Hisoka's chest and then slowly got his broken body upright, trying to support his weight as much as you could. Several staff members had shown up to help you and you thanked them as they carried Hisoka to the hospital wing in the arena. He'd have to use a lot of Texture Surprise and prosthetics for these injuries.

   You were soon left alone when the doctors made sure Hisoka was stable. You wouldn't let him use his magic tricks that easily - for now, at least. First, he'd rest for a while. The rest could come later. Only that Hisoka didn't want you to go. Not that you would.

   "You're such an idiot! I thought you were going to die." You scolded him while wiping your tears, hand holding onto his broken one gently.

   "Hmm~ So did I, lovely. ♣ But I had to get him close enough so I could use my Bungee Gum~♦" You had seen the entire thing and were thankful the commentator didn't say anything before Hisoka struck.

   Just as his opponent was about to kill him, Hisoka used his left foot, that wasn't broken and only had a sprained ankle, to catch onto the edge of one of his opponent's poles. By pulling it with high speed towards the two of them, there was a high chance of his enemy noticing and moving out of the way, thus resulting in Hisoka killing himself.

   But tired, dizzy from blood loss and probably thinking that all of Hisoka's limbs were broken and unable to be used, he had let his guard down. And just like that, he got pierced by his own pole, going straight through him and deviating slightly to the side in the process, striking next to Hisoka's head, while his body slumped over and fell onto the pole in Hisoka's chest.

   "Tell them the Grim Reaper sent you~ ♠️" Hisoka had said as he watched his opponent die, face set into an incredulous expression.

   "I'm so happy you're safe..." You hugged Hisoka and kissed his cheek, then his lips, thanking every deity you could think of for helping him survive this time as well.

   "I'm not leaving you that easily, lovely~ ♥ You're stuck with me for a long time~ ♥" He hummed in delight, wishing he could wipe your tears himself. But seeing you smile down at him and knowing that you were by his side was satisfying enough.

   "Good, I only love one clown. And that's you." You kissed him again when you saw his teasing grin. He never liked being called that, but you were an exception.

[spield]

journey to i - kakasaku

Author’s Notes: This has been in my google docs for so long, I’ve forgotten all about it. I low-key panicked when I couldn’t find it my files hahaha. But here it is. Not much romance, but more of... hmm, you tell me what you think it is in your comments! ;) 

Disclaimer: As I’ve said before, sometimes I just write to get things out THEN edit it after. This is the case for this one. Will probably edit this soon though! 

In the end, when Sasuke asks, Sakura says no. 

She takes his lone hand, kisses his palm and whispers why she can’t. 

Sasuke doesn’t understand but he sees the longing in her green eyes, and ah, that he understands. So he pokes her forehead, just above her seal, and hopes they meet on the road and promises a cup of tea. 

She doesn’t linger to watch him leave. Instead, the moment he turns his back, she turns hers too. One feet in front of the other, she walks through the paths of her village, through the market and takes a few turns and goes inside the Hokage tower. 

In less than an hour, Sakura files her indefinite leave with a promise to assist, help and support members of the Shinobi Alliance on her way but with no promise when she’ll come back.

Kakashi is outside when she steps out, no signs of his hat and coat but with his trademark slouch present. He must’ve jumped through the window, Sakura thinks amusedly. Somehow, even through everything, under the fading light, he still looks untouchable. Perhaps, especially now. “You going somewhere?” 

“You just approved my papers.” Sakura smiles, waving the scroll in front of him. “You know where I’m going.” 

Kakashi’s dark eyes - eyes, how odd - are unreadable as he says, “No. No, I don’t.” 

There’s much left to say, but years of cowardice and hiding are not easy habits to break. So Sakura heads home, and is gone before the sunrise. 

At the end of it all, Sakura goes on a journey to retrace her own family’s history. Beyond Konoha, beyond the Land of Fire and beyond the world of the shinobi. 

Because before Sakura was the Fifth’s Apprentice, before she was The Scorpion Killer and way before she was the leftovers of an old genin team, Sakura was a Haruno. 

And all Haruno go back to the sea. 

She left Konoha with just one bag filled with colorful clothes that she never got to wear. Clothes that her mother and father gifted her year after year, holiday after holiday, even when she couldn’t wear them. Not in the village of leaves, not when they smell of the sea even if they’ve never touched it. 

So, Haruno Sakura goes home. 

This is what Sakura tells the Godaime, the Rokudaime and anyone who asks. 

(This is what she tells herself, however, in the end, it’s still heartbreak that leads her away from Konoha. When she meets Sasuke for tea, she hopes they could talk about how Konoha broke their hearts in the way it never did to Naruto.)

All questions are quelled by a calling, by the vast distance, beyond the greens of different trees and blues of different seas tug at her heartstrings, whispering, “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.” 

Sakura circumnavigates the world and through her journey, she meets a monk, a lover and a heathen.

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs. From what she’d gathered throughout her years of friendship with Kankuro, they were pretty lenient to whatever gods their shinobi choose to worship. 

“Maybe, you know, except for another Rabbit Goddess,” Kankuro backtracked, fingers uncoordinated and stiff from fighting, trying to balance a sake cup. It was the first time they’ve seen each other after the war, on the tails still of victory and defeat. High off it. “Yup, maybe not another Rabbit Goddess, maybe not Jashin either - everything else, fair game.”

“Faith is an interesting reprieve from the terrors of life.” Gaara said, righting his brother up with his sand. His teal eyes are fond and warm, and new. His gourd is nowhere to be seen and he looks so young for a man who led their army.  “We let people have their gods.” 

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs, or rather, they’re known for not being known for it but still, it’s where Sakura meets the monk. 

Suna welcomes her with open arms because the sands may be forever shifting, but it never forgets. It remembers her as that 15 year old prodigy who saved their Kazekage’s brother, that 19, 20 and 21 year old who performed miracles in the battlefield with eyes fierce and elbows deep in people’s guts. Suna loves her for what she represents - grit, dirt and kindness honed by the cruelty of the world. 

(Abandoned. That’s what Suna and Sakura had in common.)

Sometimes, Sakura wishes she could see what they see too. 

Now, she’s 23 years old. Two years after the war and she’s still so tired. 

In Suna, she’s given free reign of the hospital. Overseeing their developments in prosthesis, their puppet corps turned into experts of the field. She supposes Sasori would be rolling in his grave at the thought of how his notes revolutionized the entire field of artificial limbs - if he had a grave that is. 

(Sasori was a brilliant man. Mad, yes, but brilliant - and aren’t the brilliant ones always are?)

When Sakura lessens her healing and caseload citing more hands-on training for the Suna medics, Gaara doesn’t ask. She’s still brilliant with her lectures and demonstration and nobody dares to question the greatest healer of the nations. 

It is on the first day of her sixth month when she sees the monk. There’s some sort of blessing ceremony to be done to the new ward of the hospital. The Kazekage’s invited the religious leaders of Suna to bless the place. 

Several came, all with different garments and different rituals. One came with water from a blessed oasis, all barefooted and with hair reaching up to the backs of their knees. They spoke a language she’s never heard, words running over like water over rocks in a bubbling stream. Another came in traditional Suna garments, and sprinkled sand over the white tiles of the new ward - under the setting sun, it looked like fairy dust and gold. 

Many came and went, but one remained still at the outskirts of the crowd, quiet and familiar.

“It’s the first time he’s gone out in public since Chiyo-baa-sama’s death,” Kankuro shrugged when Sakura asked. “He’s kind of particular and all that.” 

It isn’t until the sun dips down the horizon that the monk steps forward. At this point there aren’t anyone left but Gaara and Sakura but nevertheless, they receive no acknowledgement from the stooping man. 

He’s quiet, as he bleeds his chakra to the floor and down every grain of sand in the ward. It always amazes Sakura how chakra lives in non-combatants - a proof that it exists beyond duty. And proof that it can, perhaps, one day exist only for beauty. 

“Do you think he takes confessions?” Sakura whispers. Gaara’s lips quirk upwards, knowing that she knows the difference between a priest and a monk and yet indulges her. “Perhaps. If he does, let me know.”  They’ve all got sins to unload, Sakura muses. And yet, despite being weighed down by all the choices she’s made and been forced to make, it’s not what spills from her mouth when she finds the monk a week after. 

Or rather, he finds her. Coughing, old and sitting on her table. 

There’s something about him, lungs barely holding on and yet still at peace, old age running lines on his face that had her saying, confessing - “I believe I am lost.” 

The monk pauses, eyes torn away from the window and gravitating towards her face. Sakura doesn’t expect a response, after all, he hasn’t said a word to anyone for years. But, he shakes his naked head and offers her a smile, “Nothing is ever really lost.”

That night, she receives a missive from Konoha, like she’s been receiving for the past eleven months but this time, there are two of them. One is a response to the report she wrote about the progress of her study in prosthetics and the other, the other smelling of home and written in a piece of old weathered paper. It almost makes her smile.  Mr. Ukki misses you. 

Sakura doesn’t stay long after that. She fears that if she stays so near to home, its voice will overpower her roots’, and the sea has been waiting for her since she was born. 

She bids Suna goodbye after a year of staying within its walls. She hugs Kankuro tightly, hold Temari’s hand and kisses Gaara’s cheek. 

The Kazekage blushes underneath his hat and Kankuro jibes, “Well, if this is what farewell feels like, then you should say goodbye more often.” 

For months, Sakura moves from town to town, village to village. Occasionally receiving scrolls from Konoha, asking her to lend assistance to a new ally or an old enemy.

It’s funny, how a great military power apologizes for its sins. Never acknowledging it, never calling it reparations, preferring the term “aid” when it only ever is leverage. 

How odd. 

How hypocritical. 

(Sometimes, Sakura wonders if Uchiha Itachi was truly a loyal ninja of Konoha or if he was yet just another blinded soldier searching for idealism in a corrupted system. Was he a victim, truly? A hero? A martyr? To what end? For whom?) 

In her bones, Sakura feels time slipping faster and faster, and despite these emerging thoughts, she wonders if spring has begun in Konoha. 

She claims her free tea from Sasuke at a small town on the border of Iwakagure and Takigakure, almost half a year after she left Suna - two years into her journey. 

“You need a haircut, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura greets and watches in satisfaction as the hobo-looking man looks up to her as she sits in front of him. His hair has grown longer, covering part of his face, finally succumbing to gravity and bidding the duck-butt style goodbye. 

“Sakura.”

There’s something in the way Sasuke speaks her name. When they were kids, it’s always with dismissal and when they went on, it’s with a tone of chained fondness. During the war, it’s with disdain turned acknowledgement. 

When they were in Konoha, Sakura could swear that she could hear pride in Sasuke’s voice, hidden behind the syllables of her name. 

Here, he calls her with surprise melting into relief. Perhaps, being alone has taken a toll to her wayward teammate. 

(Here’s the difference between the two: Sasuke is looking and running from something, Sakura knows where she’s going. Whether or not she’s running or looking too is irrelevant.) (Kind of.)

“Hey, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura smiles and waves a waitress down, “Fancy a cup of tea with me?” 

Sasuke nods, his lips tugging upward. His dark eyes linger on the spider silk strands of her hair against the orange setting sun.  Her hair’s grown longer, almost as long as when they were genin. 

For a short moment, he’s filled with dread, struggling to remember what young Sakura looked like. He’s starting to forget, perhaps, and it is both a blessing and a punishment. 

The shadows shift and stretch under the guidance of the setting sun, and they exchange stories of the road until the moon nudges the sun to rest. 

It’s funny how easy they fall into bed together, right after tea. 

Sakura’s childhood dreams featured more of a courtship, a promise and a marriage. Teenage Sakura’s fantasy featured more heated kisses, a fight and a leveling of a forest in rage turned lust. 

But this, this is so much better. 

Sasuke touches her with surprising gentleness and want, after they trip their way to his accommodations. There’s a softness in the firm kisses of his mouth, a tremble playing at the edge of his fingertips. It’s not a battle, or a dance but rather an introduction. A hello followed by oh... gods, yes, there -- 

Sasuke makes it good, despite only having one arm, it must be an Uchiha thing to be so good at everything, Sakura thinks as she lay beside her former team mate. 

In a different life, perhaps, she would’ve married Sasuke, she thinks as she watches his lashes flutter as he sleeps. Perhaps, she would’ve give him a child, a girl with his eyes and her hair. A pink-haired Uchiha. But this is not that lifetime. 

Instead, Sakura meets Sasuke again - or perhaps for the very first time - as a lover. Washed anew by his journey, Sakura gets to know her former teammate as a man who can reel out moans and gasps from her, who can, after they decided to travel together for a while, and will start a fire to keep her warm and will tease her about her love affair when he reads Kakashi’s letter over her shoulder.  “Was he the reason why you didn’t come with me?” Sasuke asks. They’re in the Land of Snow, farther from where Sakura really aims to go, but she’s got time to spare and Sasuke might actually be killed by the Raikage if he’s found shuffling around near their country without an escort.  Sakura glances at the words written on the wrinkled parchment (Naruto’s taking classes with Shikamaru. Lots of reading for him to do. He tried using Kage Bunshin to study and knocked himself out. Time is of the essence, he said, and I agree.) and pinches that flicker of hope budding in her chest. 

She shrugs at Sasuke’s question, “I think... I think I wouldn’t have gone with you even without him in the picture.”  Something sad flickers in Sasuke’s eyes before it’s gone, “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” 

In the frigid cold of the snow, Sasuke moves against Sakura as an apology and a goodbye. It’s more than comrades sharing warmth but less than lovers making love. At the back of Sakura’s mind, she wonders if Kakashi knows - if he’s angry or if, like always, he understands.  (She misses him, even when they’ve never had each other like this. But the intimacy of sex is trumped by the intimacy in battle, in handling each other with precious care, scars and blood be damned. It is an intimacy borne of desperation, fostered by respect, watered with fondness -- and killed out of love. She misses him, but time is of the essence.) 

Sasuke and Sakura split up at the outskirts of the Land of Stone at the start of her third year of travelling. He went East, she went West and that was that. A few days in, Sakura enters Asakura.  Asakura is the city of heathens - prostitutions, gambling, and underground dealing. It’s the city of sin, which means, it’s also the land of base instincts and humanity stripped to its bare bones. 

It seems like a city just right up her shishou’s alley. Sakura only had to follow the sounds of bellowing, of bodies of men flying out of tavern, and murmurs about a (beautiful but) crazy bitch burning through her own money to find Tsunade. 

News of another jinchuuriki kage reaches her ears too, but she brushes it away.  It’s been three years since she last saw her shishou and in the dim lights of the tavern, she’s glad to see her as youthful as ever, and tries to erase the image of her wan, old, and dying. 

It is only after Tsunade wins that Sakura approaches with a bottle of sake on hand. 

Glancing down at the large money of pot she just won, Tsunade’s heart pounds hard looking at the girl she broke and trained and broke again until she remade herself - her daughter in all but name - and chokes, joking, “Are you dying?”

When her girl smiles, all calm and accepting, and raises a bottle of the most expensive sake Tsunade ever tasted, something inside the old Senju crumbles.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Oh Sakura, what have you done?”

Tsunade’s hands are shaking, the fading glow of her uselessness mocking her in the darkness of Sakura’s rented room. 

“Everything, shishou. I’ve done everything. I’ve read every book, prayed to every god--”

“God? What good is a god?”  

Initially, Tsunade refuses to let her go. Forces Sakura to stay put with the same glint in her eyes when she taught the kid how to dodge, but it seemed the Slug Princess taught her too well. 

Because after the barbs, sarcasm and nights of getting way too drunk off the pots of money Tsunade continues to win, Sakura says goodbye. 

And Tsunade, not as bitter as she would’ve been, lets her go, and curses the gods for not taking her instead - because hasn’t she witnessed to many deaths already? 

It’s at the fourth year of her journey does Sakura finally lays her eyes on the blue of seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands. The calling is silent now that she’s come. 

She sheds her old life -  her headband, her gloves and her boots and brings out the vibrantly colored fabrics from her parents. It’s silk against her pinkened skin, and the sand is warm against her feet. 

It feels like a hug and a song of - “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.”

Kakashi writes to her and Sakura doesn’t answer with a letter of her own. 

Instead, she sends Kakashi eel that she herself smoked, a small vial of pink sand and a kiss on a card.

That night, she dances under the moonlight like a flickering moth around the pyre she built. 

The oceans sings for her and she is home. 

After that, there’s no more letters from Konoha. 

In the middle of the fourth year of her journey and the year mark of her semi-permanent residence by the seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands, Ino visits her. Ino, with her platinum blond hair arrives, still beautiful even with sweat dripping off her.

It takes three days of sunbathing, flower weaving and rebuilding of an old friendship before Ino asks her to come home.

“Haven’t you been away for far too long?” Ino asks, quiet and grown. The days of high-pitch screams and name-calling seems so far away from this little shack by the sea, in this little life her best friend built for herself. 

They’ve spoken of their friends - Naruto’s marriage, Shikamaru’s courtship fo Temari, Ino’s love with Sai and they laughed like bells but Ino didn’t find an ounce of longing in her friend’s eyes, and she already knew she has lost. 

Sakura looks to the shore, there’s a storm coming and hums, “Perhaps.” 

The last letter she receives from Konoha is not a letter at all.

It’s a missive, an invitation - for the Rokudaime’s retirement and the Nanadaime’s ascension.

“God? What good is a god?” 

Who knows? For believers, gods are good for much but--

Because Sakura is not a reincarnation of a god, when she touched Kaguya with her fist glowing green and blue, Sakura touched something not human.

And it touched her back. 

A year into the peace, it rooted deep inside her bones, a poison of the gods against humans brave and stupid enough to lay hands on them. 

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to understand her predicament. She was rotting inside out. Her chakra is poisoning her organs, taking bits off her little by little and so she left Konoha. In leaving, she left what was blossoming between her and Kakashi too in hopes that perhaps she could spare him from this pain.  

But also, she left for this: the sea, the calling and the sand under her feet, and the presence drawing near. 

On the last day of her journey, five years after she left, with her life force draining and yet stretching still - holding on, waiting, the Rokudaime, Kakashi, the man of a thousand jutsu, her lover, her love - arrives on the shores of this little island west of Whirlpool. 

He is older, of course he is. But still, Sakura runs towards him and he, mask pulled down, feet bare and eyes warm - finally free-, takes the last step and meets her halfway. (There’s still much left to say, but they’ve had years of dealing with cowardice and hiding that they’re laughingly easy habits to break.) 

[analyticallymindedold]

WHERE WILL YOU GO WHEN YOU DIE?

you go into death’s arms.

you do not wake up anywhere. you meet death with eyes open, and death smiles at you, wordless, knowing. you take its hand, and are drawn under the sweep of a vast dark cloak. death takes you home with it. you are cradled in the embrace of a vast and incomprehensible lover. you are safe. you are loved. you are known, and you are tended to like a flower in a garden, like a beloved child, like an exquisite rarity. you doze in the curl of death’s cloak and you help to soothe its melancholy, and for that you are rewarded endlessly.

tagged by: @likeprotege​

tagging: @schrodingersauthor, @boundwrit (or whoever you wanna do it for), @ahpeachie, @innosaints​, @catriinawrites​, anyone else who wants to do the thing!

[analyticallymindeda]

what shape does your pain take?

RESULT :    THE SEA.

you're drowning. a sea of emotions, responsibilities, people, things, everything. you just can't handle it all, you need to escape, but you can't. even talking to someone and being told it's okay, compliments, nice things people say, it all adds up to drown you further. guilt, for feeling this way when everyone's being nice and you're not enough. 

will you sink or swim?

TAGGED BY    /    @defiiantpupil TAGGING    /    @likeprotege, @vnerate, @gothamrisen, @everwarmer, @geneticyborg

[analyticallymindedarchive]

also it’s past midnight so it’s jemma’s birthday she’s 31 now somehow she made it this far and she has no idea how that happened