#and it is a terrible feeling and not helping solve the puking issue

[harmonious]

Took a zofran (which I don’t think I’ve ever taken before) cause I kept throwing up in my mouth (which was very unpleasant) but now I have anxiety cause I read about all the possible terrible side effects. So now I can’t sleep even though it’s 6:20 am and I haven’t gone to sleep yet and I’m very tired. My tummy hurts

[infinitegalahad]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO

Summary: Eugene was always there to let you that you were beautiful.

Word-Count: 2.3k

Warnings: PLEASE!! READ!!! Trigger warnings for eating disorder, insecurity, and lots of angst. But there is going be lots of fluff and some self care from your’s truly!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Notes: f! reader. uh oh...not not writing a self insert for my bulimia and eugene roe comforting me because my therapist told me to eat more (which totally solves all my problems)? Never! ;DDDD...enjoy!!

Masterlist | Request A Prompt!

Your stomach growled and twisted as you hunched over the toilet, tears spilling from your eyes as you forcefully threw up the mass amount of food you had just eaten. Every bite felt like you were eating copious amounts of a forbidden fruit. It was your favourite, and you used to love eating (y/f/f) all the time-but now, you would barely keep it down.

Soon after eating, the guilt began to overtake your body. It was hard to ignore it as the warm feeling in your throat began to rise. It felt tingly and you had only one remedy on how to make it better-running to the bathroom and sticking a finger down your throat: watching everything come out as deformed and clunky.

Saliva dropped from your noses as you began to wipe it as tears streamed down your flushed face. The pain wasn’t ending, and you knew another round was set to come.

When you're a little girl, you didn’t think much of your body or how you looked. Little girls, or no child for the matter should have had to worry about what they looked like. But as you got older, the social norms and your body began to change. Other girls around you were thin, while you felt indifferent. You were made fun of not looking “thin”, which triggered a whole set of emotions. And so you took comfort in food, since it was the only thing that never judged you.

And yet food would soon become your enemy. You learned how to befriend, and also stab it in the back. Your relationship with food has formed into a minute where you could tolerate them, and then the other you had to get it out of your system. After eating meals, it became a habit for you to do so. Some days, you could tolerate being around it. Others, you would barely see if for days-if not weeks.

Your thoughts were overtaken by a large gulp in your throat, which resulted in the food you had binged coming out. Tears came from your eyes as you cried. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal and pretty? Why was life so unfair to you?

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door creak open and footsteps slowly approach your hunched figure. The pattern of the footsteps was already too familiar to you. Goosebumps went up your spine as you refused to look at him, embarrassed and guilted. Eugene was the last person you wanted to discover your monstrosity.

“Hey…” You managed to say, attempting to sound put together, which was the total opposite of what you currently where.

Eugene sunk down to your level and placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. Tears began to form at your eyes as you looked down, feeling it come again. Eugene grabbed your hair as you threw up, letting out a pained moan.

“I’m here, you’re okay,” Eugene cooed, letting you finish up. His soft accent was reassuring to you, but your heart rate increased. “Did it happen again?”

“Nothing is happening. I’m fine.” You lied, but knew that it was a shit lie and that Eugene was smart enough to see. He was your boyfriend and knew you better than anybody else did in the world-besides you.

“You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me, cher.”

You slowly move your head up to look at him. Eugene looks tired, and so do you. Your eyes are puffy from crying, cheeks red, lips quivering, goosebumps all over your skin, heavy breathing- a total mess. A pig is what you would refer to yourself as. The outfit you had worn today was too tight forming and showed off the parts of your body that you wanted the world not to see. You looked like a ugly rat in your eyes, the vision of a disfigured body clouding your vision.

Instead of using your words, you break down once again. Eugene is there to watch you, pulling you into him as you sob uncontrollably. You act like a child to its mother, clasping into Eugene for dear life as you stain his white shirt with tears. He doesn’t mind this since he loves you, and you know that. But how could he, someone so beautiful on the inside and out, be with someone like you-a slob? Eugene didn’t see you as any of the things you would describe yourself as, and you still couldn’t understand why he has chosen to stick around for four years (and counting).

“I’m sorry,” Is all you could cough through your tears. Eugene is running his hands up and down back, his fingers occasionally getting tangled in your hair as he straightens it out. He pulls you from his chest as he cups your face, tenderly pushing your loose hair behind your shoulders to get a better view of your pretty face.

Eugene caresses your cheeks, getting a feel of your soft (y/s/c). “No need to be. Jus’ wanna make sure your ok.”

“I’m not. I…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, the waterworks come back into play. Eugene, being the angel he is, stays quiet as his thumbs wipe the tears away. Gathering your words, you continue on, “I never have been. Look at me, I can’t control it. I don’t know what to do. I-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Your heart’s racin’, settle down.” Eugene reassured in a calming voice not to shut you up, but to calm you. Your skin is shaky and sweaty and your heart is banging against your ribcage. Eugene feels the guilt tug at his heart-he hates to see you in such a distressed state. “Let me help you. Here,”

Eugene slides his arms under your armpits and gently helps your up. Leading you to the living room, he places you on the couch as he runs to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. He drops it out and pats you on the head before running back to the kitchen. You don’t want to drink, but Eugene would have a hissy fit if you didn’t. Reluctantly, you take a sip and swish it in your mouth before slowly gulping it.

Eugene returns a minute later with a cup of tea in his hand. He places in on the counter, putting a coaster under. Looking down, you can smell the sweetness. It’s your favourite; an orange spice with a dab of honey.

“Drink up ‘dat wata’ before you drink the tea. You’ll fell more refreshed after, and the tea will help with the dryness in your throat,” Eugene explained. He admired you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into them. As you drank your water, you forced a smile and put your hand on top of yours.

“Angé, I’m worried ‘bout you,” Eugene confessed, “You look sad, and when you’re sad-I’m sad.”

“Genie, please,” Is all you could mutter to say. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been dealing with this all my life. It’ll go away in a few hours, and I’ll be all smiles again. I promise.”

Eugene still feels guilty. He’s been around sister’s, older and younger to know what your problem is. The vomiting, the excuses, the insecurity, everything was adding up. What had saddened Eugene is that it was a lifelong issue, and it had gone untreated, and had progressively gotten worse.

“I don’t need you to force yourself to be happy. I want to help you ‘cause I love you, ma douce beauté.”

“But-“

Eugene placed a sweet kiss into your hair, “No. You stay ‘ere, docter’s orders. I’ll be right back.”

“Eugene-“

As he began to walk away, he turned around with a smile and pointed fingers. “What did I say?”

You put a finger down in defeat as you laid back, sipping on your tea. Hearing his footsteps fade into the bathroom and the water running, the tension from your shoulders disappeared as the sweet honey in the tea eased the frustration in your body. Doctor's orders, after all.

The sound of the water running in the opposite caused you to look up and see Eugene walking through the door. He came over at sat right beside you with open arms. Gene wasn’t vocal, but he was begging for your consent to hold you and comfort you. Scotting over, you slide into his arms and cuddle into his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t want you to see that.” You mumbled into his chest, drawing little circles into them.

“No need to,” Eugene responded into your hair, planting a lingering kiss, “I just hate to see you feelin’ like ‘dis. You’re gorgeous-inside and out.”

“Gene-“

“No, ‘sha. You are.”

“But-“

A finger was placed on top your lips, slowly trailing down your chin as it was tilted up to look at Eugene. “You’ve got a great heart, soul, and body, ma petite fleur. Why can’t you see that?”

Growing frustrated, you removed Eugene’s hand and sat up, letting out a sigh. “You see something that I can’t see. I want to see it-but I can’t. I’ve never seen it, and when you say that...it just spins out of control.” Eugene sat next to see you, a hand on your thigh, listening to every word. You continued on, “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful but-you’re amazing for being my boyfriend through all of this. I know it’s not easy but...thank you.”

Eugene was the one who first knew about your eating disorder. When first meeting you, he was starstruck. Not only were you a beautiful person, but a beautiful soul. You were enchanting, and Eugene could listen to you talk for ages. But as time flew on, he became suspicious. Behind your smiles, something was terribly wrong. You would barley touch your food, wear looser clothing, say self deprecating jokes to the point where it seemed serious, and numerous concerning comments and actions. It caused Eugene to worry. He didn’t want to diagnose you officially, but he knew you had an earring disorder. So he did what Eugene knew he did best; comfort and beg you to take of yourself.

Babe Heffron, out of all the people, was the one who walked on you violently puking. He freaked out and ran to Eugene, which caused a whole shit show. From that day on, Eugene could no longer stand around and watch you hurt yourself. He made you get help, whether you liked it or not.

And it was the moment you realized that you were in love with him, and so did he.

Yes, you were getting proper help for your issues, but what was it truly helping? Your eating disorder would have food and bad days-and Eugene was always there. But the more he begged for you to eat, the more you couldn’t. One look at your body and it would trigger those horrid thoughts. You were so hungry, but you could barely eat.

“And The thing is-I’m trying to get better,” You responded as your voice cracked, “I see the therapist, I take the medication, I just…”

Seeing your shakiness, Eugene pulled you close and stroked your hair once again, whispering sweet words into your ear. “ ‘Dat’s all you can do, ‘cherie. I know you’re tryin’, you’re the bravest girl I know. I know I seem a lil’ pushy at times, and I’m sorry,” He paused before continuing, “I just worry bout you, a lot. But I need to know; what can I do that will help you? Beggin’ you to eat ain’t helpin. Montre-moi comment t'aider, ma petite colombe. Je veux enlever toute ta douleur.”

A smile curved on your cheeks as you nuzzled into his cheek, “No judgement?”

Eugene shook his head, eyeing for you to go.

Taking a second to think, you leaned back to look at your Cajun boyfriend with his pale skin and pretty dark hair.

“You’re you, I’m me. This path...is one I go down alone. You can hold my hand, but this path is mine to walk. This is my battle to fight. My recovery will take time and patience. I know I seem ungrateful, but I walk down this road alone. The only person that can fix this is me, and me alone.”

Eugene paid attention to the way your lips moved, seemingly understanding every word. Sure, it wasn't what he wanted. If he has this way, he would grab a magic wand and wish all your problems away, holding you close and protecting you from the evil’s of the world.

But even Eugene knew that the world was cruel, but a beautiful place. He couldn’t protect you from all the bad.

He showed you a subtle smile, “Ok.” He scooted closer to you, grabbing your hand, “On your bad days, can I ask you what you need from me? How can I support you? How can I do anything?”

“Yes, of course you can.” You shook your head. “You know how amazing you are, Eugene?”

“Says the amazing one. You’re so brave. My brave lady.” Eugene planted a kiss on your lips. It was gentle and soft, just like Eugene. He muttered small saying’s through the small gasps of air, such as how beautiful you were.

“Baby, promise me somethin’.”

“Yes, Genie?”

“Don’t lose sight of the importance your love has on every aspect of our life, especially you. Got me?”

“I got you, genie. Always and forever.”

Eugene lead you away from the couch and into your bathroom. Being the gentleman he was, he asked if you wanted any tea or drinks after your bath. The bath had overflown, the water dripping onto the white tiles as the noise of the water splashing into the tub ran. You noticed the candles lit all over the small bathroom and the magnolias he had picked from your garden, lying lazily on the water.

Eugene panicked, but you walked over and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. It was ok, you were okay-he was okay.

You both we’re gonna be okay.

[inactiive-shit]

Masterlist

UPDATED: 7/3/2020

I have decided to collect and link all my shit together because it is hard to find sometimes and honestly, I just thought it would be fun. Here are all my stories (at this point, they are all Sanders Sides fanfiction):

1. A Hero’s Death - Virgil always wanted to be a hero. And now he is. But it's not quite like anybody imagined it. (warnings: death, violence, no comfort//genre: angst/whump?//pairing: LAMP, some qpp some romantic) Read on AO3

2. Reasons To Live - Virgil just wants to walk home and agonize over his upcoming test, but a man he’s never seen before asks him a question, and somehow it all ends up okay. (warnings: none//genre: this was once described as cold fluff, which is possibly my favorite thing I’ve ever been told//pairing: platonic Analogical) Read on AO3

3. Don’t Stop If I Fall - When Virgil makes a promise, he means it. Furthermore, he always fulfills it. Even if it’s not quite in the way Patton was hoping. (warnings: death, unspecified creatures, unhappy end//genre: angst//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

4. But Grow If I Can’t - Sequel to “Don’t Stop If I Fall” (warnings: same as previous installment) Read on AO3

5. Blood In My Mouth - A win brings him a friend, a loss brings him a friend, and an illegal fighting group can bring. . .love? (warnings: violence//genre: ???//pairing: platonic Moxiety, Prinxiety, romantic Analogical) Read on AO3

6. We’re Not What We’ve Seen - Nothing is guaranteed in war, and Patton knows this better than most. That doesn’t stop him from believing they’ll make it through mostly unscathed. (warnings: violence, war, despair//genre: hurt-comfort?//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

7. I’ve Been Sane Too Long - Finals are a hard time - especially for someone like Logan, who has always done well and now has to. Failing means he’s worthless. . .doesn’t it? (warnings: stress//genre: hurt-comfort probably//pairing: platonic Logince) Read on AO3

8. (Bury Me In) All My Favorite Colors - Logan’s favorite color used to be dark blue, but now it’s a little more complicated than that. (warnings: death, no comfort//genre: angst//pairing: romantic LAMP) Read on AO3

9. You Watch It Fall - Roman’s been around for a very long time. He’s seen and done a lot of stuff. Some of it can get pretty old. (warnings: violence, some comfort//pairing: romantic Prinxiety) Read on AO3

10. Desperate Times, More Desperate Measures - When their powers manifested, Virgil’s three older brothers wanted to be just like their Dads and fight crime. Virgil had never been so inclined. Now, however, they never come to family dinners because they’re always busy. Virgil takes matters, and maybe the law, into his own hands. (warnings: I don’t think there’s any unless you count annoying your siblings//genre: It’s pretty funny//pairing: familial LAMP) Read on AO3

11. Night Is For Sleeping - Or Making Friends - All Dee wanted was a nice night in, sleeping. When the Prince of Chaos shows up in need of help, Dee’s night goes down the drain along with whatever sleep schedule he may have had. (warnings: blood, near death experience//genre: hurt-comfort//pairing: platonic Roceit, romantic Moceit) Read on AO3

12. Dedicated To The Kids - Virgil’s never known anything but his grueling schedule. Now, he’s tasted freedom. He won’t give it up. (warnings: implied abuse, running away//pairing: none) Read on AO3

13. All The Lighters Looking Just Like Stars - It’s about Roman being in a band (warnings: none) Read on AO3

14. False Hope - All Virgil wants to do is go home, to leave all this pain behind him. Nothing’s ever been that easy, though. He doesn’t think it ever will be. (warnings: whump, pain, confusion, unclear ending//genre: whump//pairing: romantic Analoceit, familial Prinxiety, platonic Moxiety) Read on AO3

15. Memes Make For Serious Business - This is based off a textpost. It’s really just funny and fluffy. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analoceit) Read on AO3

16. Memes, Pt. 2 - Sequel to “Memes Make For Serious Business” (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analoceit, platonic Roman/Patton/Virgil)

17. Leaf You Happy - Roman and Remus have a tradition they’ve enacted every year since they were kids. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: FAMILIAL Creativitwins) Read on AO3

18. Pumpkins - Logan's favorite treat comes around exactly once a year, and it comes with all of its own rituals and traditions. Those rituals and traditions have changed over the years; that just makes it that much more special. (warnings: mention of a knife for pumpkin carving//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analogical, familial DLAMPR) Read on AO3

19. Supernova - Virgil was looking forward to a full night of horror movies and candy. Unfortunately, his Dad gets sick last minute, so there's only one person left who can take Roman trick-or-treating. But, hey, there's probably something aside from candy in it for Virgil as well. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analogical, sibling Prinxiety, sibling Logicality) Read on AO3

20. Live A Little - Logan only gets one day out of the year. He has to make it last. (warnings: death, implied murder, blood, ghost//genre: ???//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

21. In Perpetuum - They say the house is haunted. Shadows where there can't be, sounds there shouldn't be, music when nobody's lived there for over a decade. They say there was a murder there. But what really happened? (warnings: death, mental illness, it do be happy ending//genre: I’d call it fluff, but it’s whatever you call trying to write a ghost story and coming up with a love story instead//pairing: romantic DLAMP) Read on AO3

22. Friends In Scary Places - One thing Patton loves are haunted houses. (warnings: general haunted house stuff, gore for actors’ costumes, scares//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Moxiety, Intrulogical, Roceit, platonic DLAMPR) Read on AO3

23. Skeptical Belief - Logan has always believed in ghosts, despite the facts that his life has been totally free of the paranormal and he's a very skeptical person. The crux of the issue, then, is that he must find his own proof. Easy enough. (warnings: there is a demon-like thing//genre: it’s sort of fluff but not really? Unsure//pairing: platonic Analogical focus) Read on AO3

24. A Promise Never Broken - When the waters rise, Dee will always be there. (warnings: depression//genre: hurt-comfort, maybe? Idk, man//pairing: ambiguous Moceit) Read on AO3

25. Scary Movie, Safe Arms - Roman hates scary movies. He always has. He definitely does not want to watch one, not even for Virgil. Well...maybe he'll try for Virgil. (warnings: scary movie//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic Prinxiety, platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

26. The Dragon Witch of Heart’s Hospital - Dee is the Great and Terrible Dragon Witch. He can often be seen battling with young Prince Roman and his good friend Mage Logan. Recently, though, the Kingdom has gotten a few new residents. (warnings: setting is a hospital//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic DLAMP) Read on AO3

27. Jack And Sally Started At Taco Bell - Romantic Anxceit and their absolutely trash goblin dynamic. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Anxceit) Read on AO3

28. Monster - Virgil is clairvoyant - a psychic, medium, gifted, has The Sight, whatever. No matter what you call it, it sucks. Even a hang over would be better than this. It might not be all bad, though. Things could be looking up. Maybe. If Virgil can stop puking long enough to look up. (warnings: puke//genre: hurt-comfort I think//pairing: pre-romantic Anxceitmus) Read on AO3

29. Masquerade - Dee is the Prince Consort to Prince Remus. They've been dating another man for quite a while now and they believe it's time the rest of the kingdom - and the King, Remus's brother Roman - finally learn about their newest partner. In the most spectacular fashion possible, of course. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Anxceitmus) Read on AO3

30. First Snow - Virgil’s from southern Florida and he’s never been to a hell-state quite like this one before. Of course he’s never seen snow! (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairings: platonic lamp) Read on AO3

31. The Shoulder - Virgil gets hurt and the last thing he wants to do is be vulnerable withe people. Unfortunately for him, there are a few people he might like to be able to be vulnerable with. (warnings: fight mentioned, dislocated shoulder, anxious thoughts//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic dlamp) Read on AO3

32. When The Violence Causes Silence - Virgil has to train the New Recruits.And he is just ecstatic about it. /s (warnings: zombies, fighting, near death experiences//genre: apocalypse//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

33. Life As A Sanders - Through the years of Virgil and Logan getting adopted by their Dad, Patton, and some of their major milestones in life. 12 Parts. (warnings: some fights, I’ll add more as they appear//genre: fluff?//pairing: familial dlamp) Read on AO3

34. Old Flame - Roman had a high school sweetheart. He hasn't seen him in over ten years and for all he knows the man could be dead.Then he shows up unexpectedly, and it turns out to be something both of them needed. (warnings: past toxic relationship, past drug abuse//pairing: platonic prinxiety) Read on AO3

35. Icarus - Roman loves to fly high, but Logan fears that one day he may go too high. (warnings: none//pairing: romantic logince) Read on AO3

36. Leaving To Be Happy - Roman and Remus are rather well off, rich sons of a well-known business man. Roman is expected to marry well and one day, surely, Remus will finally settle down himself. There's just one problem: Roman might as much disdain for this plan as his brother. (warnings: mentioned homophobia, forced heteronormative garbage//parings: familial creativitwins) Read on AO3

37. I Don’t Have A Name For It - Logan does not know what to call the feelings that Patton makes him experience. Luckily, it's an easily-solved problem. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic logicality) Read on AO3

38. Of Love And Knives -  It’s Valentine’s Day, and Remus had a plan. It’s just…a work a in progress. (warnings: lots of sexual language/references//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic dukexiety) Read on AO3

39. Quiet Lies -  Dee gets a little bruised up. Luckily, it’s not anything a couple of horror movies can’t fix. (warnings: mentions of violence//genre: hurt/comfort, i guess//pairings: platonic anxceit) Read on AO3

40. Burning -  Virgil needs a goddamn hug. (warnings: touch starvation//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic dukexiety) Read on AO3

41. Warmth -  Logan can’t sleep, but his roommate is very helpful. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic/ambiguous loceit) Read on AO3

42. Ice Cream And Staying Up - Patton gets home from work late, and he’s fine, but Virgil was scared about what might have kept him. (warnings: mention of puke//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: qpp moxiety) Read on AO3

43. Knight And Mage - Roman gets wounded in battle. It's fatal. Or...under other circumstances, it would be. (warnings: near death, battle//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: romantic logince) Read on AO3

44. Snake-umentary - Virgil has had a stressful day. (warnings: mention of crash, accidental misgendering, panic attack, dissociation//pairing: romantic anxceit) Read on AO3

45. Water Bottle - Remus hyper-focuses so hard that he forgets to do basic things, like eat. (warnings: accidental dehydration//pairing: romantic anxceitmus) Read on AO3

46. Nasty - Virgil likes ice cream and Remus doesn’t like clothes. (warnings:  nonsexual nudity, mentions of quarantine and shitty jobs//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic dukexiety) Read on AO3

47. Peachy Fuzz - Remus really needs to get better at cards so that this doesn’t happen so often. (warnings: blood, fight, theoretical mention of murder//genre: hurt/comfort ig//pairing: romantic dukexiety) Read on AO3

48. Empty - Patton feels empty. (warnings: depression//pairing: platonic royality) Read on AO3

49. Thunder -  Dee doesn’t like thunder, and his boyfriend does, in fact, know that. (warnings: referenced sex, none included//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic anxceit) Read on AO3

50. Self Care - Roman fights crime because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, who will? All Patton’s asking is, who’s looking out for Roman? (warnings: none//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic royality) Read on AO3

51. Gift - Patton gives his boyfriends a heartfelt gift. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic lamp) Read on AO3

52. Jacket or Blanket? - JD, Virgil, and Remus go to the roof to look at stars. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: ambiguous anxceitmus) Read on AO3

53. I Love You - Logan is very much in love. Figuring out the appropriate time to say this is, somehow, the hardest part of the process. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic analogical) Read on AO3

54. Medusa - Remus really just wanted a bite to eat. He hadn't been expecting to find a living myth. (warnings: vampire, monching//pairing: pre-romantic dukeceit) Read on AO3

55. Drifter - Virgil has been on a lot of ships in his life; he’s more of a drifter than a pirate. But this one? It’s something different. (warnings: none//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

56. Electricity - Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers. (warnings: references to past issues, intrusive thoughts, Remus-normal stuff//genre: comfort//pairing: platonic intruality) Read on AO3

57.  Betrayal - Virgil’s getting revenge. His way. (warnings: fighting, betrayal, blood, stab//genre: angst//pairing: Virgil and Janus, but angry) Read on AO3

58.  Family - Janus finds out about Virgil trying to duck out. He’s less than pleased. (warnings: dark sides, aggressive love//genre: hurt/comfort ig//pairing: platonic anxceitmus) Read on AO3

59. Eventually - Roman and Logan play Mario Kart. Sometimes, Mario Kart can be the window to the soul. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: logince) Read on AO3

60.  Just Until - Virgil has not been having a good week. Patton knows a guy. (warnings: panic attack, snake mention//genre: comfort//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

[scripted-dalliances]

Faithless Fairy Tale

Title: Faithless Fairy Tale

Word Count:  5432 words

Summary: Laura and Sweeney get a happy ending. (Canon up until the last episode.)

Author’s note: I haven’t posted to tumblr in six million years and it shows by the fact that I still don’t know if I even posted this right, and if I mess up I’m sorry and just tell me. All of this is Neil’s and it’s pretty obvious I’m only playing in his sandbox. *There are a few direct lines from the book, between Laura and Shadow, freakin’ important ones I hope they one day put in the show.

Despite what one might presume given…well, his everything. Mad Sweeney does better in the company of women than he does men. Sure, he can drink and fight with the lads, take the piss and make them do the same with a dirty joke, but when it comes to the grit of his bones and silence of the night, its women that make him feel more at ease.

Its just the nature of his being really, women believe in the likes of fairies and leprechauns more easily than men. It is their kind that want something a little bit wild and uncontrollable, and free. Its really only a woman who could understand and appreciate a dual nature. Not good nor evil, not nice or mean but ever changing in opinion given the direction of the wind.

Men. Men wanted firm rules. Give and take, all the details finely written down like a bloody equation.

I pray this much, I sacrifice this much and in return by this time I shall have received my list of demands or else some other bloody God gets my belief.

Men wanted Gods of War. Gods that kept their dick hard and Gods to take away their pain.

Leprechauns were by nature then, seen more as little devils. Annoyance that were more likely to steal and trick them than to help.

So its hardly a thought given to him, that when all settles down. When the three of them fall into a routine of travel; making pit stops every five hours it seems to either piss, eat or pray, he keeps closer to the bitch dead wife rather than the Genie Rubber.

“Why are you on my side?” Laura bitches, the second he sits down. The worn red seat of the ancient Waffle house is at best, a fucking bench with a whisper of a pillow above it. His weight makes it whine and crack, like a living beast about die.

“Shut up and order. Oh, that’s right you can’t because you’re dead, so how about you shut it anyways or else you can go back to the cab and rot.” He bitches right back, only to get her tiny fist shoved into his side. Clearly she is holding back, as he does not fly across the room, but it does make him keen like a whelp and curl up to protect the rest of his insides. “Fuckin hell!”

“Tell me to shut up one more god damn time, Ginger minge and I swear I will give you a very unwanted vasectomy with a fucking fork.”

Across the table, Salim with his wide doe eyes and soft heart begs them to stop.

“Please, we are in public.” He says, like he is their mother and they are just two rowdy kids as opposed to what they really are. A 6'5 leprechaun and 5'1 dead woman about to fist fight in a Waffle House at three am.

It continues on like this, him without thought keeping to her, even when she breaks his bones and insults everything about him seven ways from Sunday. Like she’s got a stick up her pert little ass a mile long and just as wide with his fucking name on it.

He can’t say he doesn’t probably have a matching one with her name on it.

He pays no mind to it, but of course she does.

“Is it the gay thing?” She questions  apropos of nothing. They had been sitting, watching Salim pray on the side of the road from within a little coffee shop. Its shit, the coffee but they have amazing doughnuts that Sweeney eats several of.

“What is?”

“Why you never seem to want to be near Salim.”

He tilts his head toward her, “I’ve just spent three days stuck in a fucking mini piece of rolling shit with the man, with hardly a breathing inch between us. If I was any fucking closer, I’d be inside the bastard, and it’s my fucking name he’d be thanking five times a day.”

She waits a beat before answering.

“So do you want him to be? Are you jealous because of the God thing or the sex? Or is it a weird combo where you are just a repressed homophobe with God Issues?”

“…What the fuck.” He whispers in ancient tongue. “Did they pickle your fucking brain, dead wife?”

“Just an observation.”

“Oh. Is it now? JUST A FUCKING TERRIBLE ONE.” He roars, the patrons of the shop sleepily look over but ignore him after a second. He shoves a doughnut into his mouth and chews through his anger. “I ain’t jealous, Gods are fucking high horsed pricks. Fuck the lot of ‘em. And I ain’t got nothing against any bloke who can take it up the arse with a smile, not my slice of cake but you don’t live as long as I do and not get curious.”

Laura smirks, as if he has confirmed something for her. Like a child, he has the sudden need to steal it from her and horde it.

“-and before your pickled brain can get too many rotted ideas. No. Salim isn’t the ugliest bugger I’ve laid eyes on, but he isn’t making me twitch down below.”

“Gross.”

“So are you, dead wife.”

She rolls her eyes but continues. “So what is it then? You always seem to hang out with me, and we both know its not my winning personality.”

Sweeney takes a sip of the shit coffee and looks out the window to Salim. “Does it matter? Maybe I just want to keep track of you. You and my coin.”

“That’s not it. For one, we both know if I wanted to lose you I could. Two, you can’t keep track of shit, example A.” She gestures to herself, “-and its weird.”

“Is this your shit way of saying you don’t want to be friends, dead wife? And here I thought we were on our way to braiding each others hair and trading friendship bracelets.”

“Fuck off.”

“Heaven above, you have no idea how much I wish I could.” He sighs deeply, wishing he had such a choice. That she didn’t have his coin, that she didn’t look like-

But she does. She fucking does and maybe that’s the part of it. Laura Moon is the haunting mirror of Essie, the color of their hair different, and skin not as freckled but there she sits. Just as mouthy and unwilling to bend against the course of nature as ever. The only difference being that Laura did it out of pure stubborn will, where Essie had done it out of faith. Faith that had brought him with to the new world, and just looking at Laura reminded him of that fact. Made it feel like there was a hole in his chest, missing something vital.

The worst part was that, given different circumstances he wouldn’t have minded. In another reality, where she had a beating heart and no husband to chase, he would have chased that feeling. Stupid as it was, as mean as she could be. He would have tried to fix the feeling with crass words, rough sex and shades of affection. Try and figure Laura out, what she believed in and try to make her believe in him, as a lover or a man.

He thinks in a different life, he would have been happy to try.

-but they aren’t in that world. No, instead she’s dead as a fucking door nail and he’s just the unlucky tool that did it. Her piece of shit husband the reason why, even if he didn’t know it.

Instead, the hole in his chest just gets infected by guilt. With what feels like several bleeding centuries of it. From the loss of Essie, to the own sad truth of what he has become and even if she is a cunt, Laura hadn’t deserved to become a pawn in some God’s half assed plan. She wasn’t meant to die, scraped across pavement like roadkill with a man’s cock in her mouth.

“Come on, he should be done soon.” She says, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Sweeney nods, finishes his drink and follows her out. Salim is just packing away his rug and hat as they approach the cab. Laura making a beeline for the passenger seat (is if her tiny legs could somehow beat his stride if he put his mind to it.) And he once again attempts to shove his frame into the back seat. As always he fails. Curled up, with his knees bent, his boots still push against her seat.

If he was in mood. He’d kick it.

Kick it like a fussy toddler on a six hour flight.

-but decides he likes how his balls are attached to his body and keeps himself in check.

+

They lose Salim, the cab and the helpful buffer between within seconds. In hardly a days drive from that, Sweeney finds himself face first in a fucking window with an red, white and blue popsicle up is his arse like it’s fourth of the fucking July.

And his coin.

His fucking coin had, by the grace of gravity knocked right out of Laura’s corpse. His problems solved, he had it back. Not freely given per say but his once more never the less.

But then he looks down at her; once more smeared ungracefully and undignified on the road, this time dry and hollow. Her chest split open, showing him the pale white curve of bones that protects her heart and lungs. She is flayed open, and he should want nothing to do with her.

Still he does not walk away.

He roars, stomps and loses his god damn mind. All in his ancient tongue, all but lost to time, to the heavens above.

He isn’t evil. He isn’t.

(He puts it back, because there is a hole in his heart, a renewed sense of self and it’s the biggest middle finger to fucking Odin he can think of. He doesn’t want a new start, doesn’t want to be absolved of this sin and mistake, he wants Laura to have her revenge, even if it means she’ll probably wring his neck. Even if it means his own death. He’s done being a fucking coward.)

He puts the coin back into her and they continue their journey.

+

“What do you believe?”

“Everything.”

Death has done a lot of damage to Laura Moon’s insides. She feels empty, like there is a growing hole in her chest -but not physically. No, physically she can feel the cold, the dry pull of limbs as they move with every step. She can feel the odd heavy weight in her guts, of fluid never fully drained and of maggots growing. Making it feel like she has to puke or shit, but not really. She is in her body, she feels it, but it’s obvious to even her that the decay is setting in.

She thinks about Mad Sweeney and his stupid words. Yer meat will slide off your bones

She hates that his words manage to stick, place a bit of fear in her. She hates that even for a second, she believes him.

-but the truth is, she is coming apart at the seams.

Can there even be a resurrection if she’s a pile of moldy meat?

Laura watches Easter break out the big guns, watches in passive disillusionment as the woman draws life out and back into her, like breathing. Watches as she seemingly turns into a bundle of brightly colored flowers as the Earth turns hollow and dead as Laura herself; and all she can do is feel is pissed off. A Goddess of this power, who could have brought her back to life, can’t. All because she wasn’t just dead. No not just murdered.

She was a fucking sacrifice. A lamb slaughtered for an uncaring God.

So she politely clears her throat, to get their attention.

“I’d like to have a word with my husband.”

Shadow smiles up to her, like she’s a gift for all of three seconds,before his expression falls. As if remembering something.

(And it pierces her heart, like a bullet, because she isn’t stupid. It doesn’t matter what those gods of death had said. He’s not grateful for her return, he’s not able to forget or forgive her sins. He isn’t her puppy any more. Confessed by the man himself.)

Wednesday takes one glaring look at her, and then to Mad Sweeney behind her and butts in like he’s reading from a dramatic play, “Might have to take a rain check on that m'dear. As you can see, things are heating up, might not be too good for you…considering your,” He pauses, eyes going over her appearance, as if he can taste the rot on her, “-let’s say delicate condition?”

“I’m dead, not fucking pregnant you asshole.” Laura spits out.

“Laura-” Shadow attempts to call out to her; but he does it in that stupid soft voice of his, the one that she’s so familiar of. The one that is to calm her, to gently tell her to reign it in and not start a fight. He’s used it at her family’s dinners whens he got to mouthy with her mother over something stupid, and it’s the last straw. 

She will not stand by and let him protect this asshole god from her wrath.

She starts walking down the steps, hears Sweeney follow, and makes her way to the group. Intent on ripping them all a new hole, physically and mentally. First Wednesday, then Shadow and then maybe the rest of them too. Sweeney as well. Fucking everyone.

-but she gets about a foot away before Wednesday gives her a smirk.

“What is it that you really want, Laura. Your man or your life? What are you really afraid of? Death or being alone? What is it that you believe in, that makes you chase Shadow?”

“Fuck you, I want both, I love him. His love brought me back!”

The old man’s devil of a smile, grows wider and she can see his two colored eyes sparkle with amusement. He is laughing at her. It makes her want to break every bone in his body, slowly.

“Did it?” He questions, looking back at Shadow curiously, “Did you?”

Shadow, looks like he’s a deer caught in the head lights. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and Laura’s rage turns into dust. The bright light he seems to effortlessly shine with starts to dims. Flickers like a candle in the wind and all she wants to do now is cup her hands around it, protect it.

Please. Please don’t go out.

“I…I gave her the coin, but I didn’t-” He admits slowly, confesses each word with a stutter before it all comes out. “I didn’t know it would bring you back Laura.”

The light goes out.

He gave her a gift he didn’t mean to give, it’s not his love that keeps her on this plane of existence, it’s a fucking mistake. She’s been following him blindly, just like Salim and his Jinn, just like him and his Gods but here she is. Before him, and the truth is a little less like heaven and more like the hell she probably deserves.

She doesn’t really know what to do with that.

“He killed me Shadow,” She spills the secret with a lot less gravity than she thought it deserved, but now she’s not even sure he’d care. “He might have ordered Ginger minge over there to do it, but it’s him that wanted me out of the way. It’s him that sent you to prison. That ruined my perfect plan. He is the reason our lives went to shit.”

Shadow glares -there’s just enough righteous fury in his eyes to make the light flicker back on, but then Wednesday is once again talking and swaying the breeze.

“Am I?” He questions, and Laura goes to kick him.

“Shut the fuck up, with your stupid questions. Yes, yes you are!”

-he moves out the line of her kick too fast for her to track.

“Ah. So. It was me then who planted that dangerous plan to rob your place of work?” No. That was Laura. Fed up and bored with her life once more. “It was me, that asked you to get Shadow involved?” No. That was Laura again. “It was me, that after a year and a month…a baker’s dozen of months, that caused you to start fucking Robbie? That pushed you to bend over and suck his dick?”

Her own words, phases and classless tone comes back to haunt her. She doubts that Shadow told the bastard any of this, and knows that it’s just him. As a God, reading her sins like they are printed on her face. The truth of her actions, that still would have damned her even if she was still alive. That was all Laura, screwing herself over.

“Tell me. What would have happened if you had lived that night. If you hadn’t of died.” He opens his arms, looking to the crowd now as if they have the answer. Everyone is silent, old gods and new, even Shadow. Laura feels suddenly, like she’s on the chopping block. Like she’s once again, sitting before the God of Death, and being told to weigh her heart against a pure white feather.

She already knows the answer.

“Tell me Laura Moon -Laura McCabe. Who used to try and suffocate herself in a hot tub with bug spray when no one was looking, when her husband didn’t make her feel any more -what was your life going to be?”

It’s in that moment, that Laura realizes she’s too dead to cry. There’s nothing to give, even though there’s a growing crack in her being. Wednesday’s rips her apart, with his accurate accusations. Spilling not her blood, but her secrets. The one she never thought she’d ever have to share.

“Oi, you fucker!” A voice finally rings out, Sweeney’s roar. He dares to venture into the fray. Pointing a finger at the Norse God, “You are on trial here, not her. Whatever her life might have been, good or fucking terrible, that was her right. It was her fucking life to live! You bastards,” He glares out to all them watching and sneers, “Old Gods. New Gods. Fuck the lot of you. Same pricks, different fucking names that’s all. All greedy, all selfish. When was the last time any of you did anything fucking productive? You scramble and you fight, and you demand worship, like any of you deserve it. Well, surprise. You fucking don’t. None of ya, and all this is,” He waves his arms out, striding forward to Wednesday to spit directly into his face, “All this bloody is, is a war to find out whose the bigger cunt to a bunch of dumb mortal motherfuckers who don’t fucking need you.”

Sweeney laughs, “They never have, and that’s why they forget. That’s why, you can suck the life out of his whole damned planet-” He points to Easter, with a grin , “Like a toothless whore, and it won’t matter. They’ll just assume it’s nature. It’s the planet dying. They’ll fuck off to space before building you an alter, love. And maybe they’ll have their gadgets and their little stories on the box, but once again they’ll be focused on survival. Those things will be pushed into dark little boxes of the old times, won’t they?”

“He’s…got a point.” Techno Boy Wonder says in reply, he isn’t exactly eager for this war. He just wants his kicks, his slice of pie and then honestly, to fuck off and mind his own business again. “Why are we fighting them. Like really. If it doesn’t matter if they win or lose, then what does it matter if we fight? This is twenty-first century. No one is going to start plucking out eyeballs for the old geezer unless they’re already crazy.”

Media is slower to reply, but even she softly admits, “And then they’re nothing but mad men. Delusional. Cults do have a nasty habit of burning out before too long…”

-and just like that. The tides and winds are changing.

“There won’t be a war.” Media decides. Grabbing her hat off the ground. “Too much trouble. This was…impressive.” She says to Easter, “but he’s right. Without our meddling, they’ll figure it out. Call it something else. Cover it up and forget it.”

-and just like that, Media and Technology Boy leave.

Easter too, sullenly walks back into her home. Her earlier joy fading with every step.

It’s not a fitting end, but it’s an end never the less.

+

There’s a fight of course, a violent one, but it’s just between Mad Sweeney and Odin. Laura breaks it up by slicing Odin’s head off with his own blade. Just as he was about to snap Sweeney’s head off.

It’s not really important, because honestly, Laura doesn’t want it to be.

He’s better left forgotten.

+

“You didn’t mean to bring me back.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to see me.”

“It wasn’t that,” Shadow hesitated, “No. I didn’t want to see you. It hurt too much. At first I just thought…I don’t know what I thought, but looking at you, it hurts.”

Laura bows her head, it’s not surprising. This talk with Shadow. It’s simple and blunt, like a hammer doing it’s job, and nailing in her coffin once more. It’s time to bury what is between them, because it’s pretty clear even if she wasn’t dead, their marriage was.

“I want to bring you back. I don’t want you dead.” He tells her, but it’s not with passion as so much guilt. He wants to right a wrong, not get her back. Not fix things because he wants to be with her.

She is, of course hurt by this fact. Splinted between knowing she’s lost such a good man because of her own stupid fault and the growing sense of fuck it, you never really wanted him, did you? You were bored with him before you died, before he went to prison. You were just holding on to something you didn’t deserve, a Goddess with a single mindless devotee.

“I love you,” She said, dispassionately. “I know you loved me. You spoiled me, gave me everything…and it would have been enough. Should have been.” Admitting it is easier in death, because what does she have to fear? Wednesday was wrong. She doesn’t fear the nothing that comes after death, and even when she was with Shadow she was alone. Laura doesn’t fear anything, just as she doesn’t believe in anything. All she wants is something in her life that doesn’t make her feel like she’s dead. She wants to feel her blood pumping inside her veins, not just because her heart is pushing it but because something is causing it to. “I wasn’t unhappy with you Shadow, I was unhappy with life, and I suppose in a way I guess that does include you even if I never thought of it like that. It’s only in death that I can admit that to you without holding back. And that’s the truth of it. I was always holding back.”

“You could have shared. I would have-”

“You would have told me you loved me. You would have told me it’s okay. Maybe taken the step to get me to a doctor, who would have medicated me to hell and then I would still be this. Dead on the inside.” She points out, “I’m not a nice person with a lot of issues. I’m broken, Shadow and that’s just who I am and you’ve always been too good of a man to say so. That’s why I think…I think I followed you, I believed in you. Or rather I wanted to. I mean, I don’t believe in any Gods or that shit…but I knew you were a good man, and you could do something. Anything to fix me.”

“…You still don’t believe? After everything you’ve seen today?” Shadow asks her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the kitchen counter. Easter had all but disappeared into her rooms. Leaving the trio to themselves. Sweeney was recovering in the living room while they had gone off to talk.

Laura shrugged, indifferent. “Nah. I mean. Ginger Minge out there said it didn’t he? Doesn’t matter what they are or aren’t, they’re still pricks. And anyone can be a prick, so it stands to reason anyone can be a God. Seems kinda like that’s a shit existence any how.”

Shadow cracks, smiling just a bit. “I suppose it does…but what about you? You’re still dead, Odin might have been the only one to bring you back…”

“Actually, I’ve got a theory about that.”

+

“Let’s make a deal.”

Sweeney attempts to open his eyes, but really his face is bruised and swollen he only manages to see out of one. And all he gets for his trouble is the smug mug of the bitch dead wife. He frowns.

“Fuck off.”

“I mean it. Let’s make a deal, Lepercunt.”

“I also mean it. Fuck off.”

She pinches the skin between his wrist and his hands, causing him to scream so loud the house windows rattle.

Laura smiles. The bitch.

+

It goes like this.

“I’ll believe in you if you believe in me.”

“That’s not how it fucking works, dead wife.”

“Oh yeah?” She questions, standing before him. Despite being half his fucking height, she manages to make him feel nervous. “How does it work, because I’m going out on a limb in saying that you’ve got no fucking clue. Hell, I’ll gamble and say, none of you dickwads do.”

Maybe. But he doesn’t tell her that. Just glowers and mutters under his breath in another language how he can’t believe his fucking luck. Lack of luck.

“You told me you were a king once. Don’t you want to be one again?”

Sweeney stays silent, giving her any words is like selling his soul. Maybe he owes it to her, but fuck her, he’s not giving it without a bit of a fight.

“All you need is someone to believe. Really believe, and maybe a new story right? A reinvention. A rebirth.”

He catches on, what she is selling ain’t new, but fuck him…it sounds good.

“A resurrection.” He adds.

+

There is a new story.

One of a man, of a bird, of a saint and a trickster. Who came to America on broken wings and lost his crown, his coin and belief. (Oh yeah, Americans love a good immigrant story, of someone who lost everything and got it all back, Laura laughs.)

A hundred years, give or take, he spends wandering like a curse. Each road familiar, each day a repeat of the last. He makes deals with the devils, with the angels and even the ghosts but none of them change anything for him. All his pain, all his luck good or bad, doesn’t matter. It’s fleeting and he starts looking for an end.

He finds the end in a girl.

He murders her, leaves her dead on the side of the road because a mean ugly God told him to. Told him this was an important piece to bury, to shove out of the way for the grand end the once king was looking for.

-but the dead girl, she doesn’t stay where he puts her. She leaves the comfort of her grave, she tracks the sun and the moon until she finds him and once she finds him, she puts her hands around his throat and demands life.

The man who was once a bird, whispers to her he has none to give. None to share. All he has is the name of the God who wanted her dead. The girl takes it, though no heart in her beats or blood in her veins and she has nothing but luck of the damned on her side; she finds that God.

Hidden behind the shadows of the moon and sun, he stands and judges her.

In any other story, she and the trickster would be punished. She would have been struck down for her disobedience. For thinking she could get her way, just because. The trickster would have been killed, just like he wanted.

In any other story, neither of them are heroes and therefore their story ends with death as punishment. The bitter lesson of what happens to the boys and girls who don’t follow the rules.

-but that isn’t this story.

In this story, the girl doesn’t have a drop of fear in her and so she spits in that God’s eye. She blinds him, steals his blade and cuts him right out of the sky. The girl, who is just a girl and nothing more, kills a God.

She sheds her death, her mortality and becomes a God Slayer; something feared by those who rightfully should, and unknown by those who don’t.

It’s in her new embrace, that she brings the faithless man’s story to an end.

Because now he believes.

So she gifts him with a new crown, one of bronze and steel. She gives him wings not of a bird, but of hope of a new world. She takes his heart as payment, but fills it with something stronger than just faith.

She fills it with love.

+

“That’s a bit sappy.” Laura muses. Bright and warm, more so even before all this. Next to her, Sweeney fiddles with some precious trinket -that he promptly shatters between two fingers. He is still getting used to having his strength back.

The God of Death, Anubis as she now knows looks up from his brother’s book. Where their new story is written. Ink fresh to the point it’s still semi-wet.

“Gods and mortals alike, like a good love story.” Is all the man says. He is not pleased per say by the events. He still feels like he’s been cheated, after all. Laura McCabe should have died and vanished into the nothing of the world. It had been his job, and for whatever reasons, that had not come to pass. Not by his own lack of powers, but because the budding of hers.

She’s not a God. She is not holy or known enough to garner attention of mortals…

but she is something new.

Free of the restrictions dealt by most, she is a story now. Told between Gods like a promise. She can not be killed, she can not be reasoned with or bribed. She is an end and a beginning and there is something simple and absolutely terrifying about that truth.

All she needs is Mad Sweeney; not because of love, but because of everything else. He is now the start of her story as much as he is the end. He makes her, unmakes her and cycles between the two. He is her murderer as much as he is her savior. Without him, there is no life, no death and no story.

Doesn’t mean she’s nice to him, though. Why would she?

“Come on, Fire Crotch. I want Burger King.”

“They have shit fries, Wife.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Laura waves him off. A gold band around her finger catches the light. It’s a matching one to his own. A melted down version of the coin, split between them. Forged into rings by some God too afraid to tell them no, and given back to the other in a ceremony of marriage. Not a pledge or a vow to some other God, but to each other.

Laura puts her sunglasses on, and slides her arm between his. She’s strong enough to still throw him across the room, but now he’s strong enough to take it. She likes that. Seems fair.

“Come on, husband, let’s get the fuck out of here before I get bored.”

He laughs, “I can always throw you into the fucking river, wife. Try and drown ‘ya like old times. Would that amuse you? A little of tickle of death?”

“Little tickle of death? Sounds like a good name for your dick.”

His laughter turns into a bark, “We both know what I pack ain’t little, wife.”

They leave the funeral home, bantering like this all the way until Anubis can’t hear them any more. After which he sighs deeply in gratitude.

They exhaust even death.

[fineillsignup]

LOVE STINKS (KakaSaku, rated T)

For @natanije​ and KakaSaku Month prompt “Healing”

LOVE STINKS (on AO3)

Sakura stabbed at the crumbled daisy petal with a chakra scalpel in utter frustration. It was counterproductive, she knew that, since the diminishing supply of months-old flower petals was now all she could have for the indefinite future, but it was just so aggravating. An absolutely textbook case of the rare Hanahaki Disease just had to develop while she was out of the village on a mission. Not that anyone should have been surprised that the newly twenty-year-old Hinata developed a terrible case of flowers in her lungs on the very day of her Coming of Age Ceremony. Even Sakura had thought it would probably happen, but she’d thought it would keep until she got back from the emergency mission.

Instead, that stupid mutt Kiba just had to confess to Hinata that he was in love with his teammate, and then Naruto had awkwardly admitted that he and Gaara were currently dating (“although I’m really flattered Hinata -ttebayo!”), and by the time Sakura made it back to the village, Hinata’s lungs were botany-free, although the sweet girl had been kind and forward-thinking enough to collect all the coughed-out detritus for Sakura to examine.

It’s not that Sakura really wanted Hinata to be literally dying of her unrequited feelings, but understanding the mysterious Hanahaki Disease had been a goal of hers since she first read about the disease at age fourteen. She knew, without doubt, that if Sasuke-kun didn’t return her love by the time she was twenty, she would certainly develop the disease, leaving the morbid choice: die of her feelings, choked poetically to death on Sasuke-kun’s favourite flower; or choose to have the infection scraped out, a treatment which, the literature somberly warned, left the patient unable to love at all?

The idea of being found dead of love, surrounded in a sea of bloody petals—doubtless something very elegant like peony or fire lily… at fourteen, it had seemed like a glamourous fate. By twenty, however, quite a lot had happened. Sasuke had come back, fought with them, knocked out a goddess with them, then knocked Sakura out, lost to Naruto, and left again after a rather unsatisfactory poke to her broad forehead. In the four years since then, they had seen each other only briefly.

Sakura and Hinata had turned twenty the same year, and Sakura hadn’t thought Hinata’s possible infection would be a problem, because Sakura would surely also develop the disease, solve it with her medical genius, and return in plenty of time to cure Hinata as well.

But her Coming of Age Ceremony came and went without even a tickle in her throat.

How could she cure Hanahaki Disease without a patient to study?

She pulled off her lab coat in a huff and stormed over to T&I to drag Ino out for tea and dango.

“Am I a terrible woman?” she demanded as the waitress went away with their orders.

“Yes, that’s why we’re friends,” Ino replied, her bang swaying as she tilted her head.

“Be serious, Pig!”

“Well, I’m more serious than not,” Ino said, frowning. “You’re a goddamn force of nature, Forehead. You can level a battlefield, scoop up the wretched pieces left behind and put them back together more often than not. That’s terrible. And awesome. You’re the kunoichi I strive to be better than.”

“I mean about Sasuke-kun… if after all this time, I’ve given up on him… doesn’t that make me terrible? You know… fickle, and so on?”

“Is this about you not getting Hanahaki?”

“Yeah.”

Ino drummed her fingers on her arm. “Look. I wanted Sasuke-kun back then too, and I’m not coughing up camellias or whatever.”

“But you’re dating Kankurou.”

“Yeah, exactly. I moved on. Does that make me terrible? I used to want Sasuke, now I’m with Kankurou. Naruto used to want you, he’s happy now with Gaara. Maybe you should cut out Shikamaru and make a play for Temari, come to think of it.”

Sakura giggled. “You’ll sabotage your own teammate?”

“Sure, make his lazy ass work for it,” Ino winked. “Hey. I know that wanting Sasuke-kun was, like, a huge part of your identity for a while, but maybe there’s a reason why Hanahaki Disease only strikes starting after the Coming of Age Ceremony. You have to be an adult for feelings to be that serious. That’s why we don’t let twelve year olds vote or drink or get married.”

“We did let them go to war though.”

“Well, the minimum age for genin is sixteen now,” Ino said. “Maybe you should ask Kakashi-sama to raise it to twenty?”

Sakura hums. “Maybe I should bring it up to him. It’s not a bad point. I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t either,” Ino said. “Weird. Usually he’s in the flower shop at the very least weekly.”

Sakura scowled. “It had better not be that there’s a new issue of the Icha Icha fanzine again. I’ll definitely go and sort him out!”

———

Getting a meeting with the leader of the most powerful hidden village was very difficult. Even the daimyo had to wait nowadays.

Sakura was not the daimyo, and she waited for no one.

Genma and Raidou didn’t even bother to try to stop her as she thrust open the Hokage office door. “Kaka—whoa!”

The room absolutely reeked. There must have been some kind of odour-blocking seal to keep the stench from drifting into the corridor. And the odor was unmistakably emanating from the Hokage… or rather, the back of him, hunched over a basin and apparently puking into it.

“Kaka-sensei!” Sakura stifled her disgust with medical efficiency, hurriedly sealing her olfactory senses as she rushed over to give aid. “What’s happening? Why didn’t you summon help? Are you sick? Were you attacked? Were you poisoned?”

He weakly made a gesture for writing with a brush as she reached to chakra scan his system. She ignored him, biting her lip as she examined first his stomach and then—

“Your lungs!” she gasped. “This is an emergency! Kakashi-sensei, you have Hanahaki Disease and it’s really advanced!” Using her precise chakra control, she internally sliced the blockages into tiny pieces, enabling him to actually productively clear his lungs. Soon the basin was full of little pieces of spongy red-orange petal.

Although he was now breathing noticeably easier, she got him a scroll and brush anyway, since his throat was no doubt sore from the effort of getting rid of the flower. As she did so, she laughingly said, “You know, sensei, whoever you’re in love with has good taste. That looks a lot like a rafflesia, which is my favourite flower. They’re just… so weird and...”

Kakashi just looked at her with his sad, droopy eyes, sunken with exhaustion. Immediately, Sakura felt a horrible stab of guilt. How could she laugh when Kakashi was dying ?

“I’m sorry!” she said, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Don’t worry, sensei! I know I can cure you—”

She stopped because he was writing savagely onto the scroll.

I don’t want to lose the ability to love. I’ve lost so much—not that.

“No, of course not!” She bit her lip. “I mean… I really want to try to figure out a third way other than loss of ability to love and death . Are you sure you can’t be loved by this person in return?”

Kakashi shook his head miserably.

“Have you confessed?”

Kakashi looked away.

“Oh, come on now. You’re Hatake Kakashi, the hero, the Sixth Hokage? And you’re so in love that you’ve got physical proof of it! Who wouldn’t fall for that?”

He didn’t react for a moment, then he wrote on the scroll again.

Many people. What if it were you, for instance?

Sakura laughed. “Well, it’s not like you could possibly love me like that.”

Again, he looked away. The bottom dropped out of Sakura’s stomach and her heart leapt up into her throat. The last time she saw him was just before she left on her mission. It couldn’t be…

“Kakashi…?” she said, actually dropping the honourifics for the first time. He still didn’t look at her. “May I… examine your throat?”

He looked up slowly and peeled down his mask. It was the first time she’d ever seen his full face, yet she couldn’t take her eyes away from his sad, droopy eyes.

And the love in them.

A thousand memories flashed through her mind. She had never before consciously considered him in such a way, but now that she was, it seemed ludicrous that she had never realized it before. He was selfless, funny, loyal, willing to change himself, diligent… and, as she actually let herself take in his whole face, hot as fuck.

Could she… actually like Kakashi back?

Well… she was certainly willing to try.

“My treatment plan,” she said, in her best doctor voice, “is three kisses by mouth, as needed. And weekly dates—with no skipping out on your part of the bill. I’m not saying the man has to pay for me, but sticking me with the tab is just a little unromantic.”

The sad droopy eyes widened.

“Shall I start the first part of the treatment now?”

His adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded.

Sakura leaned forward and pressed a cute peck to his lips. “One—” Another cute peck. “Two—”

He suddenly grabbed her and laid a passionate kiss to her mouth, running his hands through her cherry-blossom locks fervently.

When they finally broke apart, he cleared his throat, thumped his chest a little, and said, with a hint of smugness, “Three.”

an example of the stinky flower that Sakura likes in this story

[cosmosogler]

hey guys. i had bad dreams and a lot of trouble sleeping!!! i woke up a bunch of times and every time i was tangled up in my pjs. my pants had somehow become backwards at the waist.

when i did get up i reached up to stretch and my shoulders, like, clicked back into place with an audible snap. i can’t tell if that hurts or not.

i was a little slow to get moving. while i was checking facebook this morning snoopy pooped next to my desk. i was pretty annoyed about that, especially since this was right after i’d fawned over her for a while. i’d only stopped because she got up to get water and i thought she was done being petted.

i showered and spent a long time in there just thinking. i don’t know what i was thinking about. i guess i was thinking about thinking in the shower. either way, it was a while.

then i made a quiche i’d bought yesterday. i think it may have made me sick. the cashier at the grocery store hadn’t put it in my freezer bag... along with the eggs. something in there doesn’t smell quite right but i haven’t found it yet. no, it’s not the eggs.

i was doing something but i don’t remember what it was!!! at 10:40 ish, or 11, somewhere in between there, i started packing for school. i decided i should probably dole out my trail mix rations finally since i’ve had the jar sitting in my pantry for 6 weeks. i love trail mix. not sure why i never took the time to separate it into servings. i even just enjoyed the process of measuring out 1/2 cups and putting them in bags to put in my lunch box over the next two weeks.

i biked over to campus but i was very leisurely about it. just didn’t have the drive to pedal as fast as i could i guess. good thing the physics building is downhill. i don’t quite have the stamina to stand on the pedals but i am trying to practice a little bit. getting pretty good at sharper turns at least, and i can hold my arm out to signal for a whole second now instead of just kinda... waving it and grabbing the handlebar again real fast.

and no part of me has gotten snagged in the pedals or chain in a week so that’s good!!!

once i got to my office i had a little trouble getting started with my work. i think it took 40-45 minutes... i again do not remember what i was doing other than browsing the internet. fatigued.

i did work for an hour before i stopped for lunch. i finished studying my class notes and adjusting a few things to account for understanding the material a little better. i wish i’d been more careful about transcribing what the professor had written previously... i left a few frustrated notes about how i couldn’t hear what he said, or his handwriting was too bad to make out, or how he’d written half an equation on the board and not ever finished it. but a few things i could have made better note of- like the slant of the tensor indices. i didn’t realize that was important until much later.

i do ask him to clarify sometimes, if i can’t read whether a word says “sine” or “mmnmnn”. and his Vs look like Ns. that REALLY trips me up because we use both of those a lot.

but i can’t ask every time.

i talked to suzanne about having all the grad students upload their class notes into an online database so we’d all have all the information we’d collectively written down. she said that’s actually a great idea and we have a scanner in the department for people who write in real old fashioned notebooks (like me). 

might run it by luis and taylor later... one of them could probably help me set up some kind of dropbox or google doc collection.

my lunch was pretty great. i had a sandwich and a banana and had a terrible stomachache but felt a little more settled after the banana. i had to try real hard not to puke though for like an hour.

after that i finished my classical assignment due tomorrow. it took about an hour too. and another 40-ish minutes sprinkled through the rest of the day making small corrections as i discovered why i shouldn’t include a factor of 2 here and there.

suzanne watched me try to explain one of the problems to harrison and corrected me a few times when i got confused by terms i’d heard her use when she explained it to me. it got me flustered at the time because harrison looked like i was making it worse but at the same time i’m glad i had to articulate what exactly the problem was asking for and get my course adjusted right away as soon as i made a mistake.

still not quite sure what “geometric analysis” means, especially in comparison to, i think it was, “numerical analysis.” both of those involve popping variables into equations and making substitutions and getting an answer. 

at about 2:30 i walked over to the union with suzanne and jennica in the rain. i was half under suzanne’s umbrella so when we got inside half of me was immediately cold and soggy. one sleeve of my shirt was just soaked but the rest was lightly sprinkled or just dry.

i’m wearing one of my favorite shirts today. it’s soft and gray and loose and it says in big white letters “DON’T BOTHER ME     I’M BUSY” and there’s minions posing. 

not sure what the minions are doing there but their frozen screams of karate rage match my mood at all times so i will allow it.

i’ve had this shirt for years. i wear it like literally every laundry cycle.

anyway i sat with my two classmates and talked about sand while they ate wendy’s. i don’t quite remember what started the tangent, but it involved me telling a joke about body surfing with my brother and getting slapped around by the waves and dragged along the beach haha.

when we walked back it wasn’t really raining any more. i originally didn’t mind the rain until it got ice cold over the span of three seconds. but anyway i got right back to it!!! i think. i mostly ate trail mix for a little bit and goofed off with harrison and talked about the classical homework. suzanne wants to work on the last two quantum problems tomorrow so i let that assignment be for now.

i compiled all the questions we’ve been assigned in classical so far and their solutions. i printed out just the questions from the first assignment to take home with me. i meant to work on it tonight but i ran out of time. that took forever though. i joked about it to harrison. i said “it’s so great to be working on a project that is not really doing actual practice problems.” 

he said “yeah, i love dicking around instead of working.”

i said “that’s what it’s all about!”

i was kinda bummed that doing the homework took so long... and none of us had ANY energy at all. luis didn’t even come in. taylor came in in the mid-afternoon but then didn’t actually sit and do any work. rebika left before that. jennica was... riding up and down the hallway in an office chair flopping her arms around like a terrifying crab woman. 

we’re tired.

eventually i was getting ready to leave when jennica wanted to talk about pirates for like 15 minutes. we ended up on pseudo-politics. not actually talking about any issues in particular, but rather how we approach them. i started getting pretty dark thoughts so i hopped on my bike and went home. 

i mean, they weren’t any darker than the joke i’d made earlier. 

taylor had said something. harrison replied, “who are you, my mother? if all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?”

i laughed and said “absolutely. of course, the joke is that i would have done it without all my friends. jumped off the bridge, i mean.”

we talked about how high the bridge was, and if it was over water or not. there were a couple “it doesn’t matter how high it was as long as you believe in yourself” comments because taylor was involved with the conversation.

anyway i offered to make muffins later in the week and then i went home at 6:30-ish. at 7:00 i started making TEMPEH TACOS!!!!

they were so good. oh man. i only exploded one thing too. i actually ate the entire meal even though it was way too much. i cleaned up the dishes bloated and happy and everything smelled like limes. because i’d put like a quarter cup of lime juice in with with the crumbled tempeh. which was only a big enough serving for one person.

i bummed around on the internet for a while after that, and then at about 9:30 i got back to work for a little bit. i made a complete rubric for the labs i gotta grade, so hopefully now it will be faster and more cut and dry. at about 10:10 i started writing here.

looking at my to-do list... i didn’t get as much done as i would have liked. things always seem to take twice as long as i plan for, even when i feel like i’m allocating a generous time slot to relatively minor things. like giving myself a full hour to finish half a classical problem that specifically asks for no (dynamical) equations. all i had to do was draw a triangle and do some trigonometry with suzanne.

being a master avoider has some downsides. like even when i want to focus on a project my brain is sneaky about avoiding it. which is why i spent 80 minutes putting together an easy reference for doing the practice problems instead of actually doing practice problems.

at least i recognized all the questions and had a vague idea of how i would go about solving them. i’m really, really hoping it doesn’t take twelve hours to do one old assignment like it did the first time around.

looks like grading will have to slide this week. i can do it for a little while every day but there’s no way i can get it all done on monday and get enough sleep to do my best on the exam on tuesday night.

i don’t WANT to screw around all the time. but it seems like that’s what keeps happening.

and no matter how much work i get done i should always have gotten MORE done.

something good about me today was MY AMAZING, FANTASTIC COOKING PROJECT. IT WAS SO GOOD YOU GUYS. IT WAS SO GOOD!!! it’s not quite what i remember making back at home a few months ago, but it was great in its own way and i think making the tacos either way will do it for me! maybe a little less lime juice next time. maybe that’s what was overpowering the earthy nuttiness of the tempeh. i even sauteed the onions for a little bit to take the edge off and that helped a lot toward making the crumbled tempeh taste more complete and less like a collection of onions and chili powder and limes. 

oh! and i came up with a great way to avoid the Onion Tears. i put my fan next to my cutting board and had it blow the fumes out the window while i chopped. snoopy sat on the ottoman and watched me.

i think cooking a nice, for real meal for myself every now and then does a lot toward lifting my mood. i wish i had time to do it more often. even just putting my freezer stuff in the oven instead of the microwave can do a lot for the texture even though it takes four times as long.

i’m not sure how i got so good at this. maybe part of it is that my own food just tastes better because i know how much work i put into it. *i* went out and bought the stuff. *i* chopped up all the onions and the tempeh and boiled it. *i* set aside the serving i wasn’t using for leftovers later. *i* spent 35 minutes putting everything together. part of the flavor is just feeling good about making this thing for yourself.

but even the stuff i’d make at home mom seemed to like at least. 

part of it might be that i know what a lot of things taste like and how much god dang chili powder i love to have on everything. and it’s kind of easy to judge from the smell how much, comparatively, of that thing i should put into my pan. i have a decent sense of smell. raised by dogs and all that.

and half the fun is realizing you don’t have something and improvising with what you do have. and seeing what happens when you do that. 

and dumping piles and piles of chipotle rub you stole from your mom’s pampered chef set on everything.

by “stole” i mean she said “you can have this one and i’ll order a new one. and then another new one for myself.”

i wish i had more cooking vocabulary. i don’t have anyone to talk to about it and i don’t really know... what kinds of words to use when i do talk about it? like until a few hours ago i wasn’t really sure what the difference between “saute” and “fry” was. still not quite sure why “broil” is different from “bake.” 

kind of feels like when i was at home and i didn’t have anyone to talk to about physics for eight months. and kind of feels like when i like a tv show and don’t have anyone to talk to about it for years. you get out of practice.

anyway it’s 11:15 and i’d like to be in bed real soon so i can start getting up early like a normal person again. if i get up at 8 the sun’s been up too long already and i’ve woken up like five times because it comes right through the window directly into my eyeballs.