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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

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Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #sorry for the wait it's homecoming week and i'm a yearbook adviser lolololol

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backtothestart02 · 4 years

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A Pair of Lips I Can Kiss - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: I know...I know...another new fic. And a multi-chap at that. But writer’s block is slowly killing me, so whatever I’m inspired for I’m pretty much writing at this point. Hopefully it won’t last. Enjoy this chap!

...

Synopsis: 2x13 - Canon Divergent - Barry’s trip to Earth 2 goes somewhat differently after Iris surprises him the night before he leaves.

...

Chapter 1 -

At the West house that evening, Iris sat in silence after dinner as she listened to Barry talk. She wasn’t smiling and neither was her dad. It wasn’t a topic either of them would’ve ever thought would pass Barry’s lips, and it was making Iris more nervous and depressed by the second. She couldn’t speak for her dad, but she was pretty sure he would make his feelings known eventually.

Why did Barry need to go to Earth 2? She thought. What could he do there that he couldn’t also accomplish here?

“Did you tell Henry?” Joe asked.

An excellent point.

Barry shared a meaningful look with Iris. She made no point of hiding exactly how she felt regarding the trip. He quickly looked away.

“No,” he admitted. “If he knew, he would just try to talk me out of it, and…he probably would, so.”

Well, if Henry can, maybe so can I, Iris thought.

“Dad.” She turned to Joe. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Yeah,” he said, probably as eager as she was to take the reins on this one. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

Barry, however, hardly waited until Joe had left the room before cutting off the beginning of Iris’ interrogation.

“Look, Iris, I know that this is…” he trailed off. “Nuts is the only word I can think of right now.”

She nodded, barely suppressing rolling her eyes.

“But it’s not like I’ve never done anything dangerous before.”

She mulled over her own thoughts and tried to take a breather.

“Look, I get why you are doing this,” she said. “Innocent people are in danger. That’s always been the direction that you’ve run in, even…even when you ran a little bit slower.”

That brought a soft laugh from him and a gentle smile from her. It didn’t last.

“I just…I want to make sure that you’re not doing this because you think you don’t have anything left here anymore.”

That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was all she was willing to reveal at this particular moment.

His face shifted in realization.

“This isn’t about Patty.”

She gave him a look.

“It’s not.”

She didn’t believe him.

“I mean, yeah, of course, I miss her. A lot. But…I know what I have here. I love my life. I love my job, being the Flash.”

A soft laugh fell out of her this time, her eyes twinkling up at him and that gorgeous, cocky grin of his. Did he notice how much she loved it?

“I love you and Joe.”

She nodded, only slightly put off that he’d put her and her dad in the same sentence when she wanted it to be just her. Was that selfish? Why would she want that? Of course she wanted him to love her dad too.

She just wanted to be loved…differently.

“I’m not trying to escape, I promise.”

Smiling now from the reassurance in that confident Flash voice of his, she decided that maybe her worries had been for nothing.

“Go win, Barry, and then come home.”

“Alright.”

But just in case her worries were justified, even in the slightest way, and wanting to make sure he really would want to come home to her – to everything he’d just said – she decided to take the plunge. She’d been in denial for months and she knew it. Patty may not have died, but Iris was starting to feel as if Barry’s nostalgia for her was similar to how she felt about Eddie now. Missing him but no longer overwhelmed by grief and despair and guilt.

And wanting…well, what was right in front of her and had been for almost her entire life.

She stood up and rounded the table until she was standing right beside Barry still sitting in his seat. She didn’t know what could possibly be going through his head. Maybe that she’d come to hug him? Or to tell her dad that he could re-enter their eating space? But he certainly didn’t expect her to – after sharing a brief smile with him – lean down, hold his chin between two of her fingers and plant a kiss on his lips.

But that was exactly what she did.

It was soft and warm, more than a peck but nothing passionate. She was still testing the waters after all, seeing if he still felt the same.

When she pulled back and released her grip on him, she found him staring at her in shock. He didn’t say anything, and she worried that her assumptions about his feelings for her having not changed despite being with Patty for a few months were completely off. Still, she didn’t regret it. It was one kiss. It wouldn’t ruin their entire friendship.

“Something for you to think about when you’re on Earth 2,” she said, then straightened and turned around, heading – probably – to the kitchen to get her dad.

Barry shook his head.

“Uh-uh.”

Incredulous, he practically jumped to his feet, then grabbed her hand, spinning her around until she was flush up against him. One hand on her waist, the other cupping her cheek, he met her eyes for the briefest of seconds before lowering his lips to hers for another kiss. This one was passionate.

“Bar-Barry,” she sputtered, pulling back before he stole all her breath.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“Now,” he said, not bothering to apologize for taking her off guard. He could get used to her being breathless beneath him. She had, after all, reciprocated his kiss, just as he had hers. “Why did you kiss me?”

Iris was finding it hard to think now.

“Is it safe to come out?” Joe called from the kitchen.

Iris panicked, her eyes flashing open. She met Barry’s the second his hand covered her lips.

“Don’t you dare answer him before you answer me,” he whispered.

“I…”

“Iris?” Joe called.

“Just another minute, Joe,” Barry calmly called out, and Joe nodded inside the kitchen.

“Okay, no worries. I’ll just be in here drinking the whole pot of coffee.”

Barry and Iris quietly laughed at his antics. Iris relaxed in his arms until his fingers grazed her neck and a delicious chill sent a shiver running up and down her back.

“I’ve bought you 60 seconds, Iris,” Barry said quietly. “Less than, now.”

“I…I don’t…I mean…” She licked her lips. “I don’t know exactly. It’s just how I feel when I’m around you, and what I want, and I wanted you to know that before you maybe run into my doppelgänger over there and find her less complicated than I am.”

Barry’s eyes went wide.

“I’m coming out,” Joe announced.

Barry was too frozen in shock to say anything to the contrary, and Iris was embarrassed. She slipped out of his embrace and went back to sit down.

“Bring that coffee with you, Dad. I think I’d like a cup, if you haven’t finished it all already.”

Reluctantly, Barry returned to his seat.

“Now what kind of man do you think I am, Iris?”

She gave a pointed look to the half-gone pot of coffee he brought to the table.

“You’re going to be awake tonight.”

Barry chuckled, despite himself, and Iris shared a quick smiling glance with him before focusing entirely back on her father and the three of them for the rest of the evening. Not so much as acknowledging the kiss or the sort-of confession that had come after it before leaving to go home.

“Iris kissed me,” Barry said later that evening.

“What?” Joe burst.

Barry turned around when he realized he was not alone.

“Oh. You heard that.”

“Yeah, I heard it.” Joe sighed before sitting down on the sofa next to him. “I suppose I can’t stop you two. Assuming you kissed her back, of course.”

Barry’s eyes were wide as he nodded.

“Obviously. Of course.”

“Well, did she say anything afterwards? Or before? Is this why- oh, God. Is this why I was stuck in the kitchen for longer than necessary?”

Barry didn’t respond.

“Barry.”

He blinked out of his trance and looked at Joe.

“Huh?”

Joe sighed.

“So, are you staying or going?”

His brows furrowed.

“Hmm?”

“Did the kiss change anything?”

“No,” Barry said, and Joe frowned. “Not about me going to Earth 2. That’s set in stone. Iris and I talked it out before we-”

“Made out?” Joe muttered into his umpteenth coffee cup.

Barry tensed. “We didn’t…make out…necessarily.”

Though it certainly had felt like they had the second time around.

“Right.”

“I’m not going to let it drop, Joe. When I get back we’re talking things out. If she’s recovered enough from Eddie’s death to kiss me, then she can talk about her feelings for me again too.”

Joe smiled to himself.

“Good.”

Barry said nothing, but throughout the rest of the evening, Iris never left his thoughts. She’d be in his thoughts every moment he was on Earth 2, waiting to come home to her. He was ready to start his life again.

...

*will post on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

#westallen #fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #a pair of lips i can kiss #chapter 1

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honkytonkdyke · 3 years

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i have been tagged by THREE people in this game so far, thank you so much for the tag: @hanamuri, @fullmetalscullyy, and @roseofbattles!! ily all so much

How many works do you have on AO3?: 29 total! 6 MCU fics, 22 FMA fics, and 1 JJBA!

What’s your total AO3 word count? 113,736! holy wow that’s a lot of words

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

on the brink of discovery: this is a multi-chap about roy and riza trying (and failing) to hide their relationship after going back to work after the promised day. a team mustang/royai fic.

to heal: this one is co-authored by @priscilla-dm. coincidentally, it’s another multi-chap fic that explores post-promised day roy, but this one explores his goal to heal riza once and for all, and also through his relationship with mei chang, he uncovers his xingese ancestry. this one is my longest fic on ao3, currently sitting at 6 chapters.

free me tenderly: an ironstrange fic i wrote for the 2020 ironstrange bingo. it’s a 1920s au where stephen is a medical businessman who can’t practice medicine anymore because of an injury in the war, and after a business meeting with tony, his status in the company and his relationship with his father changes forever.

a little bit of care: a royai hurt/comfort oneshot fic where riza has issues washing her hair after the promised day, and roy has to help her.

dim lights, thick smoke: named after an old bluegrass song, this fic is about jean and roy and explores the effect lust ultimately had on havoc, before and after he realized she was a hommunculus.

Do you reply to comments, why or why not? I do! Most of the time it takes me a while to get to them though, just because I read them and stare at them for a long time in disbelief before I can actually process it and respond. I love getting comments, they keep me going LOL

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? probably warmth, my riza hawkeye character study about her relationship with her mother. i don’t write angsty endings a lot because my heart just can’t take it lmaoo

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? probably on the brink of discovery, that fic is just pure team mustang shenanigans and i love the ending scene a lot. there’s a lot of joy in that fic, and it’s one of my favorites. i don’t write unhappy endings a lot though, so this was a hard choice.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? i’ve found in more recent years i can’t write explicit smut or full out smut, just small scenes that are more focused on the emotions behind the actions. i can hardly write sexually charged things anymore so i typically don’t write smut (i’m saying this as i’m actively trying to write a non-explicit fic about roy and riza rn LOLOL)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? thankfully not!

Have you ever had a fic translated? i haven’t as of yet!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? yes! previously mentioned to heal is written with my dear friend @priscilla-dm.

What’s your all time favorite ship? that is EASILY riza and roy, aka royai

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? there are a lot of unfinished fics in my docs right now LOL so there’s no telling. i don’t have any solo fics that are actively unfinished on ao3 either at the moment.

What are your writing strengths? i think my dialogue is pretty strong, as well as my grammar and syntax.

What are your writing weaknesses? anything in first person. i am so insecure about writing in first person that i RARELY do it, unless i’m actively trying to practice it.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’ve never written dialogue in another language, so I can’t say I have any actual thoughts. But if I do, I want the language to be accurate and properly used in whatever sentence it is being used in.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? pokemon! i was the tender young age of 10 when i started writing fanfic LMAOO

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? right now, borrowed time. it took a lot out of me to write but i genuinely am so proud of that fic. it means a lot to me :)

i’m tagging: @firewoodfigs, @klainelynch, and @megthemighty! and of course, anyone who wants to do it is more than welcome

#tag games #vade's post

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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years

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Ghostin

Seungkwan: Chapter 3 (Never Enough)

Characters: Seungkwan x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst (a shit ton of sadness honestly), semi-unrequited love, death mentions, mental illness (depression), runaway mates, family fighting, implied violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Okay so this chapter is a bit shorter than I had anticipated, but please bare with me. The next one for him should get pretty intense and I think it’ll be worth it. But this chapter had to slow it down a bit for explanation purposes. And I’m sorry for all the Angst recently, I’m better at writing that than I am fluff or smut. But I swear, Hansol and Chan’s chapters won’t be as edgy.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Ghostin Master List

Chapter 3: Never Enough

It had been almost a week since you left. Seungkwan barely left his room. He hardly ate. He hardly slept. Hell, he hardly even cried anymore. He just stared up blankly at his ceiling. He was just doing the absolute bare minimum to stay alive for his pack, and that’s mostly because you asked him to. But he didn’t want to continue his life without you, even if you didn’t love him, he still loved you. You were everything to him. Living a life without you wasn’t a life Seungkwan thought was worth living.

At this point, anytime he slept and dreamed, it was of you. Whether it be some small memory he had with you, or just a random nightmare that terrified him to his core, it was always you. It killed him to see you without ACTUALLY seeing you, so he tried not to sleep much. Of course, he still did. He had to, and when he did, he always dreamt of you. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one who had that problem now…

Flashback

“How could you?!? How could you make her leave?!?” Seungkwan screamed at the top of his lungs at the older wolf, having to be held back by his other brothers so he wouldn’t lunge at him after he had spent hours outside looking for you.

He came home dirty, covered from head to toe in twigs, leaves, mud, and dirty. He tried to track you, he really did. But you were just… gone. He tried to follow the pull, but it always lead him back home, the last place he had seen you. He knew you must’ve used your powers or some sort of spell to mislead his instincts. You didn’t want him to find you, you left for his own good, and it broke him fragile little heart.

“Seungkwan… I’m sorry. I didn’t think- I didn’t think she’d actually leave you I-” Jihoon tried, still at a loss for words from the events that happened only hours ago.

“You fucking asshole!! I hate you! I HATE YOU!” Seungkwan cried out with mud streaking his face, trying to tear himself out of the other pack members grips to get to him, failing miserably due to his lack of strength.

“I HATE YOU! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I FUCKING HATE YOU!!” He sobbed into the closest members shoulder, finally letting himself fall to the floor in agony.

“I hate you… I hate you… How could you… I hate you…” he continued to mumble as Soonyoung started to comfort the younger wolf, rubbing his back softly while whispering words of encouragement to him.

Jihoon couldn’t believe what had happened. You actually left his brother to fend for himself. Seungkwan was too devastated to even speak coherently. You hadn’t actually denied him, you wanted to be sure he still had a chance at living and denying him would’ve killed him, but you could make sure he didn’t find you. And that’s apparently what you had done. You made true to your promise of leaving Seungkwan so that he could be happy. He could never blame you for it, he loved you, you were his mate after all. So that only left one other person he could blame it on…

“Jihoon… you fucking prick… I fucking hate you… I fucking HATE you…” Seungkwan whimpered out in the direction of the older wolf, still laying on the floor with his brothers surrounding him to be sure he didn’t hurt himself.

“Okay that’s enough. I think Seungkwan needs to go and rest. Hansol, you and Seokmin will be in charge of him. Take him up to his room and stay with him. He’s had a long day and- and he just really looks like he needs to sleep.” Jeonghan decided as the one currently in charge.

As one of the Alphas, it was his job to remain impartial and make sure everything was running smoothly. Usually, it was Seungcheol’s job as he was physically the oldest, but he went out with a few of the others to try and find you. So it was left to Jeonghan to take care of the remaining pack. But seeing his brother so broken and hurt from losing his mate tore at his own heartstrings. He decided it was best he be kept in his room under supervision to be sure he didn’t hurt himself.

“And YOU!” Jeonghan quickly turned and pointed to Jihoon, who was standing with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard by the sudden demeanor change in the older wolf.

“You come with me NOW!” He barked, walking to the back patio with the smaller boy following his exit.

“What the actual HELL were you thinking?!?” Jeonghan demanded, his eyes already starting to shift to red as he angrily stared his baby brother down.

“I- I don’t know. I just wanted her to treat him better. We all did. But she just- she just left…” Jihoon stuttered, not quite used to being yelled at by anyone.

He generally kept to himself and out of trouble. But this time, he was the direct cause of it. There was no denying it. And he had no fucking way to fix it. His brother was gonna hate him forever and NEVER forgive him. Even if he managed to find a way to get you back to him, he fucked up too badly.

“You damn well KNOW it wasn’t your place to say anything. It wasn’t YOUR mate with the problem so you shouldn’t have had a fucking say. And now look what you’ve done! You’ve made Seungkwan’s mate run for the hills and now he could DIE! Do you even realize the severity of the situation you’ve just made Jihoon?!?” Jeonghan screamed while throwing his hands in the air, really wanting to punch him in the face but knowing that that would solve none of the problems he was listing off in his head.

Jeonghan was the silly alpha who liked to have fun and pull pranks. He was NEVER the one to handle the serious situations. And generally speaking, when he did, he always found it easier to sit down and talk to the others on a peer level. But he was BEYOND pissed. And Jihoon knew why. Seungkwan was one of the kindest most innocent people he’d ever met. And he had just scared off his mate by running his big fat mouth off. He deserved the harsh treatment his brother was giving him and much more.

“I… I know.” Jihoon responded, looking down at his hands that were now connected over his torso in shame.

“I REALLY don’t think you do know Jihoon. Seungkwan’s one of the few pack members who can keep us all together. Even if she hasn’t TRULY denied him, we both know someone like him could never go more than a few days without seeing his mate before getting sick and DYING! What do you thinks gonna happen to not just him, but the whole pack when he decides to give up?” Jeonghan pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, attempting to keep himself calm.

“I- I don’t know.” Jihoon whimpered out, even though he knew just how bad shit was gonna get.

“Well know THIS.” Jeonghan started with his index finger pushing into Jihoon’s chest.

“If ANYTHING happens to Seungkwan OR (Y/N), YOURE the one that’ll be responsible. And YOULL be the one to dig the graves before we kick your ass out of the house FOR GOOD. Am I making myself clear to you?” Jeonghan questioned through gritted teeth, getting more upset at him by the second.

“Yes Jeonghan Hyung.” Jihoon whined out with watery eyes.

“Good. Now you BETTER find SOMEWAY to fix the damage you caused, otherwise you better start looking for a new place to live!” Jeonghan spoke as he gripped onto Jihoon’s collar, lifting him up slightly during the conversation to show dominance.

Jihoon was terrified. He didn’t want his brother to die. He didn’t want to get dropped from the pack. He didn’t want you to die, even if he made it seem that way. He didn’t want a bunch of shit to set into motion because of his stupid actions. He felt like he was spiraling into a pit of despair. What was he going to do? His brother was gonna die and it was all his fault. You were going to die and it was all on him. He wouldn’t have a pack anymore and it was all because of himself. It felt like the whole world was closing in on him and he couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, flashes of your and Seungkwan’s corpses flashed through his mind. You guys’s eyes were white and hallow and your skin was cold and blue. Your mouths were stuck open in horror and all the life had been sucked out of the both of you. He killed you both. He killed you both. HE killed you BOTH. WHAT DID HE DO?!?!

Jihoon sat up gasping for air. He started patting his head and body, making sure they wouldn’t pass through him to prove he was awake. It was a dream. It was a dream. He was still alive. Seungkwan was still alive. You were still alive, at least he hoped. That thought frightened him more than anything, but he tried not to give into that fear.

He slowly laid back down to slow his rapidly beating heart and began breathing in and out at a deep pace. From through the walls, he could hear Seungkwan whimper in his sleep, his pulse beating as fast as a jackhammer. He must’ve been having another nightmare about you. Jihoon closed his eyes tightly.

He had to fix this. He had to help his brother. He caused all his pain. He was the reason he was alone in his room crying in his sleep right now. Seungkwan didn’t deserve what had happened to him. He was such a loving, sweet brother and mate. He had to get you back to him. But how could he possible do that? Your strange background meant you could do things they couldn’t even comprehend. You made it to where Seungkwan couldn’t even follow the pull. It was like you had vanished off the face of the Earth. So how the actual fuck could he manage to find you when even your own mate couldn’t?

Jihoon didn’t get anymore sleep that night, he staying up racking his brain on how he could get you to come home. And, by sunrise, he thought he had figured out a half decent plan. It was risky sure, but Jihoon would walk through hell if it meant getting you back to his brother now. He’d grovel on his hands and knees and beg you to come back with him if he had to. He had to rectify his mistakes.

He didn’t even care if he got kicked out of the pack at this point. He didn’t care if he lost his other brothers love anymore. All he cared about was Seungkwan and his sadness. The sadness he could hear every night. He had to bring you back, for Seungkwan’s sake.

And he was gonna do whatever he could to make that happen. Even if it meant getting himself killed in the process, he had to. Because even if he managed to lead you back home, no amount of sorrys or forgive mes we’re gonna bring his brother’s mind back from the abyss he had put him through. No amount of kisses or hugs from you were gonna have his brother’s smile shine as bright as it once had. Seungkwan was always gonna remember the pain of you leaving due to Jihoon’s hard words and actions. No matter what Jihoon did to try and make it all up to Seungkwan, it would Never be Enough in his eyes.

(Updated 8/23)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan #seventeen seungkwan

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roger-that-cap · 4 years

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once upon a december

summary: you had no idea who you were, how you got to where you were, or even your real age. all you knew was that you needed to go to auren, and something there would help you find the family that you always secretly craved. little did you know, you’d find family far before you actually got to auren.

warnings: nothin’. maybe a little swearing possibly? memory loss (lol)

word count: 4.7k

so, not this being my first multi-chaptered fic up here… WOW. there’s absolutely no reason for me to put this out right now other than the fact that i wanted it to leave my drafts. ha!

part one!

You had known the cold your whole life. When you woke up after god knows what happened, you were in the cold snow, face buried in it, clothes wet with it, and so that was what you knew. You laid in the snow for what seemed like forever, and you were lucky that a man was on his horse, selling trinkets that were said to belong to some lost princess of a far off land. The “Land of Always Summer”, everyone in the orphanage liked to call it. He carried you up onto his horse and dumped you right at the orphanage, and you weren’t even conscious enough to move your lips to thank him. But you would never forget his face and the way he tipped his hat, snow flurrying around before hopping up on his horse again and disappearing like he never existed in the first place.

The cold was the first thing you remembered, and the first part of the life that you now knew. Everything else was such a blur that you never even bothered to attempt at remembering what your life used to be, especially not when all of the other kids were around.

Growing up, they all thought you were weird. They had all been dropped off as young children, some even babies in the vicious winter storm. They knew that they couldn’t have done anything that made their parents want to chuck them, because they were too young to do so. But you? For you to have been thrown to the side at fifteen or sixteen years old, you must have been really weird. And to make it worse, you couldn’t even defend yourself. You knew nothing about yourself. Not even your name. But they had that covered for you.

At first, they called you Stacy. It was an old name, a name that was slowly on the rise again. It was easy to remember, and it wasn’t degrading, so you went with it at first. And then, one night, you woke up and shook your head, determined to name yourself, and not have others name you. You would give yourself at least that. Something would be yours, and if it wasn’t going to be memories, then it would be your name. You decided randomly on Y/N, and then that was what you were called from there. For years at the orphanage, that was who you were.

But you were done. It was the day. You had finally come of age, and it was time for you to leave, unless you wanted to be employed there. You surely did not. You were ready to get away from the people that ran the place, and the children that you grew up with and watched grow, except one. You were packing your bag, trying to keep the smile off of your face in order to not make any of the others feel bad.

“Today, isn’t it?” You jumped, even though the voice was one that you easily recognized. It was Lucas, the little boy who had practically become your shadow ever since he was brought to the doorstep as a baby. You were the oldest kid, you were a girl, and he had no mother. You were the one who was in charge of taking care of him because somehow, you knew how to take care of children. And you loved him, you loved him more than you had ever loved anything in your “new” life. He would be the hardest thing to leave, without question.

“Yes, honey.” You stopped packing your small bag so that you could walk up to him and crouch down to his height, his curly hair and sad brown eyes really plucking at your heartstrings. “I’m leaving now.”

“When will you be back?” He asked slowly, his eyes getting a little watery. But he had thick skin, skin so thick, skin that no child should have to wear. He wiped his eyes quickly. “Will you be back at all?”

“I will be, one day.” He was young, and you were hopeful, but you both knew that the chances of you coming back to the mild hell of the orphanage were slim to none.

“I want to leave, too.” He said, his voice tapering off into a whine at the end, his brows scrunching together. “I don’t like it here.”

In every aspect, you thought about taking him with you. But you had nothing to support him with. You were sure that you were going to starve for a while even by yourself, and you couldn’t take the possibility of him being taken in by a good family who could provide for him away because you wanted to keep him close. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. But someone is going to see just how adorable you are and give you everything you want, alright?”

“A good mommy or daddy?”

“Absolutely, my love.” You pulled him into a hug and closed your eyes, and you knew that it would probably be the last time that you were ever going to hug him. You squeezed him twice, drawing out a giggle from his little body. “Because you… what? Finish.”

“Because I deserve it.”

You pulled away and smiled with pride. “That’s right. Because you deserve it.” You patted his head before turning to finish with your bag, and you hoped that you were fast enough so that he didn’t see your watering eyes.

It took him a few more minutes to say anything, but you knew that he was standing there and watching with his wide eyes, curiosity flaring up inside of him like always. “Don’t you have a coat?” He asked quietly. “It’s winter time.”

“Sure, I have a coat,” you lied, your voice a calming hum in the otherwise quiet room.

You didn’t have a coat anymore. You gave him your coat not even three weeks ago, when the heat of the fire wasn’t enough for him to stay warm in the dark of the night. You worked with dull scissors all night and a thick sewing needle that you borrowed without the warden knowing, and you got to work with the needle and made him a nice fur blanket. It was much nicer than any of the ones that any of you and the others had ever been given, and he was convinced that you hired a seamstress to make it for him. You took the compliment.

That was your clue, though. Your singular clue to who you were, and it wasn't even big. You remembered how to do nothing but walk, talk, write, and read in the beginning. You were about as smart as anyone else, and unlike them, you had no hobbies. Until you went to a village and saw a cheap little sewing kit, and it sparked something so faint in your mind that you knew that you would work extra chores just to be able to buy it. You knew it.

You were an absolute goddess with a needle and some fabric, as it turned out. Your hand never wavered, your aim was never off, and no stitch was ever too tight or too loose. Your first stitching was immaculate, and so were your second, and third, and so forth. It wasn’t until Sophia, a girl who had been with you since you had started, suggested that it was a clue to who you once were that you truly considered it to be. From then on, sewing was all you had. You hoped that it would be enough.

“Why don’t you get on to breakfast, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You suggested, turning your head to give him a little smile of encouragement. He shrugged his shoulders and bounded away, leaving you with your own thoughts for a moment.

You knew what you had to do. You had to go to the nearest town and get a job there, wherever you could knit something. You would get fast money there, hopefully, and maybe the money that you got would make you enough to buy a ticket, one to take you to the one place that stuck in your mind like it was pasted. Auren.

Ever since you heard of the land where warmth surrounded you and the sun came down brightly on everything that breathed, you wanted to go. The cold was welcoming in a way, but the Kingdom of Auren was said to be the prettier one between it and Yuran. Yuran was cold and unforgiving, but beautiful if one allowed themselves an open mind. You didn’t want to have to think too much, not about something that should be so plain in front of you. But Auren was far, and it was expensive to get there.

Chore money hardly got you that sewing kit, and it sure as hell wasn’t enough for a horse, or a train ticket.

By the time you got to the breakfast table with your bag around your shoulders, your plate was already made. Lucas was sitting next to it, where he always sat, and he grinned at you the second you walked into the room. The others were all demolishing their breakfast, because it was a good meal today. Bacon and eggs and even pancakes, which were a rarity. A big meal was made every time a person aged out or got adopted, and it was tradition. You almost teared up. It was your big meal, this time.

You sat down in the chair and ruffled Lucas’s hair, putting the napkin on your lap and rearranging your spoon and fork. The sounds of cutlery against dishes was almost as loud as the others chewing, sloppily and without a care in the world as they stole glances at you, even the ones who didn’t particularly care for you.

“Loosen up, would you?” A boy named Julius asked, like he did at every meal. “You always look so… so…”

“You look fancy when you eat.” Sophia explained in a bored tone, nodding towards the way you held your fork and knife. “I don’t know why he feels the need to say it every single time we sit down together, but-”

“Because it’s true, Sophie,” he spat, and you sighed. You wouldn't miss the arguing, that was for sure.

“So, where will you go?” Dalia, a brown skinned girl who had the cutest gap in her teeth and the brightest eyes in the orphanage asked.

“I’m hoping to get a job as a seamstress in the village,” you said somewhat strongly, even though you were nervous. Actually, you were nearly bursting out of your own skin. What if they didn’t take you?

“That will be a good job for you, you’re really good at it.” The entire facility could agree on that. Every time one of them ruined their pants or ripped a shirt so badly that the caretakers just told them to throw it away, they came to you. From the time that you came and up until the day you left, you had made entire wardrobes for them all.

“I hope so, Dal.” You sighed out, giving a nice smile when you put a syrupy piece of pancake in your mouth, not talking until you swallowed again. “Are you guys going to be good?”

“We’re always good, Y/N,” Lucas said with a small eye roll. “You don’t have to worry about us.” You wished that you didn’t.

After everyone was finished eating, the door opened, and in walked the tall and broad shouldered woman who owned the orphanage. You saw all of the other kids sigh and look away, and you did the opposite. You were older, and this woman was mean, but she didn’t scare you. She was bitter, but that was all she was. “You’re leaving.”

“In a few minutes,” you added, and then kept eye contact with her when you put a piece of bacon in your mouth, nearly collapsing at the taste. God, breakfast hadn’t been so good since Susanne left. You felt Lucas tug on your pant leg, his arm reaching under the table.

“Good.” The woman said, and she gave you a once over. “I imagine that you’d want to work at the dress shop in the village, correct?”

“That’s my goal.”

“Hm.” She took a few steps closer. “I heard there’s an opening there, if you want it.” She looked towards the windows. “But you’ll have to make it quick. You’re not the only girl with quick fingers and a needle, you know.”

She wanted you out. You knew that. She never really liked you, and you never cared for her much, either. You came too late for her to get attached to, not even in that oddly placed way that she loved everyone else. “When do you suggest I take my leave?”

“Within the hour,” she answered immediately. “You don’t want to get lost in the dark, you know.” You frowned. It was eight in the morning, there was no way that the sun was going down any time soon. You knew that she just wanted you to leave, and so did everyone else at the table who was older than nine.

“Okay.” You said, not anywhere near to being in the mood to start an argument with her. That’s not how you wanted Lucas to remember you, at all. So, you kissed his forehead, waved goodbye to all of the other kids, and then got up from your chair.

The worst part of leaving was finally approaching, close enough to raise its fist and knock on your door. You had seen it happen millions of times it seemed, and yet, you thought that you would be exempt from it. The children were always ushered back to their rooms once another left, and you were sure that it had everything to deal with not wanting them to see what freedom looked like. The warden didn’t want them to witness what it looked like when an orphan got their own wings.

“Wait!” Lucas shouted, and he nearly yanked your arm out of the socket before shoving a little, wooden toy soldier in your hand, the one that he always played with.

Your heart was warm. It was so warm that you had a hard time forming your next words, your mind so full of adoration for this little boy who had been your living shadow, your source of happiness in a world that had given you none at all, nevermind on a silver platter. You took in a deep breath at seeing one out of two of his favorite toys, the one that he always made you take so that he could play with the other one. The one he was trying to give you had an idle gun with it, and the other had it cocked aimed. Lucas’s one won every time.

You gave him a sad smile. “No, kiddo, you can keep it.”

“I have another one.” He rushed out. “Please, take it. That way we can still play when we’re far away.”

Oh. Oh. If you could have chosen to stay there with him until he grew too old to be there, you would have. You would have a million times over. You knew that he had even the old, bitter woman thinking twice about her decision to throw you out when she made a hmph noise and turned away, her long dress exiting last.

“Alright. I’ll take it, Lucas.” You ruffled his hair again. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” He hugged you tightly, and then you were swarmed by all of the younger kids, who held you all together in the customary send off hug as tears came through your shut eyes.

“I’m going to miss all of you, you know.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” you heard back, coming from about twenty different voices that you recognized individually.

“I’ll miss you. Even that posh accent and the way that you eat and sit,” Julius admitted, and you cracked a smile at him.

“I don’t have an accent, but, thank you.” You said, and you reached over and flicked his forehead. “You guys are all amazing, and don’t you ever not think that for a second. You deserve the best, and one day, you’ll get that for yourselves.”

You looked at all of their faces, and saw them watching you. Despite how much some of the older ones didn’t like you sometimes simply because you were older, they listened to you. “You are the best children anyone could ever ask for, and if people don’t see that, they’re dumb.”

“We don’t need parents to feel validated,” Sophie nodded.

“Precisely!” You said, and then you cleared your throat when you saw some of them look at you strangely. “Exactly. Now, you guys remember that, okay?” They nodded their heads, and you pulled your back tighter. “Alright. I’ll miss you.”

You watched them be ushered into their rooms, watching the backs of their heads disappear, even hearing a few sniffles. You clenched your jaw and cleared your throat, shaking your head clear of any worries or trace of sadness, and then you walked up to the door.

No one would accompany you out there. No one was going to be able to tell you which way to go, not metaphorically or even directions wise. There wasn’t going to be anyone like Sophia, who had clued you in on your past so kindly before. No one was going to be beside you, and you were going to miss it, no matter how nagging everyone was.

You took in a deep breath as you felt the chill of the door on your hand, and you wrapped yourself in the blanket that came from your bag. You only regretted for a split second that Lucas had your coat, but then you remembered that he needed it much more than you did. And so, he had it. You opened the door to light snowfall, and immediately once you stepped onto the cold ground, a snowflake fell onto your cheek.

Slowly, you walked up to the rusted gates that were probably once a brilliant silver, and then you looked back at the rundown place before touching the gate, forgetting all about rust. You took in a second deep breath and closed your eyes, because you knew that once you stepped foot outside of the gates of the orphanage, there was no going back.

You were an orphan no longer once you stepped away. You were an adult. You were the caretaker, not the one to be cared for.

You nodded your head to yourself and pushed the door to the gates open, hearing the same sound that you had always heard after breakfast when someone left, but it was much louder up close. You almost jumped at how easy it was to get open, and then you slipped through, shutting it after yourself quickly. You huffed out a breath and saw it fog up in the air, and then you felt tears burn in your eyes.

You were leaving behind the family that you barely even realized that you had. And you would likely never see them again. And this was all because you wanted to find the family that had tossed you aside like yesterday’s newspaper, like you were someone else’s problem.

But it wasn’t really to meet them, you knew. It was so that you could see what you had or hadn’t been missing.

Your feet were moving before you even knew that they were. You looked back and couldn’t even see the orphanage anymore, and you had a strong urge to run in again and say that you regretted leaving, but you couldn’t. So you kept walking.

§§§

You didn’t have a watch, but you knew that it had been hours since you started walking away from the orphanage. Your hands were getting a tingly feeling in them, and your pants were wet with snow. They weren’t nearly enough for you to be protected, and you really regretted not saving up for some real pants instead of a new sewing kit.

You hadn’t passed a single road sign during the entire walk. You expected to see something, maybe even a landmark that the bitter woman would talk about, something that would spark a memory even, but you got nothing. You had absolutely no idea where you were, and you were starting to get scared.

You were definitely in the woods, that was for sure. You were in so deep that turning back was the less intelligent option. You hadn’t heard another voice in hours, or even the sound of horses and carriages. Nothing. Where the hell were you?

Your foot caught a tree root that was hidden by a somewhat thick layer of snow, and you went down hard. You grunted when you hit the ground, and you immediately reached out for the ankle that started throbbing. You hissed when you touched it and then threw your head back, nearly starting to cry from being scared out of your mind and frustrated at the same time.

“Why didn’t they give me a map?” You asked aloud, slamming a hand on the ground before bracing yourself to stand on the very tree that had got the better of you.

You only got three steps before falling over again, the pain in your ankle far too strong for you to go much further. You bit down a cry as you tilted your head up towards the sky, which was getting darker by the minute.

You were going to die out there. After your first night alone. You were about to die.

“Um, miss?” You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of another voice, scrambling up even though you felt the pain in your ankle intensify. “You shouldn’t stand on that.”

When you finally turned around, you were met with a man on a gray horse, who looked just as confused as you. Even from the distance you were at, you could tell that he was handsome. His blue eyes contrasted nicely with his dark hair that was cut short with just the slightest hint of waviness. He tilted his head sideways at you, like he was trying to see something, and then the weirdest of noises escaped his lips, a strangled gasp that startled you even more. “Ale- who are you?”

You turned your head behind you, thinking that his slightly horrified question couldn’t have been directed towards you. “Do you see something?”

“Who are you?” He repeated, his voice slightly choked yet as sharp as a blade. His horse trotted closer without him even speaking a command. He stopped a few paces in front of you, and you looked up at him directly for the first time and nearly cried. He was huge. And he looked like he could crush you.

“I- wait, who are you?” If there was one thing the orphanage taught you, it was to not talk to men you didn’t know. It was a way to get hurt or murdered. Everyone knew that. Not even men on horses who could pass for rich knights could be trusted.

It took a few moments of mutual staring for him to even think about saying anything. “I’m James,” he answered cautiously, like you were the one to be wary of. “And you are?”

You kept your grimace to yourself. You had two choices; to be friendly with this man and hope that he gave you a bit of shelter for the night without anything in return, or to be rude and possibly save your life, or ruin it all the same. You were leaning towards the first choice.

It took you a moment to clear the cobwebs of thought from your mind and come up with an answer. When you did, it seemed like he was hanging on edge for your response, like it would make a few things in his life miraculously make sense. “I’m Y/N.”

He gave you a look. It was long, curious, and doubting. You thought for a second that he was surely seeing through you, seeing a version of you that you weren’t aware of. He breathed in through his nose, looking you up and down. “How old are you?”

You frowned at the question automatically. “You know, it’s not polite to ask a woman her age.”

You could have sworn that his lips tilted upwards before he schooled his features. “Are you camping?”

“I-” were you to tell him that you were utterly helpless? Was that the smartest thing to tell a man so big and obviously strong? You wouldn’t stand a chance if he decided to be your worst nightmare, not at all. But something in you knew that he wasn’t anything like that. Something knew. “I’m kind of lost.”

“Where are you trying to go?”

“I’m trying to find the village, where there’s an opening for a seamstress.”

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “You’re a seamstress?”

“I’m trying to be.”

“Have you learned?” He asked, and you looked towards your freezing feet.

You should have expected that question. If not from a stranger in the woods, than from a possible employer. You sighed. “No, I never learned. No one taught me.”

“Then how do you plan on becoming a seamstress?”

You looked up at him for a second, trying to keep your teeth from chattering as you decided to shed your bag and put it on the ground, opening it up to reveal some shirts and pants that you had made on your own. “I made these myself.” He made a noise.

“I thought you said you never learned?”

“I didn’t,” you said softly, the warmth of the clothes feeling good in your hand. “I never did learn, I just did it one day. And it’s been what I do ever since.”

He was still giving you that look, like he was expecting something more, or like you were some type of ghost or hallucination. The staring match took a while, and you were starting to feel the numbness of your ankle wear off. “My friend and I are in need of someone who’s good with a needle.”

That wasn’t exactly what you wanted to hear, unless he and his friend owned a sewing shop. Judging by his appearance, it was unlikely that he did. “I should be finding town.”

“The nearest town is about thirty leagues, and there are no openings for seamstresses—or any job really—there.” He said. “I can take you to the nearest town, my pal is waiting there for me.”

You were thinking far too hard for such an easy question. Thirty leagues was too far for you to clear by yourself before nightfall, and if night fell on you, you were as good as dead. You tried to think about it, but you knew your answer. You were done if you didn’t get on that horse. “I… okay. I think I’ll have to take you up on that, James.”

“Do you need help getting on the horse?” He asked, and though you had never even been on a horse before, you shook your head. You weren’t going to let the man grab on your waist and hoist you up. You would fall ten times before that happened, because that was far more embarrassing.

“No, thanks.” You were scared. You had never seen a horse so close before, and they were much bigger than you expected. Horses were for the rich, and that was partly why you were riding with this man. If he was needing someone who could sew and had a horse, he would pay you well for something that you enjoyed. It seemed good, in theory.

You took in a deep breath as you threw yourself up there, expecting fully to slip and land right on your butt, but you didn’t. And he didn’t help you, either. In a movement as fluid as water, you were on the horse, in the exact position that you were supposed to be in. You frowned at yourself, looking down at your legs in muted surprise.

“I’m shocked you made it,” you heard him rumble, and you nodded. “Most people who ride for the first time can’t do that.”

You added that to your memory bank, another clue to the screwed up mystery you were playing around with. You watched your sigh come out of your mouth, your breath coming out in smoke because of the cold. “Guess I’ve ridden before.”

*****

this isn’t what i usually write, but man, was this fun. i hope you guys liked this little part! come back if you want, and you’ll meet steve!! i hope you guys liked it, thank you so much for reading this far, y’all have my heart fr

#marvel fanfic #steve rogers fluff #knight!steve #knight!steve rogers #knight!bucky barnes #knight!sam wilson #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve fluff #royalty au

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godoflobsters · 3 years

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Hand in Unlovable Hand Pt. 1

It is said that history is written by the victors, and the tales of the Great Celestial War are no different. But sometimes, there are things that even those on the losing side would never dare to utter again. These memories that shatter one like glass, best suited only for the lonely nights in the bottom of bottles of Ambrosia and Demonus, hide deep within the hearts of the two angels that started it all.

Author’s Note: So when I was rereading some of the later chapters I came across a really tiny detail that made me think up a whole new theory on just how the Celestial War started so, like any sane person, I started writing a whole ass multi chapter fic for it! Enjoy!

Lucifer’s head ached as he poured over the piles of paperwork littering his desk, shining with a kaleidoscope of colors as the Celestial sunlight poured in from the stained glass above him. It had been a week since his last meeting with the young Devildom Prince and as he skimmed over the newest proposition that had been excitedly shoved into his hands moments before he had taken flight back to his home, he was starting to feel as if he was finally in over his head.

If he had known just what he was getting himself into when he was invited to his first meeting with the Prince, he would have pushed the responsibility off on Simeon...he was always better at this whole diplomacy thing. Lucifer was created to revel in his Father’s glory and to smite all of those who would seek to taint such glory with their darkness. And yet...he had broken bread with the future king of the darkness. Wretched creatures that he had been told were capable of only evil spoke of only peace and diplomacy. The prince of lies had taken a vow of honesty. They had treated him with kindness and respect despite his combatant attitude.

There was no way that these demons were doing this for peace, prosperity, or whatever they liked to go on about, they had to have some sort of angle. For centuries he hyper-analyzed every interaction that he had with the Prince, keeping a carefully guarded wall of pride slammed down between them all the while, and yet...he found nothing but sincere love for his people and his realm. And yearning to make his father proud of him. Maybe that was why Lucifer had started to let his walls down around him.

It started small, finally accepting the cups of tea that Diavolo’s butler insisted on providing every single time that he came down to Hell. Diavolo taught him the delicacy that was a princess’s poisoned apple, almost better than anything he’d eaten in the celestial realm. Eventually they would swap bottles of ambrosia for bottles of demonus, drinking together deep into the night to where Lucifer would complete his duties the next morning with a pounding in his head. Sometimes, when even his favorite little siblings were set on getting on his very last nerve, he would make the trip down to the Devildom unprompted just to sit in the privacy of the Demon Lord’s Castle, nursing a cup of his new favorite blend of tea and listening to Diavolo chatter about the newest goings on of his realm. Now, he sat cooped up in his office on his day off, sifting through Diavolo’s proposed plans for making his dreams of peace into a reality.

His plans started at home, restrictions on travel to the Human Realm and improvements to infrastructure. Then he moved on to the creation of a school (or perhaps a reeducation center of sorts would be a better term for it?) that would teach the demons about the culture and history of the other realms in addition to their own, with an emphasis on magic, arts, and cultures, rather than the battle strategies and war tactics that his father had always favored instilling in his subjects. He proposed allowing his people a few centuries of learning and growing accustomed to their new way of life before moving to the next step in his plan...an exchange program.

Lucifer was so engrossed in studying Diavolo’s plans, that the soft sound of footsteps on the marble floor behind him went completely unnoticed until warm hands cupped his chin, tipping his head back just far enough for soft lips to place a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a soft smirk when his eyes met the soft gold of Michael’s gaze.

“Yes, I am,” he leaned forward and pressed another chaste kiss to his lips, his long braids spilling over Lucifer’s shoulders and pooling onto the papers before them, “aren’t you supposed to not be working right now?”

“Touché,” he muttered, bringing his hand to the back of Michael’s head to bring him back down to his mouth.

Michael’s laugh rang out warm and sweet as honey as he put a finger up to Lucifer’s lips, “What are you working on Starlight?” He opted to lean over his shoulder, skimming over the papers before him. “...the Devildom?” He snatched the paper off of the table, spinning out of Lucifer’s grasp and pouring over the sheet in his hands. “Once a satisfactory level of education and understanding has been reached among Devildom citizens, afew chosen citizens of each of the realms will be brought to live together for a year as a part of the cultural exchange program…” He turns back around, brows pinching together in confusion. “Lucifer… what is this?”

“The Demon Prince has devised a plan of action for his interrealm peace initiative,” he calmly snatched the paper out of Michael’s hands, shuffling it back into the pile of paperwork on his desk, “during our last meeting he sent me back with the first drafts for his plans so I've been looking through them since I have time to do so today.” He turned, arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow cocked up at the Seraph. “Don't act so shocked, Michael. I know that I've discussed this with you before.”

“Yes, I know,” he brought his hands up to rest on his upper arms, drawing small circles into Lucifer’s pale skin with his thumbs, “you told all of us about the demons’ plans. Father explicitly stated that he wants us to take no part in that foolish plan.” His grip tightened, face hardening into a stern glare as his golden eyes met the depths of Lucifer’s ruby gaze. “Why do you continue to pursue this?”

“You are the one who pushed this off on me in the first place and yet now you berate me for following through with the tasks that I've been given,” his jaw clenches as a familiar anger began to smoulder under his skin. “I take pride in my work.”

“Pride is a sin Lucifer!” He pulled back, massaging his temples as he paced around the room. “You, of all people, have to see that he is just using you. You have seen what the Demon King is capable of, there is no way that his spawn is truly aspiring for peace of all things. Father has been telling you this for centuries and you keep going back at that demon’s every beck and call!”

“Father has hardly told us anything in millenia,” he snapped, grabbing Michael by the arm and yanking him to stand before him, looking him in the eyes. Lucifer’s head ached, like someone was standing behind his eyes, beating and screaming, in a voice that wasn't his own, to get out.

“I've never noticed it before,” he pulled back, trying to wrench himself from the grip that Lucifer kept on his arm, “but your eyes look almost exactly like Father’s when you're angry.”

Michael’s words were quiet, but the effect they had on Lucifer was powerful. As the image of their father’s cold green eyes flashed through his mind, Lucifer’s grip on his arm eased and he took a long deep breath to settle himself.

“Almost everything that we know about the demons isn't true Michael. I don't want to say that Father has been lying to us, but after everything that I’ve seen…” He trailed off, unable to meet Michael’s eyes. “I just think that this program that Diavolo is planning could be a good thing for all of the realms.”

“Lucifer,” he paused before letting out a long sigh. He took his hand into his own before pulling off his Ring of Wisdom and slipping it onto his finger. “Now, more than ever, you need the wisdom to make these difficult decisions,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Lucifer’s temple, “I know that you will choose what is best for us, my Morningstar. I love you.”

“I…” trying desperately to push down the rising unease in his gut, he pulls off his own Ring of light and slides it into Michael’s finger, “I love you too.”

But nowadays, he wasn't so sure anymore.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me michael #lucifer x michael #the celestial war #obey me theory

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pipsqueakparker · 4 years

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It’s Pride Month! And y’know what else? It’s, uh... well, it was my ‘Snowiversary’. May 22nd marked one year since I started writing & posting dumb words about these stupid-in-love boys, and I hear you, ‘pip literally no one but you cares’ but I do care no matter how dumb that is. So to retroactively celebrate, I’m... gonna re-share a few of my personal favorite fics I wrote over the past year. I’ll just share my top three, so this won’t clog up your dash or anything.

1.) simon snow’s guide to the perfect pride - my only multi-chapter fic (so far) that’s all about pride! this was one of my first fics, i think literally the third one i wrote, and it’s about the gang (snowbaz + penny & micah, as this was far before WS) going to NYC pride (because i’m self-indulgent) and Simon coming to his own terms with his sexuality, etc. etc.

Pride parades and festivals weren’t really a thing Simon had ever known much about, much less attended. Mostly due to the whole growing up in foster care, as well as the being pretty sure he was straight for most of his life, and that was all before the Chosen One situation that had occupied his time basically since becoming a cognizant human being. To put it shortly, Simon Snow didn’t know much about Pride month, or the parades, or the festivals. Baz hardly more familiar, his family didn’t really discuss his sexuality, much less offer to drive him out to a huge parade in celebration of it. He knew of it, at least, and was fairly good at keeping up with the news and everything that was happening in the community. He'd still never been to Pride before.

AKA

Simon & Baz Attend their First Pride!

2.) Like & Subscribe - the first fic in my YouTuber AU! Baz is a beauty vlogger, Simon runs a gaming channel, and this is their love story through collabs and unfortunate public events. (or, it will be. this first one focuses on their first collab, but i am working on more to come.)

Snow shrugs, sat across the table from me, looking devastatingly perfect with his golden curls falling over his forehead and his blue eyes shining in the sun streaming in from behind me. I want to clock him, sometimes, because he’s so beautiful and it’s no wonder he’s got one of the fastest growing channels on YouTube right now. I subscribed solely to look at him.I can’t imagine I’m alone in that.

“Baz?” Snow is waving his hand in front of my face and I realize I’d completely zoned out staring at him. Again. I’ve done that an embarrassing number of times since we started meeting, but I hope he takes me for one of those socially awkward YouTubers and not madly in love with him.

In truth, I’m probably both. But I’m definitely madly in love with him. I just can’t say it, because for all I do know about Simon Snow thanks to his inability to stop running his mouth in front of a camera, I don’t know if he’s queer.

3.) Brought to Heel (Explicit) - my first smut fic if you’re into those, just kinda proud of this one ‘cause i finally pushed myself out of my comfort zone and joined the smut-squad. also, someone needed to write baz in heels and tights.

Baz is standing in the middle of his room, white shirt hanging loose and open from his shoulders. Seeing Baz undressed shouldn’t still affect me the way that it does, should it? It’s not new anymore, seeing Baz in his pants, but I still feel my face heating up when I walk in on him.

—

AKA, The One Where Baz Wears Heels and... More (Then Less)

Thank you for your time. 💙 Happy Pride Month my fellow queers, I love you all and I hope to deliver some delicious content for y’all to feast upon this month.

#pip squeaks #my fic #one year snowiversary #can't believe i've been doin this for a full year now #and i've written THIRTY-ONE fics?!#at least that have made their way onto ao3 #i've definitely written more that live just on tumblr here #h o l y s h i t m y d u d e s #its been a Time #but i'm so happy to have found this community i love you all so much

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fruit-teeth · 5 years

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Matters of Time and Fate

(All right, so...here’s another free write! I’m thinking about turning this into a multi-chapter fic, but let me know what you think. This might be a little OOC, but you know what? Who cares? Anyway, I hope you enjoy)

Thursday was the worst day of Olivia’s life.

She didn’t know when she woke up on Wednesday. All she knew was that her father would get back from whatever he had been doing all day, and once that happened, he could begin training her on how to manage Mann Co. She couldn’t wait; she’d already sketched out all the plans on the changes she was going to make and how she was going to be the best CEO ever – but the unexpected happened.

“Belicia!” she shrieked at her nanny, who came shuffling into her bedroom.

“Yes?” Belicia stood in the doorway, staring blankly at Olivia. Beli had grown used to the constant yelling, as things had been this way ever since Olivia was two.

“Where’s daddy?” Olivia hopped off her bed, crossing her arms. “Call him right now! He’s late!”

“I have called,” Beli sighed. “And there was no answer. I told you before,”

Olivia huffed, turning to stare out the window. “Call him again! Right now,”

Beli just grunted and headed out of the room, her heels scraping against the carpeting. Olivia hoisted herself back up on the bed, staring out the window, expecting her father to arrive at any moment. It was late, way past her bedtime, but bedtime didn’t matter to her. It wasn’t like Beli was going to enforce it upon her, anyway.

Olivia must have fallen asleep at some point, but she hardly remembered it. The next thing she knew, she heard yelling downstairs and the sound of footsteps.

Beli was shouting, “You are not allowed here! Mr. Mann will have you killed for trespassing! Leave, right now!”

Olivia blinked, sitting up and looking around. The sun was up already, but before she could even check to see what was going on, she heard her bedroom door slam. When she glanced in the direction of the door, her heart dropped when she noticed the shape of a woman standing before her.

“Who are you!?” Olivia demanded, clenching her fist and sticking her chin out, doing her best to ignore the fear she felt.

The woman just sat on the edge of her bed, staring directly into her eyes. She said nothing for a moment, before reaching out and gently brushing Olivia’s hair out of her face.

“Let me explain to you what’s going to happen,” the woman began in a low voice. “You’re going to sign over the rights of Mann Co. back to Saxton Hale, and you’re going to never speak of this to anyone again. Do you understand?”

Olivia stood up, her hands balled back up into fists, her lip curling in anger. “No! Go away! I’m gonna tell my dad!”

The woman grabbed Olivia by the shoulders, yanking her closer. “Listen to me,” she hissed out menacingly. “Your father is not going to do anything. He can’t do anything, not anymore,”

“You’re wrong!” Olivia tried to fight her way out of the woman’s grip, but to no avail. “Lemme go! My dad’s gonna kill you!”

“Your father is dead!” the woman snapped suddenly, gripping Olivia’s wrist. “Your father is gone, Olivia,”

Olivia froze, unsure if she heard that correctly. She blinked slowly, still staring up at the woman. “You’re lying,” Olivia managed after a moment, feeling her hands shake. She started to feel dizzy, lightheaded. “He’s not…he’s not—”

“He is,” the woman replied simply, and that’s when Olivia realized who she was: the Administrator.

Olivia tried to break away from her. “No…no!”

The Administrator rose up, holding tightly onto both of Olivia’s hands. “Come with me, it will be easier for you if you don’t fight me,”

Olivia, however, wasn’t going down so easily. She shrieked and kicked wildly, proclaiming, “Lemme go! I’m gonna kill you, lemme go! Stop it!”

The Administrator tried to get a good grip on Olivia while remaining calm, but she let out a shout when Olivia bit her wrist. “Ow! You little—” she turned over her shoulder and called, “Miss Pauling!”

Miss Pauling ran in, pausing at the scene in front of her with a mildly panicked look on her face. “Helen, what do you need me to do?”

“Help me with her!” Helen demanded, and Miss Pauling went right to her aid, grabbing the little girl and restraining her.

Eventually, they managed to maneuver her down the staircase and into the rest of the house, where the reality of the situation began to really sink in.

There were strange men in the house, all going through her and her father’s things and talking amongst themselves. She knew them, too: they were the mercenaries, the one her father had been working against. Belicia was arguing with another woman, and though nothing had gotten physical, it looked as though the two were about to kill each other.

“You aren’t supposed to be here!” Belicia kept insisting, waving her hands wildly.

“We are here, and we do not care!” the other woman snapped back at her. “We will break your neck, you keep on yelling!”

“Zhanna, don’t break the maid’s neck!” Miss Pauling chided, opening the front door before turning her attention back to the Administrator. “Where should we put her?”

“Put her in the van,” Helen replied simply. “She’s going back with us, after all,”

“I’m not!” Olivia swung her arms, trying to free herself. “I am not going anywhere, lemme go! This is my house!”

The mercenaries noticed Olivia’s yelling, and after a moment one of them stepped forward. “I will take her to van,” he offered. “You do not have to,”

Miss Pauling swept some hair away from her eyes, looking up. “Oh, Heavy. Will you?”

Heavy nodded, taking Olivia from the two women and lifting her as though she weighed nothing. “You take care of this, I will watch her,”

“Be careful,” the Administrator warned. “We need her in one piece,”

Heavy cast her a look. “I have sisters, I know children,”

He hoisted Olivia upon his shoulder, opening the door and taking her to the van outside, despite her thrashing and protests. When he set her down in the backseat and sat beside her, she began violently punching his arm and yelling some more.

“This is my company! This my house, you can’t do this!” she screamed at him, punching and kicking his bicep, which was nearly the same size as her. “I hate you! I hate all of you! I hate you!”

Heavy didn’t seem to react to her attacks, and he just watched her in silence, waiting for her to eventually run out of energy. Once she stopped mauling his arm to catch her breath, he said simply, “You have right to be angry, but please stop,”

Olivia panted, her small hands shaking. She slowly sat down, and a cold, dark feeling swept over her and filled her chest.

“…daddy is dead,” she realized, and her lower lip quivered.

“I know,” Heavy replied, moving closer. “I am sorry,”

Olivia sniffled, before she covered her face and began to sob. She hated crying; her father always scolded her horribly if she ever did. But now he wasn’t going to be around to do that…

Heavy sighed, putting his arm around Olivia. “You can cry, it is okay. Sometimes it helps,”

She hated him, and she hated everyone who just went into her house like it didn’t even matter. But she still buried her face into his side and wept bitterly, her hands curled back into fists as she mourned the loss of her father and the loss of the life she’d been promised.

What she didn’t know at the time, however, was that her real life was only beginning.

#this is the stuff i think of when my mind wanders #writing #my writing #also im gonna get to requests soon i swear!!!#tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 olivia mann #i think thats the first time ive used that tag lol #tf2 administrator #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 zhanna #tf2 heavy #tf2 gray mann #he dead tho

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welcometocaritas · 4 years

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‘if you love me, don’t let go...’

First chapter of my yumagna fic is out ladies and gentlebabies!

Chapter: 1/6

Characters: Yumiko & Magna

Pairing: Yumagna

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Format: Multi-Chap

Summary: At some point, you just have to let go - or so Yumiko keeps telling herself.There was never any letting go of Magna.

Links: A03, FF.NET

[watermark is from my instagram yumagnas.home don’t worry i didn’t steal the pic ;)]

A/N:

[The rape/non-con is there for Magna's cousin and it will only ever be in references I will not be writing anything detailed about it because I don't want to trigger anyone and this isn't the story for writing about something like that as I would not be able to give it the time and attention it deserves]

Small note: Magna's cousin is called Maisie in this and I've also given her a brother called Morgan.

y'all are going to hate me because yes, this is going to be over 20000 words about a single night. And probably not even the whole night. but there's also flashbacks so it's OK? In my defense, we've gotten very few conversations with these two so there was a lot to talk about. I can't be held responsible for my actions. blame the writers.

I’m honestly a little worried that I’m going to bore people to tears because there’s really no plot. It’s just yumagna being soft and finally sorting out their shit.

I'm also working on a short oneshot - for real this time it's actually going to be short - that's set in the indeterminate future after this. It's basically just going to be pure fluff which you should knew is unheard of - I never write fluff. So hopefully it's not terrible.

There be angst here, lots of angst, but also comfort - if you’re familiar with my writing that won’t be a surprise to you.

I don’t have much hope for canon so I decided to do what I could to fix the mess they made.

I normally wouldn’t reveal anything that’s going to happen in a fic but y’all have been tortured enough already so just know I will absolutely be getting these girls back together, it won’t take more than a night, but it will take about 20000 words. Most of the story is written out already I’m just doing post-edits so I’ll update daily :)

If things seem a little disjointed it’s because I wrote everything out of order and it’s been a bit of a struggle to get everything to fit into place. I also haven’t slept more than 1-4 hours a night for the past three weeks, have been getting constant migraines and blood sugar crashes so I’m gonna apologize right now if there are any mistakes. I’m super sorry.

This is for the yumagna fandom cos I wanted y'all to have something nice with everything that's going on. I would also like to give a special thanks to Abbey and Mina who acted as my sounding board throughout this whole thing and were very patient with me - love you guys :)

....

"If you love me, don't let go

Hold

Hold on

Hold on to me

'Cause I'm a little unsteady

A little unsteady . . . "

- Unsteady by X Ambassadors

. . .

Nightmares had always been an issue, though less so in recent years. Magna had gotten almost gotten used to having a full night's sleep, barring the occasional pillow snatch. Back before all this started, she'd been on medication for PTSD, but well, it was kind of hard to fill a prescription in the middle of the apocalypse - and, well, the apocalypse had only added to the previous need for said medication. At least she was in good company. These days, it was more of a surprise if someone wasn't experiencing some form of post-traumatic stress, and that was a somewhat odd reality to wake up in, day after day. For years, this thing had set her apart but now? Now it just made her like everyone else.

Miko had nightmares too.

It was what had led to them sharing a 'bed' in the first place, way before things between them moved beyond the confines of friendship. They'd fallen asleep by the fire one particularly cold night, curled around each other for warmth, and they hadn't awoken until morning.

It had been something of a revelation.

On Magna's end, she suspected it had had a lot to do with trust. She'd trusted Miko not to shove a shiv into her side or try to cop a feel whilst she slept, trusted her even more to have her back if things went south during the night. She'd been . . . safe. Magna wasn't used to people being safe - she wasn't quite sure what she offered Miko in return, though; maybe the same thing.

Of course, in many ways Yumiko wasn't safe. There was nothing safe about the way Magna felt about her. Or the way those feelings seemed to be returned. She knew Miko had had a girlfriend in college who cheated - and when the other woman had told her that, a vindictive part of her had hoped the bitch had been one of the many, many people to meet their end by sicko teeth. Miko had smacked her on the arm for that comment, exasperation tempered by fondness and reluctant amusement.

She'd realized in her time away, that this past hurt would have only sharpened Magna's betrayal. Trust was important to Miko - hell, it was important to Magna - and she had broken hers by lying, lying for years. She hadn't thought of it that way when she'd been doing it. The secret had weighed on her, yes, but she'd been viewing it from a place of hadn't really considered how it would hurt Miko, only what it would do to their relationship if it had ever come out, what it would do to her.

That, more than anything, had made her realize that Miko had been right to kick her out. More than right.

Which is why she could hardly believe that they were here now. That Miko was letting her head rest in her lap, that she had invited her to do so. Sitting back against a tree and patting her thigh with a small smile her way when Magna had gone to settle a short distance off. The way she had nearly fallen over herself to accept that invitation was almost embarrassing but she couldn't bring herself to feel self-conscious about it, or to second guess the action. They'd done this as friends too and she was glad it wasn't something she had sacrificed with their relationship.

She'd been attracted to Yumiko from the moment they met. It was hard not to be. She wasn't blind - hot lawyer lady in a suit, how could she not notice her in that way? The woman had entered into her dilapidated life with a sureness and determination that was hard to dismiss. Intelligent, strong, and fighting for her.

No one had ever fought for Magna. Not until Miko.

(really, she'd been screwed from the start)

Of course, the person Yumiko was fighting for was little more than an illusion. If Miko had only known the truth then . . .

She probably would have dropped her like a hot potato, just like everybody else. She probably would have been wise to.

Or maybe she wasn't giving Miko enough credit. After all, she was still here now. Carding her hand through Magna's hair in a soothing motion as she pretended to sleep - and Miko pretended to believe her. She knew the truth now, and still she kept close. Maybe they weren't together anymore but that had been as much Magna's choice as Miko's. She couldn't let herself get to that place again, where she was so terrified of losing something, she ended up destroying it.

And God, Magna was so tired, so tired of being afraid, so tired of being angry.

Just so tired.

('I can't do this anymore.')

She needed a distance between them, even if she didn't want it. Romantic relationships had a tendency to blow up in her face. But friendships . . . well, they tended to be more reliable. After all, she had been friends with Miko for years and things only turned sour after they had crossed over the safety of that border into something more.

(things turned sour because you couldn't stand keeping it a secret from her anymore. The same thing would have happened if you'd still been only friends)

She shifted uncomfortably, remembering at the last second that she was supposed to be asleep. But Miko only stilled a moment before continuing with her motions, allowing the deception to maintain itself.

The relief passed her lips in a shaky exhale.

Magna couldn't bring herself to talk anymore. She was drained - both emotionally and physically - and the thought of pulling any more words out almost made her cry from exhaustion. And Miko seemed to sense that, almost as soon as Magna had first fallen silent. But then, she'd always been good at reading her.

She was observant. Like Connie.

Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, she immediately regretted the action. In the darkness, all she saw was her friend's face, disappearing into the crowd of sickos, possibly never to be seen again. Of course, Magna hadn't seen that at all. She'd kept her gaze ahead, too wary to look around and give away the disguise, but she had felt Connie's hand slip from hers, the ache of the empty space it left behind. Her imagination filled in the blanks now, even adding in a few colorful extras - wide eyes, a silent scream, falling beneath the weight of too many bodies, torn apart. Gone.

So many people were just . . . gone.

"Do you think she survived?" The words hung in the night air; foreign, distant. Magna blinked, unsure if they'd really come from her. She couldn't remember opening her mouth. But her tongue felt thick and heavy, her lips cracked, she could taste the metallic hint of blood caused by the effort.

Miko paused. Just a second, her fingers tangling in Magna's hair a little too tight, almost painful, then a breath, and she returned to smoothing it back. "You did."

"Barely. I was lucky."

"And there's no reason she won't be, too. Connie's smart, strong. She could make it."

Magna could think of a hundred reasons. A thousand.

Her stomach turned and she closed her eyes, opening them in a snap when Connie's face answered her. She trembled. "I should have stopped. I should have looked for her."

Miko didn't hesitate. "Then you'd be dead. Might even have gotten her killed as well. All for nothing."

At least, I wouldn 't be feeling like this.

Magna opened her mouth to argue but found that she didn't have the strength. She closed her eyes again, inhaling the scent of the woods, of the leaves and dirt beneath their bodies, of Miko. Especially Miko. "What the hell am I going to say to Kelly?"

If she wasn't dead.

What if they were the only ones left? Her and Miko. Bernie gone. Connie gone. Kelly gone. Luke gone. She'd failed to protect them. All of them.

And she'd thought she'd cried enough tears but her eyes burned and she rubbed at them fiercely, like there was dirt, like if she could just get it out the fire would vanish and she wouldn't crumble to ashes in its grip.

And there was Miko's voice, all at once gentle and firm, pulling her back. "She won't blame you. She knows you. You've always fought hard for us. As hard as you can. This just wasn't a situation in which you could."

Magna nearly scoffed.

No, she could have fought. But she'd gotten scared. She'd hesitated. She hated being fucking scared (small and shaking, hugging Morgan to her chest as Daddy's voice got loud, so loud, why was it so loud?). It was such a useless emotion. And now it had probably gotten Connie killed.

Miko tugged at her hair slightly, gentle but scolding. "Seriously, Magna. You couldn't have done anything. If anyone should be feeling guilty it's me."

Frowning, she turned her head in her grip to look up, a strand of hair snagged but she didn't mind the pain. "What are you talking about?"

But Miko shook her head, refusing to meet her gaze as she focused on raking her hands through Magna's hair, avoiding the knots with an ease born of years of practice. "I should have been there with you. I shouldn't have stayed behind that day."

And then you might be dead, too. Magna shuddered at the thought. Her worst fear, worse than Miko choosing to leave her, being taken from her. Forever.

And it wasn't even a what-if situation. It felt inevitable. This was the apocalypse: their expiration dates were always inching closer.

"I'm glad you did." Even though Magna couldn't see her face, she sensed her hurt, felt the flinch of her hand. "I couldn't lose you. Not like that."

Giving up on getting Miko to look at her, she settled back in her lap but kept her eyes open.

Yumiko's voice was caustic when she responded, fragile and harsh all at once. "I thought I lost you." The hand resumed its stroking, stiffer now, almost angry. "At least if I had been there I could have helped, and I would have known. I would have known if you were okay."

Not if you got out with Kelly.

But, no, Miko wouldn't have left them, wouldn't have left her. She would have seen her double back with Connie and gone after her too - like Magna, she was always watching. Maybe she would even have noticed and gone after Connie first - she was equally as protective of their group - and then Magna would have been the one left behind, to wonder, to fear.

Thinking about it, that probably would have driven her to punch Carol, too. Though her fuse had always been a lot shorter than Miko's.

Now, she snorted at the sudden memory. "I can't believe you punched Carol. I've never seen you like that." In a way, it had scared her. She was so used to Miko being the calm one, forever in control. She was the one who reined Magna in.

Okay, it had also been kind of hot. Even half-dead on her feet, she couldn't fail to notice that.

"To be honest, neither can I." There was a wry note to the older woman's tone, and Magna wondered if she was smiling, almost risked looking up again to find out. "I don't regret it, if that's what you're wondering."

"Not like you to kick a dog when it's down."

"Not like you to be so forgiving."

She scoffed. "I'm not. Connie's gone. Probably dead and she-" Magna swallowed, collecting herself. "I'm not forgiving. I just don't have the energy to be angry anymore."

"Well that's definitely not like you." Miko teased, hesitating for a moment before severity bled back into her tone. "Are you going to be okay?"

She closed her eyes, sighed. Why was she so good? "You don't have to worry about me, Miko."

Scoff. "Another lie. I found a grey hair the other day, thanks to you."

"Oh and it couldn't have possibly been the literal end of days that we're stuck in?"

"Have you met you?" Another tug at her hair, this time playful and, for a moment, Magna could breathe easier. "Seriously, though, are you going to be okay?"

For a moment.

She shifted, hair pulling painfully but that was almost welcome. "I'll be fine. I'll be a lot better once we find Kelly and Luke."

"And Connie."

"And Connie." She wished she could feel more hopeful on that front. Miko squeezed her shoulder and she relaxed slightly, trying to push the dark thoughts away for now. There'd been too many of them tonight already. There were always too many. But just for tonight she wanted to escape them, to hide away in Miko's lap and absorb every touch, every smell, every word . . . that she had come so close to never experiencing again.

. . .

"How can you lose me? You've owned me from the first moment I saw you."

― Dianna Hardy, Cry Of The Wolf

. . .

The full gravity of the world ending fell upon Yumiko within a matter of hours, there'd been no time to trivialize or hope. Right from the start, she'd felt the impact.

Her mother had been a doctor in the old world and she'd been working a shift at the hospital when the outbreak hit the city and surrounding areas. Yumiko's stomach still turned at the memory of calling her up from the safety of Magna's apartment, her eyes trained on the insanity playing out across every news station, her heart pounding as she pleaded, pleaded for the other woman to pick up, to be alright, to-

But the phone had rung and rung. One, two, twelve phone calls later and nothing.

----

Unable to sit and wait any longer, Yumiko swiped her abandoned keys off the table and marched towards the door, ready to drive over there right that second and make her mother okay. She was smart, her mother was smart, and resourceful, and she'd never stopped practicing krav maga - and Yumiko would definitely come to regret refusing all those classes the woman had tried to get her to enroll in growing up but she 'd been focused on her books and her studies and all her dreams for a future that fighting never entered into-

Her mother would be fine .

But a hand grabbed hers - strong, nails almost biting into her skin - and pulled her back. "You can't go out there."

Magna.

At some point, she 'd forgotten the other woman was even there, just whose home she stood barricaded within.

"I have to get to the hospital, my mother she-"

"Yumiko, you saw the news - hell, you just almost got your face bitten off by one of those sickos - the world's fucking lost it. " Her face took on an expression of incredulity. "And you want to go to the fucking hospital? No, no way."

Yumiko clenched her jaw, trying not to snap. "She's my mother. I need to make sure she's okay."

"I know, OK? Trust me I get it but . . ." she took a breath, frustrated and Yumiko could detect an air of desperation in the way she closed her eyes, pressed her lips together. "But you just, you can't, okay? They said that part of the city is already overrun and it's a hospital . The amount of people in there, dying people . . . it's a death trap."

Yumiko looked away, knowing she was right but unwilling to face it. It was her mother .

For a spiteful moment, she wondered whether Magna really did 'get it'. As far as she knew, the other woman hadn't visited her own mother since she was a child. Yumiko didn't even know if she was still alive - or if Magna knew for that matter.

"Look, I . . . " Magna shook her head. "If I thought that it could work, that we'd be able to help, hell even be able to get in there, I would drive you myself."

"You don't have a license." She wasn 't sure why she said it, why out of all the things Magna was saying, that had stuck out the most. But it was the only thing she had the means to protest.

Magna huffed. "Fine, I'd let you drive but that-that's not the point. Miko, we don't even know how to kill these things. I stabbed that guy in the neck and he barely even flinched. The dead are eating people, I can't . . ." She shook her head, lost for words. "I can't protect you from that."

Yumiko cursed the way those words made her stomach flip - not the time. Her phone felt heavy in her pocket, useless, and her mind was a violent hellscape, tossing up image after image of all the situations that could be keeping her mother from answering but . . .

Fuck it.

She was right.

The world shook for a moment, shaky legs almost falling out from under her as she allowed herself to sink down onto the floor, hiding her head in her hands. She was right . The darkness made everything still and she could imagine for a moment that this wasn't really happening, that it was just some big nightmare, that-

People were fucking eating people, for god's sakes. Dead people. How could this be real?

There was a pause, the sound of shuffling, and she felt a stiff form settle down beside her. Hesitantly, an arm came around her, too lose, too distant, but there. "I'm sorry."

Yumiko shook her head, forgetting entirely Magna's discomfort when it came to any kind of physical intimacy - hell, any kind of intimacy in general - and allowed herself to collapse. Falling into her, she buried her head in the other woman's chest, hands coming up to latch onto the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something, anything to hold onto.

Magna flinched and her body became like a rock, rebelling at every place of contact between them.

Remembering herself, Yumiko moved to withdraw, "Shit, sorry, I-" but the arm around her tightened, keeping her in place. Slowly, she felt the muscles against her force themselves to relax as that arm found a surer purchase, pulling her closer. After a moment, she felt the slight weight of a chin coming to rest on her head, a hand coming up to find one of hers. Disentangling Yumiko 's almost rabid hold, they wrapped around her and squeezed, held tight and this-

This was better.

"Stay."

She did.

. . .

"I am your friend. a soul for your soul. a place for your life. home. know this. sun or water. here or away. we are a lighthouse. we leave. and we stay."

― Nayyirah Waheed

. . .

Magna knew that Miko's upbringing had been a fair bit more stable than hers. Parents divorced at nine, yes, but that was terribly common wasn't it? (and neither of them had tried to shoot the other.) She'd graduated at the top of her class, whilst Magna had been kicked out of three schools for fighting before her aunt and uncle had given up and stopped sending her. It wasn't a huge loss. The only classes she'd been doing well in were art and P.E. And whilst she had missed those it was a relief to get away from the taunting students and judgmental teachers.

Considering her criminal record that kept her from working at anything other than a seedy truck stop with its overly handsy customers, that had probably worked out for the best. Good grades wouldn't have been of any help to her by then.

She still laughed sometimes at the memory of Miko popping by on her shifts, how out of place she'd looked, sitting on a rickety stool behind the counter whilst Magna tended customers, still dressed in a suit from work that never seemed to wrinkle.

The pair of them had garnered more than a few looks.

But Miko had been at ease with it, picking at her fries - the only food on the menu that would probably pass a health inspection - making small talk, interjecting with the occasional complaint about Jerry, the company vulture, who kept trying to steal her clients. Magna had been confused by the attention, wary even. She'd wondered if the lawyer checked up on all her former clients like this, or if she was just a special case. She hadn't asked - she hadn't wanted to know the answer, to face the inevitable 'yes'.

A part of her had wanted to scare her off, had hated the way she got instantly on edge as soon as she saw Miko's form enter in the door, the way she felt even worse when she watched her leave out it. But another, more secret part, had been starved for company; the kind that didn't make her want to punch someone, anyway. So she'd held her tongue, and slowly let down her defenses.

Until one night, a trucker had gone to bite a chunk out of Miko's face.

It had been her turn to work the truck stop diner connected to the store, and Yumiko had been leaning against the counter, nursing a cup of too-sweet hot chocolate and conversing with her between customers. She'd just glanced down at her phone after hearing a ping and Magna had looked up at the sound, glimpsed the man lumbering closer, closer - too close.

She'd never been so glad of the quick reflexes life had beaten into her, because in that moment she hadn't needed to think. She'd shoved Miko back, a little too forcefully since she ended up hitting the ground with a smack that made Magna wince - but it was enough.

Her hand had been grabbing the knife from beneath the bench before she even registered, her arm jolting with the shock of sinking it into flesh that gave way too easily as she leapt across the counter, blood spattering against her face in a terrible sort of deja vu, her stomach turning - fuck fuck fuck - but he didn't fall, didn't scream; and then she'd grabbed Miko, tugged her up and ran, ears howling with the sound of all hell breaking loose around them. The police sirens in her head hadn't been real, she'd known they weren't, they couldn't be, not this soon, but her heart pounded in her chest from more than just adrenaline and fuck-

She'd done it again.

And just when she was finally starting to get used to freedom.

She hadn't realized until later that night, hauled up in her apartment - it had been closest and neither of them had really wanted to be alone after that - and watching the actual End of Days unfold on international television, that it had been the first time they'd touched. Magna had always kept a certain level of distance and Miko had never tried to cross it. Not until later that night, when Magna had reached out to stop her from leaving, when she'd collapsed into her arms with an ease that made Magna want to run out the door instead . . . and later when Miko grabbed her hand as she was heading to bed. It was just a moment, just a brief squeeze accompanied by a weak but grateful smile - but Magna had felt her heart try to escape her chest at that smile, at that touch . . .

It had just been a push. Barely anything compared to getting someone out of jail at least twelve years - though more likely an entire lifetime - earlier than expected. Especially when she still hadn't known that the person she'd been fighting so hard to free wasn't nearly as innocent as she'd assumed.

Somehow, the most surprising event of the night, was that Magna hadn't minded the touch, hadn't pulled away. More shocking, she'd missed it when it was gone; had felt empty each time Miko left her grasp, yearning to reach out and-

And that was when Magna had known she was screwed.

Miko told her that she'd known the same thing sometime around the third day of planning their trial strategy.

Thirteen years later and they were still pretty screwed.

. . .

"I've spent much too long in the space between staying and letting go."

- Perry Poetry

. . .

A/N: So this story has turned out to be a lot more Magna-centric then intended and that's not because I love Yumiko any less, I just find it easier to get inside the heads of characters like Magna. I'm used to writing somewhat dysfunctional people with more than a bit of trauma (probably cos I have a bit of trauma of my own lol). You know, the loveable walking disasters of the world. She might come off a bit ooc in this and that's partly because I'm still familiarizing myself with writing her and because she's a tad bit fragile after everything that's happened, which i think we all saw in last episode - Miko is also feeling pretty fragile for the same reason. Speaking of which. What. The. Fuck. It makes zero sense to me that these two would make up but still not get back together and I'm gonna sue the writers for torture if this keeps going on. So I had to write a fix-it fic. And I also felt like there was a lot these two still needed to talk about that I'm not entirely confident the show will ever address so voila a fic was made.

Also, just gonna note going forth that Magna’s own feelings about herself aren’t necessarily a reflection of my own feelings about her character. Girl’s got some insecurities to sort through. Likewise, her judgments - good and bad - about Yumiko aren’t necessarily true, either, for the same reason. It’s one of the causes for conflict in their relationship.

So there are probably two ways to look at how these two might have noticed they had feelings for each other: a) these two idiots have been in love for 13 years and were both too chicken and oblivious to do do anything about it, or b) their love developed slowly from the bonds of friendship over a very long time. I like both options but I decided to go with the former for this fic.

The series titles is from the song You by Keaton Henson. If you're familiar with the song - my Lost Girl buddies will be - don't worry nobody is going to die! that line just really fits them so much, and it's also about accepting the fact that you might lose the one you love but that doesn't mean you should be afraid of loving them or living your life.

. . .

OK, just gonna do a little shameless self-promotion, hope you don't mind :)

I made a yumagna vid so if you haven't seen it already and you're interested it's here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grzrpr0QZEE (I'm gonna do more so if you want to stay in the loop subscribe to my youtube channel. I'll probs end up doing a short one for Unsteady because of this fic but I'm holding out till we get a yumagna hug)

I have an insta for yumagna called @yumagnas.home . my multifandom one is @bonnielextra (lots of awesome women that i make edits for just fyi) and my personal one is @cissyalice. Hit me up so I can follow some more yumagna stans!

My twitter is @bonnielextra and @welcometocaritas (for my edits). Currently just a lot of crying about yumagna on the first one.

And my tumblr is welcometocaritas. Obviously no pressure to look at any of these but I just thought I'd put them in just case :)

#yumagna #magniko #the walking dead #nadia hilker #eleanor matsuura #yumagna edit #yumagna fanfic #magna twd #yumiko #yumiko twd #mypost #My posts #myfic #my fic #my edit #myedit

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fusion-ego · 5 years

Text

So... 2019, huh?

((LONG post ahead!))

This year has really been something, hasn’t it? I had to quit my second job ever because of my back problems (along with other shit lol), I hardly wrote anything all year, and I started in on my Bachelor’s degree. I moved 1600 miles cross-country to Arizona and I’ve been down here for six months now! I had to leave my Markiplier Nudes Calendar™ back in Illinois because I forgot to take it off my wall before I left and it probably got thrown away by the landlord :c, I let my parents borrow a credit card for the move down here and went into debt as a result of almost single-handedly financing the move, had several breakdowns, and despite my best attempts I haven’t been able to get a job yet, but I’m still trying!

A lot of things happened this year.

I turned 20.

I started liking myself again after years of literally hating myself and that quickly advanced to me loving myself again. Turns out I’m pretty cool, even if I am annoying as fuck.

Turns out that having primarily depressive episodes and not having the motivation or desire to take care of myself doesn’t make me any less of a person. It doesn’t make my struggles invalid just because I’m the one not taking care of myself. It turns out, taking care of yourself is fucking hard sometimes, especially if the combined symptoms of your mental and physical ailments put you in a position where everything feels like too much.

It also turns out that taking care of yourself is difficult when you’ve spent your entire life (or at least the parts where you actually had friends) putting all of the wants and needs of your friends and loved ones above your own.

Taking care of yourself is hard when you were raised to be The Strong One, who doesn’t break down and who doesn’t have any issues, thanks. The one who, sure, they haven’t showered in a week and they feel like crap because they haven’t eaten, but you don’t need to know that! You just go eat and take a shower, hun, The Strong One is okay.

It took until this year for me to learn that being The Strong One didn’t mean I couldn’t break down sometimes. It didn’t mean I couldn’t take time for myself and that I had to be available all the time for my friends. Setting boundaries has been a learning experience for me and everyone else in my friend group, I think. I think I’ve cried more this year than I have since I was a kid, and you know what that is? Growth.

And honestly, I’ve really gotta thank my lovely fiance @goreyglitches for some of that. I am petrified of crying when anyone can see or hear me. I was raised to be The Strong One and The Strong One doesn’t cry. I conditioned myself to not be a “crybaby” and to never, ever, ever cry. And I know that’s bad - repressing negative emotions just makes it worse in the long-run. I figured that out with anger and tried to fix it long before I tried to fix the crying issue, and this year? This year Tobi’s helped a lot. I trust him, and I feel safe with him, so when he shuts the door and pulls the covers over us and holds me and tells me it’s okay to cry, I cry. And I am so grateful to him for that I don’t think I even have words.

And @ashencreations has been a wonderful friend this year, as always, even if both of us have been having issues this year. They’ve, I think, been one of the people I vented to the absolute most and they’ve been a real peach about it and even if I don’t have a whole lot of energy to talk sometimes (most of the time) they still love me and are accommodating of my issues. That’s pretty cool! I know a lot of people who can’t talk to people they’ve dated in the past and I have to admit I wouldn’t have been surprised if we fell out this year, but here we are - finishing another year as best friends. They let me have my space and they check in to make sure I’ve eaten and slept and showered. And I try to do the same but my check-ins have been a little lackluster this year while I find my boundaries so oops for that. I’ll try harder next year!

And really, I have to thank everyone who’s stuck with me through this year. My friends and my followers and even just folks who know me because I’m mutuals with someone they’re friends with - all of you. I know this year has sucked and I’ve been really annoying and I’m constantly asking for money, so thank you for sticking around. I’m trying to get back into the old swing of things and I’ve put in about a billion applications and I’m in University, can you believe that? You guys being patient even when I’m annoying has been really helpful. This is especially true of the folks in Lexi’s server who have to see me venting all the time. Y’all are darlings and I’m sorry I keep dragging my shit in there lmao I’ll try not to so much next year.

I’m especially thankful, though, I think, of the people who are still with me after so many years of knowing me. Like Ran and Ness and Zare and Comedy and even Em, even if we don’t talk. I mean, Em probably the most - she knew me when I was such a shithead that it’s kinda laughable now and yet she’s willing to be mutuals with me now. That’s pretty funny. (Hey, Em, guess who’s still trying to figure out how to write that TMNT thing and make it as interesting as the original idea was?) And of course I’ve known Comedy since elementary school but we didn’t really get close until high school and then I dropped off the face of the earth for like a year lol but she’s been a peach the whole time I’ve known her. And Ran’s been around for a while, we’ve known each other long enough that he probably still remembers when I went by Al. And Ness, who doesn’t have tumblr to my knowledge, well I’ve known her since diapers and she’s going to be the Maid of Honor at mine and Tobi’s wedding when we have the money to do a real ceremony - I would have filled that place at her wedding, too, if her sister-in-law wasn’t a needy bitch who had to have that position or she’d pitch a fit and ruin the entire wedding. And like, don’t even get me started on Zare, who was there when I was the worst shithead I’ve ever been and somehow still likes me even all these years later. I introduced myself to this man as Prussia, y’all. I introduced myself to him as a fallen kingdom because it was easier to pronounce than my legal name.

(It may have also been because I was into Hetalia and projected onto the character really hard because of all the “I’m awesome!” and thought it would help me be more confident, and also perhaps because my legal name being mispronounced led to a lot of people knowing me as a different fallen kingdom so it was a haha funny joak to me)

Also, this year, a certain vine-man turned youtube-man made a video that really, really spoke to me. Thomas introducing Remus and having an entire episode about intrusive thoughts and ‘bad’ creativity was - it meant a lot to me. Because since 2018, when I started writing Ego stuff, I haven’t... Well, I used to write a lot of dark stuff, y’all. I wrote violent shit because I wanted to and it was kinda just my Thing™. But after I started writing Ego stuff I started feeling like that was problematic, like it was a bad thing that I wanted to write nasty stuff like that. No one did anything to make me think that! It was just that, well, that kind of violence just... Seemed out of place. I’ve been in the process of writing a 146K+ word, 43 chapter fic containing ritualistic cannibalism, murder, unsafe sex, and various other nasty things since 2017 and I spent a terrifying amount of time feeling... Bad for that last year and this year. I’ve had to re-learn that it’s okay to write nasty stuff (no matter the moral issues other people take with it) because exploring not-so-great things in fic, especially to cope, is one of the many points of writing fic. And I’ll be honest, my dumpster fire fic was something I was writing to get through my associate’s degree because it was a new and terrifying experience and the prominent theme of running away was a feeling I was dealing with in tandem at the time. Remus’ introduction reminded me that dealing with intrusive thoughts and exploring the ‘bad’ creativity doesn’t make me a bad person, it just means I have nasty ideas and even the best people can have those. At least I can turn them into something I’m proud of writing.

So, going forward, I’m not going to shy away from writing my nasty stuff, and in 2020 I’m going to try and finish Trial and Error. I haven’t updated it since August, 2018, guys, it needs a new chapter.

And on that note, I don’t usually make New Years’ Resolutions. I never saw the point in the past and it wasn’t something super encouraged by anyone around me, so it never seemed important. But I’m making a resolution this year.

Over the years and years of writing, I’ve encountered something I think every writer encounters - I stopped writing. Now, I’m not saying I don’t write. Obviously I do, and have been, for a long time. I’m saying I don’t write like I used to. In 2013/2014 I wrote a 36-chapter Sly Cooper fic featuring an OC that still gets hits to this day, and I wrote it over the course of three months. I started it in November 2013 and it was done and put aside by the third of January 2014. It’s still one of my favorites! But the chapters are short, the storyline needs work, I didn’t spellcheck anything or even remotely try to keep my timeline completely straight. It was the first multi-chapter story exceeding 10 chapters that I ever finished. I wrote a chapter a day, as long as I was capable of doing so, I posted it, and I never looked back. It’s not a great story, but it’s one of my favorites. I loved it then and I love it now. And that’s something I don’t do anymore! When a fic doesn’t live up to my expectations, I don’t love it like I love that old fic, which did not at all live up to my expectations. My perfectionism has developed over the years and it has killed my creativity. I can still make cool stuff, can still make things I like, but it’s not the same anymore.

So my resolution is, in 2020, I’m going to write.

I’m going to write like I used to, but I’m going to put all of my experience into it.

I started writing in 2008 or 2009, maybe even before that - if I can recapture the love I had for it then, then I will be in great shape. I didn’t spellcheck back then and frankly I kinda sucked at writing even in 2013/2014, but if I can love writing like I did then and put all of what I’ve learned into it? Holy shit. I mean, I’ve been rewriting that old Sly Cooper fic for the past couple weeks, so it’s not exactly a mystery how much better things will turn out if I pour my much better spelling and grammar, my better ideas, my better commitment, into my fics going forward. All I need to make them great is to love doing it.

So in 2020, I’m going to write.

2019 has been a wild ride, and I’ve written less than half of what I wrote in 2018, not even counting all of my Ego requests for either year. I’ve spent the last three days in a mad dash to reach 100K written this year on AO3 by writing 30K before midnight tonight. I have 5K left! But even breaching 100K I won’t be halfway there. In 2018 I wrote 225.6K on AO3, not counting Ego stuff. And I think that’s because I haven’t loved doing it like I used to - the fact that I’ve loved the fic I started in order to make my “30K by tonight” goal and I haven’t let myself have enough time to agonize over whether it’s “good” or not has a lot of effect on how much I’ve written. My wordcount per hour has, like, doubled because I actually wanted to work. So I’ll reach my goal by tonight and still have time to celebrate at midnight.

So, again, thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me through this crazy year. Things haven’t been great, I’ll be honest, but I’m hoping next year will be better. They’re already off to a good start - my dad and I have a plan for him to start paying me back for how much money we spent moving here, and if I can get a job it’ll only get easier and it’ll only get better. And on top of that me and Tobi have plans to legalize our Marriage™ in September. It won’t be anything big - we’re waiting to have a real ceremony until we have the money to make sure Zare and Ness and Ran can come. But if all goes well, on 9/20/20 we’ll have the legal shit sorted out and Tobi will officially be my husband so that’s just another thing to be looking forward to.

Happy New Year, y’all! Hope you all have a good one. I speak a good 2020 into existence and I won’t stop until I get it.

#happy new year #long post #personal #sort of #new years eve 2019 #new years 2020

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jamestkirkish · 5 years

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Fanfiction Stats

I was tagged by the lovely and talented @ariaadagio

Author Name: amandaithink on AO3, schntgaispocked on FFN (not that I’ve been on there in forever so let me quick update that profile because I’m not 25 anymore...o.o)

Fandoms You Write For:

Active - Lucifer

Not so active - Star Trek, MCU, Doctor Who, Supernatural

Where You Post:

Current - AO3

Former-ish (I’m not planning yet on moving the fics because it seems like a lot of effort but I might) - FFN, Livejournal (I can’t remember my account info)

VERY FORMER - Message boards back when I was in middle school and high school.

Most Popular One-Shot: By Kudos/Favs AND Comment Threads/Reviews - Hardly the Best Choice (Lucifer) [I count this as a one shot because I wrote it as on and posted it all at once. The ‘chapters’ were just a formatting choice].

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: By Kudos/Favs - Take This To Your Grave (The Avengers) God I miss writing this story. I broken record about losing all of my fic notes, I feel like. Like I complain about it too much. I think about it every day, though, and rarely voice the thoughts. But it bothers me. At some point I’m going to have to give up ever finding them and sit down and reread everything I’ve written and reoutline and plot all of them.

By Comment Threads/Reviews: Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen (Doctor Who) That is super flattering, actually. This is the most self indulgent thing I’ve ever done and it’s super hard to write. I didn’t lose the notes for this. I’m actually still working on it. I haven’t posted in forever because it is SUPER HARD TO WRITE. If you’re in the DW fandom you probably are well aware of how popular season rewrites are, and chances are if you read any OC fics we’ve read the same ones because people don’t jump into OC rewrites lightly and if they do, it’s done in a certain way. I decided to go a whole different and difficult way for this fic. Not going to lie I have so many random Holly Ashby docs on my computer because I write little random stories set further ahead than what I’ve got written in the actual fic just so that I can KEEP FIGURING OUT MY OC. And because I like what I’m doing even if I’m stuck for the main story. It’s so much fun.

Favorite Story You Wrote: Of Broken Worlds and Changing Times (Star Trek) I found most of my notes for this, but not the main notes. If I have to give up ever finding my notes, I think this one will be able to stay most true to my original intentions, but I’m still missing so much. Writing this story (as much as I have of it) helped me learn so much. I had never done action shots before. I had never done that much research before (I read a lot of zombie and survival lit, and I’ll probably have to reread a lot of that stuff before I can get back into it).

I also really loved writing Did We All Fall Down (Supernatural). It takes place around Season 8 of Supernatural and is a spin off full of OCs. I did it for NaNoWriMo awhile back (I won for wordcount but didn’t finish the story - lost notes, man [playing it cool like it doesn’t break my heart, look at me go]). It’s only on tumblr, because I felt like there wasn’t really a desire for that kind of thing on the fic sites. It was so much fun, though. Which was the point. As always.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: All of them. Every single one. I’m still nervous about their existence sometimes. Especially the really old ones, because writing is something I continue to get better at the more I do it, and when I look back at some of them I’m just like ‘oh no why’. I so badly want to do rewrites for my incomplete fics when I eventually complete them. Because they could be improved. Really. And I may do that if I move my FFN ones to AO3 once I get going on them again. Like that would be part of my ‘hey guys, if you could read over here post’. Like: “I’m moving this story to AO3 and also I’ve rewritten what is on here because I wrote that X years ago and honestly I can convey ideas better now I’ve been practicing, trust me”. Something like that. Maybe. Who knows. I also feel like I’m supposed to let them be. You know, so that I can watch myself improve. Would be very disjointed for the reader, though ... who knows.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: Depends.

For Lucifer fics, I’ve been grabbing lines I like from the fic and using it as the title because that’s how the episode titles work and I think it’s fun. HOWEVER I didn’t do that for Devil Undone because I wrote that in an hour with Hallucinogenics on repeat and then slapped a title on it super quick because I didn’t care what the title was. I want to change it, but I’m worried about breaking the matrix. ALSO I did do that for Before There Was Light and I wish I could change that one too because I feel like Once Before Time is a better title and the current title is too similar to another fic (and that wasn’t intentional, but could easily have been subconscious I have no idea, because my brain is an ADHD trainwreck). Still worried about breaking the matrix.

A lot of my fics are named after album titles, song titles, lyrics, etc. Take This To Your Grave is very directly Fall Out Boy. If you listen to the corresponding chapter’s song as you read it you will see what I was doing there. Also you will experience how i wrote it (writing with one song on repeat is something I actually do kind of often bahaha).

Sometimes I just think something sounds cool (ex. Of Broken Worlds and Changing Times).

Do You Outline: Most of the time, yes. Heavy outlines, too.

For one shots? Not at all.

For Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, not at all, but now I technically have an outline if only because I wrote so many personal ficlets and one shots with the characters that I know what has happened in the future.

For Mischief Managed (Avengers), not at all. As part of an experiment. I actually think I have a few chapters of that handwritten that haven’t been posted yet. I like actually handwriting things more than typing, I’m more likely to finish that way but it also takes forever.

How many of your stories are…

Complete: 5 (on those sites, as we’re not looking at any of my childhood work)

In-Progress: 7

Coming Soon: Based on my WIP folder? 13. Including NKTTIS extras? 17. What I can actually feel decent about committing to? 2 things. Because my WIP folder is insane and ridiculous and the epitome of ‘writing fanfiction because it’s fun’.

EDIT: I remembered google docs. There’s like ... 4 partial things on there ...

It’s safe to assume at all times that even if you’re not seeing anything posted by me, I am writing something. Perhaps I should post random snippets on my writing tumblr.

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes (though if you send them to this blog I will probably still post them on writingithink because that’s what that blog exists for, as my writing tumblr).

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: The Shift (Lucifer) - that’s a working title. It’s so much fun so far, the only problem is it will probably take me forever to write and by the time it’s ready the @luciferbingo prompts will have expired bahahaha. I’m not going to start posting this one until it’s finished, though. Because having all of those incomplete stories out there frustrates me. I wasn’t planning on any of them taking this long.

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: My god, who writes fics or has written fics. Erm ... I TAG @oh-mylordy, @swishandflickwit, @lucks-eterna, @thesupercousin and @aziraphalesrarebooks and anyone I have forgotten in this current moment of panic.

#tag game #text post #on fanfiction

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insomniac-arrest · 6 years

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I’m considering writing a multi-chapter she-ra fic, but I hardly write anymore and I’ve never posted any of my work online. Should I still do it? I’m afraid it’s gonna turn out shitty, but I also still want feedback and I want to improve my writing. I’m just afraid it’ll be bad

YES

and you know what? It might be ‘bad’

but, as the saying goes, you can’t hit if you don’t swing

I wrote a lot of bullshit before I ever wrote anything good and I published it all online (this may haunt me one day), I wrote a 30k garbage Davekat fic

hell, I still write crap and put it out into the world, only like 10% of my work is something I consider genuinely good and it took me a couple years to even get that much lol

but! That 10%? That bursting feeling of improvement? That rush of satisfaction from doing all you can and producing something ‘good’? it’s like euphoria my friend, it’s very very worth it

so write your multi-chapter fic, write your 50k of whatever you want, SWING- you might miss but you’ll get better each time you play the game

#asks #writing #GO FOR IT <3 #Anonymous

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 6 years

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Out Of The Woods (3/?)

This multi chap fic has been one that I've wanted to write for a while. I'm hoping to connect a few loose ends, since my series is getting closer to the end. Don't worry, I still got a couple of fics left in me. I'd love to thank @xerxezra whose conversations with me are always inspirational. I'd also like to thank @dorkydisappointment whose writing got my creative juice flowing and @hoodoo12 who continues to inspire me all the time. Please check out the wonderful art done by @ravenousscorpian for two scenes out of the second chapter of this fic (Her art found here)

References to the woman in Ricks journal is from my fic What You Found Amongst The Pages. I know, that was shameless self promotion. There are a lot of questions that I wanted to answer in you'd chapter, but for the sake of editing had to put it in the next. I'll work on it right as soon as this is posted. Thanks for everyone's continued support. 😘😘😘😘😘😘

If you haven't read part 1 or part2, then heres a link (Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2)

In this fic the reader tries to uncover the mystery of the artist behind Zeta-7s portrait.

___________________________

Chapter 3: Dare Not Say That Man Forgets Sooner

Whatever redeeming qualities the room held in the previous happy hours were gone, and now even the remnant, lingering daydreams were falling away. With every hour you comprehended the severity of your assumptions and what the consequences were if you decided that enough was enough. Honestly, you didn't want to lose him because Zeta-7 was the light of your life; he expanded your universe and had helped you become a better person, but you could still carry on if you needed to. You had the means, your work, and an ever growing list of books to read, but was it enough, now that you had gotten a taste of the good life? Probably not.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Concerning the current situation, and all which led up to it; if you considered everything which included your existence, life till now, and all he had ever done, then there was no mistaking that he loved you; or had; at least thought he did, but it didn't change the truth of the matter; you hadn't been the first. A few hours had given you time to weep until you thought you had no tears left to cry, but there was still a thick fog over your thoughts and rationality; any shift of emotion being too much to bear. You curled into yourself, aching, hoping you'd disappear, but it didn't work; you were still here; stuck. Being at a disadvantage, not knowing how to get home and neither having a way to get there if you could was frustrating.

Who knows how long you'd been down here, despairing, wallowing in memories and dust, but you were tired, thirsty, and knew that if you didn't move he'd have trouble finding you, and yet you didn't care; let him find you; let him work for it. Though, how would that make it any better? All it would do is succeed in upsetting him before you knew all the facts. You hated this. Father always said hate was a strong word that shouldn't be taken for granted; you rarely had reason to feel as such, but the more you gleaned from those photos and the more proof you found of her presence about the place made you feel hateful and bitter.

Thinking of her smiling at him, receiving every bit of his loving-kindness and inviting demeanor animated by unaffected good-will; his general countenance and becoming familiar with a fresher-faced creature of your dreams; holding him; touching him; loving him. Oh God no, you thought, groaning into a handmade pillow. What was worse was that you couldn't dissuade the thought of her mysterious silhouette sneaking up behind you, plunging a knife into your already fragile identity, and taking back what was hers. Your doubt feeding these ugly horrors which were hybrids of nightmares and daydreams.

Though during a brief moment of clarity, you had come to a conclusion which hardly alleviated these feelings, but we're true; it wasn't your fault. Yes, it had been your choice to accept him and be in a proper relationship with someone with an ambiguous past, and yes you did snoop around a little, but you didn't know how much he'd been hiding or searching for someone like her and had settled on silly, stupid you. Yet, no matter how much you thought about it, why chase a vision of the past and put so much effort in the present? There must've been more to this; there had to be.

Manifested, unstinted kindness and consideration and love in his form didn't happen out of the blue, it was nurtured and conditioned. Had it been her influence which made you knew? Who knows, but you had been fortunate to have had an opportunity to associate let alone form a romantic attachment, but that would soon pass away once you confronted him. Right? After a little while longer, when your heart was finally beginning to slow and thought you'd be able to catch your breath, you heard him walking about upstairs; calling and knocking.

Rick was home and you turned over on the couch and covered your ears so you wouldn't hear him; you weren't ready to deal with this; you didn't want to deal with this. In your heart of hearts, you wanted to go home, to the past, back to when there were no problems and it was just you, dad, and your dreams. If only he was still around so that he could tell you that everything was alright and it was all just a bad dream and that he could fix it, but you couldn't; only in a dream, you could. Dad always knew what was best, but you were old enough to decide for yourself now.

Did this mean you wish you never knew Rick? No, but you wished that you would've never known about all this; about her; that you could've lived in ignorance. Oh, the sweet, sweet bliss of ignorance, how wonderful it had been while it lasted. Even when his warm laughter echoed down the stairway, having found you, ready, eager and excitable to be near you, you didn't answer. You knew you weren't in the state of mind to say anything nice, that despite it all he wasn't a bad person. Yet, the moment that hand of his touched your shoulder, you hissed. “Don't touch me.”

He gasped, stunned by this uncharacteristic aggression. Maybe you weren't the nice girl he thought you were after all; especially if the rustling of his clothes alone made you angry enough to dig your nails into the couch cushions. Zeta-7 waited for a few moments, ruminating on what would be the best course of action before he knelt down to be at your level and wondered. “What's wrong? Are y-y-you hurt? Is th-there anything I can do?”

Swallowing back a sob, you silently counted to ten then answered in a listless tone. “I don't know if you can. You've… you've been hiding stuff from me.”

“Huh, I-I have? What have I…”

“Don't try to deny it.”

Pushing yourself up, you rubbed your swollen eyes and chanced a look at him; your sight fuzzy as tears threatened to fall but thankfully didn't. The alarm in his widened eyes at the state of your runny nose, and tear-stained cheeks made him instinctively reach out to wipe your tears away, but you pushed that familiar, loving hand away. “M-mi corazón?”

Instead of answering as you usually would, you pulled out the well-loved copy of Persuasion from behind a pillow, took a deep breath and dropped it on his lap. “I found it while I was looking for something to read.”

“Oh geez.”

“And can you believe I found more than I bargained for.”

You two sat in silence for what felt like hours as he stared at it, and when he gathered the courage to look inside, the lines about his brow and mouth deepened; another sign that it was true. When he finally interrupted the silence, he confessed regretfully. “I-I was going to tell you.”

“But you didn't. There's a lot of things that I understand are none of my business, but this….I think is a good time to know. If you care about me at all, then read what you wrote.”

“But it's - it's not what you think.”

“Then there's nothing be afraid of. Go on then, read it.”

Visibly swallowing, his shaky hands held it open and he stuttered. “I-I-I thought of you today as I left th-the milky way, on my way t-to a classified location. I-I wish you were here so I could show you the beauty that exists across the universe, but knowing our limitations I can only send you this wonderful novel that I found when I was exploring a-a bookstore located on one of Saturn's moons. I-I know it can be hard to believe that Miss Jane Austen's works can reach the furthest depths of-of space, but that can be blamed on a certain Gallifreyan and his little blue box. I can't wait to hear what y-y-you think of it. Till next time my dear. With love, from Rick.”

“Don't forget the photos.”

Setting down the book, he glanced at the discarded photos, sagging a little after each one, gauging your reaction after he finished studying them. Rick was a smart man, he knew well enough that he messed up and how compromising those photos were. “It's not - I was only writing as ugh - as a friend.” He began, wringing his hands as he went on. “Y-y-y-y-you know I don't have that many.”

Which was true. “Really? So what did she do for you? Was she special?”

“She - she made me a little less lonely. That in itself was something I w-was grateful for.”

Your nails bit into your palms and that ever familiar ache bloomed across your chest; his answer birthing more questions than you were willing to ask. He offered you a Werther's original to placate you which you accepted; it's wrapper similar to the one in the painting. As ever he waited for you to answer, and the longer he waited, the more he sagged; his eyes pleading, hoping, wishing that he could know whatever hurt clouded your heart and wanted to fix it. “I want to believe you, I really do,” you admitted, which made him hopeful, though only for you to crush it with this. “but I'm tired of walking on eggshells. Tell me, what did you want from me when you had someone like her? Seems as though she was a good match for you. She was a creative who could paint, loved flowers, and butterflies among other things I imagine.”

“Sh-she did.”

You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to hold back the surge of feelings which were a result of his sincerity. Damn it. You could do this……possibly. “See?” you said cooly, focusing your gaze on your naked feet. “I knew she was special considering you sent her a book that had belonged to the Doctor. She also knew about your travels, which meant you trusted her and you hardly trust anyone. The point I'm getting at is that I want to know what I am to you. So, am I a knockoff or a rebound? Because we both know there's nothing like the real thing.”

“N-n-no, not at all. You mean th-the world to me and I-I love you. I have only loved you. ”

“But she loved you, didn't she? And you loved her. I can't ignore that. If she's anything like me, then what are we doing together Ricardo? Why aren't you with her? I…. I thought we understood each other but then I found proof that I was only second best. I can't do it, I can't compete with a shadow, and I'm not going to try. I don't have it in me.”

“I-I-I-I never expected you to. Por favor mi amor de m-mi vida, if you'll let me explain, I'll tell you whatever you want. I - I don't want to lose you. Please, honest t-t-to God, I don't. I can't.”

“Hmm, I didn't know you were a praying man.”

“When you're about t-t-to lose your universe, I don't think there are th-that many options. I can't - oh please I can't lose you. Not again.”

You felt your resolve breaking. You wanted to fall into his arms and melt into the comfort of them; for you both to comfort each other and let it all go because it probably was just a big misunderstanding; him being the best thing that ever happened to you, but not yet. Maybe he was a praying man after all, and if God was merciful, then why wouldn't you be? Rick certainly would. For Zeta-7, you could be. He'd definitely given you enough chances.

“Fine.” you decided, helping him up as you stood, but through this brief touch he almost misunderstood, thinking that the worst was over and gave your hand a squeeze; his warm smile weakening your resolve even further. Maybe Ricks were masters at mind games after all. And you knew it wouldn't take much for him to make you forget how unhappy you were, and like magic, show you something wonderful and dazzling, but you didn't want to be charmed; you wanted the truth. You bit the flesh inside of your cheeks hard enough for you to bleed, and despite relishing the warmth which permeated your chilled hands, you let go. “I'm……I'm not over it yet.”

TBC

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez #rick and morty #rick and morty fanfiction #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #j19ζ7 #rick j19zeta7 #j19zeta7 #j-19-zeta-7 #rick j-19-zeta-7 #rnm fanfic #rnm #my writing #my works

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nervouswreck-96 · 6 years

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Supernova (Sonic fanfic): Chapter 5: What's He Building In There?

Well…shoot. I can't really say anything here, other than I'm sorry. This is where you'd usually find me giving an excuse for slacking off (busy schedule, hectic family life, kidnapped by Bowser, etc.), but I honestly don't have one. There is no explanation for the delay other than a combination of writer's block, a horrific lack of inspiration, and flat-out laziness on my part.

In fact, the chapter you're reading here is somewhat unfinished, making up about 75-80% of the chapter I wanted to write. I'm only posting it for the sake of posting something, and just to see if anyone is still interested.

Don't be surprised if it takes another year for the next chapter to come out, although reviews may shorten the wait ever so slightly.

...too late.

He exhaled, forgetting his place for a moment, and slumped in defeat. Disconnected chunks of black plastic sliced through the lining of his gloves, cutting into his hands. This was all that was left of Tails' communicator. The damned thing had burst open from the casing, revealing a veritable Escher painting of disconnected wiring and snapped capacitors. Through the wreckage of what used to be a working radio, Sonic swore he could hear voices reaching out to him…the same ones he knew might be calling his name this very second, seeking a connection which had been rudely cut.

For a moment, time froze in the fierce stare between Sonic and his metallic duplicate, which isolated the two from the carnage formed in their struggle. A curtain of smoke enveloped the two combatants, as hardly a square inch of the once-pristine area remained untouched by Metal Sonic's explosive arsenal. But at last, there was a moment to breathe, free of the steady stream of fire, shrapnel, and near-death. The orchestra of battle went into intermission, its echoes still ringing in Sonic's eardrum. Still, it was nice to be able to hear his own thoughts for a change. Then again, that didn't mean very much when those thoughts mostly consisted of the words "too late" playing on a continuous loop.

Which quickly shifted to "get him".

Still very much compromised by the high-speed collision with solid ground, Sonic's mind continued to send mixed signals, playing a sick game with his sense of direction. He was twisting, spiraling, traveling at a million miles a minute, yet at the same time, going nowhere, for he knew his hands and feet were tethered to the floor. Even the slightest impulse to his eyes sliced and stabbed at his cranium, which with each passing second felt more and more like an overripe cantaloupe which had some things done to it by a sledgehammer, but by now he'd kept them closed for so long he didn't realize the multi-colored morass of noise in front of him was only an illusion. Regardless – once he worked out which way was up - he contracted his left leg and used it along with his right arm to push himself off the ground.

No sooner had he raised his body off the canvas than it slammed back down again, weighed down by a heavy, steel boot.

Urghhh…feels like someone dropped an anvil on me!

Second by second, keeping his body above the floor became more of a struggle. The weight on his back only seemed to grow heavier the more he fought against it. One forearm could only quiver at the sheer effort it took, so he moved his other down for extra support. But it did no good. The shaky foundation looked ready to crumble at any moment.

No…no, come on, you're better than that! Fight through it, Sonic! Fight through it!

But his puny arms could not take the strain, and his tenuous grip gave way. As he collapsed chest-first to the floor, repressed physical torment was unleashed in a firestorm that exploded from his aching calf muscle and raced up his backside, forcing a bone-chilling wail out of his mouth before he even realized the noise had come from him. That did it. No longer could he bottle everything up. He had been sent over the threshold where the deepest of primal urges finally surpassed overcame his will to fight them off.

There was something weighing him down. Metal Sonic stood over the pathetic sight…staring at him…judging him...his titanium foot firmly nailing the hedgehog to the floor.

"So…this is what the self-proclaimed hero of the universe, slayer of gods, savior of time and space, has been reduced to? Hmmph," he said, afterwards doing his best to synthesize the sound of a disapproving sigh. "I must say, I can't help but feel disappointed."

"Urgh...I've gotten out of bigger jams than this!" The words choked, sputtered out of his mouth as he fought and clawed to escape Metal's hold. He had to keep to short, stilted sentences, a sensible balance for getting his burning thoughts out.

Suddenly, a breakthrough. Sonic's glove managed to catch on a random spot on the floor, and saw his chance to propel to it and break free. He gradually swung his one free arm out, too gradually, and that's as far as he got. Metal Sonic swooped on the maneuver and crushed it with the other foot. With the hedgehog back under control, Metal leaned over to face Sonic's ear, in the process driving just a few more pounds worth of pressure into his back.

"You are nothing more than a horsefly who thinks himself capable of slaying a lion," said Metal. "As I see it, you have two choices; surrender to the Eggman Empire or face the inevitable."

Sonic's teeth clenched, as he channeled his own physical torment into seething rage, glaring with such fury that he could almost feel his eyes changing to match Metal Sonic's blazing red. 'Surrender'. 'Inevitable'. Those words tended to have that effect on him...now, of all times.

A subconscious impulse glued him to the floor, sending him on a mental journey to the other side of the ESS-1, and a picture emerged in front of him where there was none before, a picture of Tails and Knuckles' battered and broken forms lying before him, bearing the scars and bruises forced upon him by some unknown attacker.

But that's all it was. A picture. An apparition. They may have been on a distant planet for all he knew. The radio transmission was the only link the three had left to share, and it was gone.

Guys…I don't know if I'm gonna make it out of this one…

He scooped the cluster of metal and wiring from the floor and balled it tight into a trembling fist. As if to block out the voices, he thrust that same trembling fist into the floor, creating a shockwave that tremendous enough to resonate across the ESS-1 and command Metal Sonic's attention.

…but so help me, we're gonna finish this thing no matter what!

The next words passed from brain to mouth like a whisper, but with the ferocity and impact of a knife in the dark:

"You really don't know me at all, do ya?"

If he had a fighting chance, he had to make something happen now. Just as Metal Sonic put his entire stock of energy into this finishing blow, Sonic shoved himself in a roll toward his left, holding in a scream as Metal - in a last-ditch effort to hold him back - dug his claw-like toes into Sonic's chest, tearing into exposed flesh.

The gamble paid off. He'd forced the mecha-deity into an undignified pratfall.

With momentum on his side, Sonic rolled into a somersault and bounded back onto his feet. Every step he took widened the ever-growing cracks in the foundation that was his body, but he either didn't know or simply didn't care. The weight was now off his back, and it almost felt like he could leap into the air, swing his arms out, and fly. Sweet, sweet mobility, how he missed it so.

A plasma shot flew across his radar, forcing him into a slide that saved his face from extinction...yet plunged his lower body back into a maelstrom of grinding pain. If that was the price he had to pay for mobility, then so be it.

The world flew by in a blur, or at least this cold, gray prison of a world - man, Eggman really needed to vary the color pallette a bit here - and out of the corner of his eye he managed to catch the doppelganger in his moment of weakness. In the nick of time, he transitioned into a twirling handstand, his legs unfolding and spinning like the blades of a ceiling fan, aiming straight for Metal's head.

"Hey...what the-!"

He struck Metal's left hand instead, which did not flinch, but grabbed hold of Sonic's ankle. A flick of the robot's wrist, and Sonic was cast across the room like dirty laundry.

Hmph...not playing games anymore, Metal? Well, neither am I!

With one flick of his leg, Sonic went from tumbling uncontrollably to tumbling with perfect control, recovering with a short, impromptu breakdance routine and finishing with a devastating kick to Metal Sonic's head.

Too devastating. It actually seemed to connect.

At first, Sonic wondered if he'd missed Metal altogether and actually hit a nearby pipe. But after he got to his feet and noticed the fresh, new shoe scuff he'd added to Metal Sonic's shiny gold paint scheme, it all seemed to come together. The aura surrounding Metal Sonic had dimmed, fading out whenever he did anything more energy-intensive.

Just then, the room was set alight in a red glow so intense it forced Sonic to shield his eyes to look up.

When Sonic finally gathered the strength to gaze into the blinding gleam, he noticed Metal just…standing there, bent over, letting the energy channel into his body. A pair of miniature turbines spun in opposite directions, generating light from pure nothingness and storing it as pure energy, until the mechanism burst into life, ready to unleash it all on the hedgehog. When he noticed that the source was the engine contained in Metal Sonic's chest cavity, he engaged his defenses, expecting another pounding.

But something was off.

He stood perfectly still, both feet planted...never leaving the ground, not floating. That couldn't be right, unless...unless he simply couldn't.

Yes! I knew if I ran him ragged, he'd lose his strength!

"What's the matter, pal?" asked Sonic. "Gettin' tired?"

As if jolted with a cattle prod, Metal jerked his head toward Sonic, who realized that was probably the only answer he would receive. The glow intensified, and along with it came a high-pitched hum.

A very familiar hum.

One engine sputtered, throwing Metal Sonic off balance for just a moment. An auto-gyroscopic correction system boosted power to the other to compensate, and order was restored…until the other engine blew fumes. The problem spread across his body, as his internal processes couldn't figure out whether to stay on or not. Finally, all four rockets expired completely, forcing Metal Sonic to drop.

That laser. Sonic could recognize that whining hum anywhere.

I guess he's tryin' to go out with a bang!

A single sentence played on a continuous loop in Tails' mind – This wasn't supposed to happen.

The halogen spotlights practically seared into his fur. This was a play he'd never rehearsed for, and yet he'd practically been thrust onto the stage to perform to a packed house. And everyone in the packed house was itching to mow him down if he slipped up. They'd left him nothing. An entire battalion of Egg Gunners closed in on all sides – some forming an orderly division on the ground, others lining the catwalks above, a few even scaling the walls to get a good shot at the hapless fox.

The companionship of his radio earpiece was cold and dispassionate, providing no comfort or answers, only non-stop static. Static bombarded his left eardrum for so long that the sensations of dizziness he felt when taking a step were the only reminder he was wearing the stupid thing at all.

It all seemed so simple before. A race against time, and nothing more. Just find the nerve center of the ship, get inside, and raise hell. No questions, just do it. He knew he might run into some resistance along the way, but he hadn't counted on the possibility of this much resistance. There was no telling how much time he'd have to make up…how much time he'd already lost…how much time Sonic had to spare…

His head tilted toward the sky…more specifically, toward the impossibly-high ceiling that covered it. It was the only place that looked to be bot-free…at least he assumed it was. After all, the logic was airtight. Even if a Gunner was somehow stationed up there, how could it see him from so far away, much less keep a steady enough aim to shoot him down?

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. With one massive burst of energy to his tails, he took off, with the resulting wake force knocking a few Egg Gunners to the ground.

He curled his body into a corkscrew loop, rolling himself over to get a better look at his position. A veritable city of lights took shape behind him, hundreds of little specks of light forming one by one, like fireflies dancing in the autumn breeze. Well, except for that one little speck of light rising toward him. Rather quickly, in fact. Uncomfortably so. Enough for him to see the bolts of electricity jutting from it.

Crud. Make that a dozen big specks of light.

Suddenly, Tails knew how his mono-tailed, ground-bound brethren felt during the hunting season. He was all alone, and that made him the perfect target. There was, quite literally nowhere to go but up.

His lungs were fit to blow at any moment, each twist of his tails seeming like it could be the last his system could take, but damn it, he'd just have to outdo his usual best today. If these baddies were packing anything like what Metal Sonic had, he couldn't be a millisecond off. He sliced through the air like a knife through butter, pushing straight upward against gravity with every ounce of energy he had, because if his calculations were accurate—

A balcony railing passed by his field of vision.

Now!

In one massive effort, he flung his tails into reverse and brought them to a gradual stop, curtailing his ascent. With nothing propelling him, he curled into a sudden dive, and not a second too soon. His face scrunched into itself – he couldn't dare look. He could only pray he made the right call. The world around him flashed once…twice.

Then a thunderous smack. Then another, heralding an ear-splitting chorus of metallic clanging above. Tails' heart went up his throat. Was he hit? Was he hit? No…he wasn't.

The sight of the searing, magma-like red stain dripping from the ceiling, still sizzling from the heat of the combined laser blasts, was a stark reminder of what would have become of him had he not been so fortunate. It eventually dawned on him that this was all that remained of a steel beam that once suspended from above.

At the last moment, he revved up his tails again, seamlessly transferring the momentum from his dive into a near-vertical climb, toward the only open space . Great, he thought. You survived that. Now what?

As if in answer, from a shot rang out.

He couldn't see it, couldn't track it, until it was too late. He suddenly fell into a sharp, uncontrollable dive...and as the laser's searing kiss finally started to settle in his tail, he realized why. He'd taken a hit.

He managed to keep his convalescence to a brief yelp before the adrenaline of the moment kicked in. Powered by little more than panic, he reached into his draining reserves for one massive boost from his one remaining tail. Unfortunately, he'd generated more problems than lift. In his compromised state, all he managed to do was send himself careening upside-down, sideways, every direction other than the correct one. If anyone were to ask him how it felt to be trapped inside a juice mixer…yeah, this was probably it.

If this was the Tornado, the alarm would have been blaring already. PULL UP! PULL UP! But by then, it was too late. He'd fallen too far, too fast. He couldn't put in any more power, but maybe if—

Then the floor came out of nowhere and knocked the wind out of him.

Guess not.

Knuckles' face dripped with sweat, flushed by equal parts exertion and rage.

One door. One lousy, infernal steel door stood between him and the closest thing he'd ever have to a child. It sapped his strength, it took his breath, it took every pounding he could give it and practically mocked him.

He practically threw himself back onto his feet, throwing aside some flotsam from the pile of deceased Egg Pawns gathered around his feet. That situation went to hell in a handbasket real fast. At least he learned two things from the experience. 1: Entering the wrong password on the keypad will trigger a sneak attack by specially-placed Egg Pawns and gun emplacements. 2: The password is not "password".

Still, that was all he had in the idea bag until Tails got him through the door.

Where was he, anyway? He really should have called in by now.

Knuckles pulled out his earpiece just to check whether he hadn't accidentally deactivated it. Nope…the light was green. Still on.

He scoffed. "Typical. Of all the times to go radio silent…"

Deep down, he was thankful no one could hear him. He knew that they could've heard straight through the mask he tried to project. The irony was as unavoidable as it was painful. He found himself truly alone for the first time since he boarded the ship. In a way, he'd gotten what he'd wanted.

But at what cost?

Screw it. Being a guardian meant having to make difficult…even borderline illogical choices. It said in the old mantra that Chaos is power…power enriched by the heart. He could recite that mantra from memory, but now was the time to act on it. What the Master Emerald truly needed was an act of selflessness.

It felt wrong to turn away from the Master Emerald's glow when it was so close…separated from him by no more than a thick steel door and a line of encrypted code. But eventually, he wrenched himself away and headed down the corridor.

Hold on, guys, I'm coming!

Then it happened again.

Argh!

Knuckles stumbled, barely regaining himself. Everything went dark in a hurry, and the room spun out of control, becoming little more than a featureless vortex. The faint echoes of machinery and radio static faded out, giving way to the sound of the rustling wind – a vague, nothing sound which signaled that his mind knew to process something, but not exactly what. Both sides of his head throbbed in almost rhythmic fashion, seemingly ready to explode any second.

These pulses…they were worse than ever. The Master Emerald was in pain, and he could feel it. Not only feel it…see it. His eyes were drawn back toward the other side, where a blazing green light shone through the gloom, in tune with the pounding inside Knuckles' skull. Even from behind the thick steel door, the Master Emerald beckoned to its guardian. He tried to take a step, but when took his next one with his leading foot hanging over thin air, he nearly tripped.

This wasn't real. This was only in his head, he'd told himself. He'd been through this very situation time and time again. And yet, he had to ask. What the hell was real anymore?

Ugh…now he could hardly hear himself think.

Real or not…if the concept of pain could be distilled into a single sound, this was it. This…he didn't even know what to call it, this…throbbing in his head that wouldn't go away. It was there one moment, gone the next, then back again, and like clockwork the pattern repeated. Each step was a furious struggle, his better judgement knowing where to turn, but his senses pulling him in different directions. As he edged closer to the gleam, the flux between "searing pain" and "just fine" faded to nothing, and the pounding only intensified, latching onto him, chipping away at his senses like a mad gremlin crawling inside his cranium.

Nope. Not real. Only in his head. Keep moving.

The more he told himself that, the more he was convinced otherwise.

He pulled closer to the noise – if nothing else, to confirm his skepticism. But with each second, it came into focus, and he noted its location on his right. Some kind of impact…could those be gunshots? Punches landing on someone? No…more like metal clanking against metal. Best guess…someone's footsteps. Knuckles got as close as he reasonably could, and tracked the location of the sound. It didn't stay in one place, it was slithering like a snake…tunneling beneath his feet. It had to be on the next floor down.

There it was again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

…Tap.

Yep…those definitely were footsteps. Slow, consistent footsteps. Whoever this was, it didn't sound like they were in any hurry.

That makes one of us…

Sensing Eggman's presence, every light fixture in the room burst into life, bringing into focus the sheer scale of what he had created. The walls were covered in an intricate series of pipes and cables, every single one of them vital to the operation of the ship. They gave off a faint, green glow, normally too faint to have been visible to the naked eye were it not for the ever-present smog giving it something to bounce off. Soon, the majesty of the cosmos would come streaming through the panoramic viewscreen...though for now, he'd have to settle for a view of the sea and the occasional shipping vessel that passed by.

Strange. Somehow this space seemed almost too expansive to fit on a ship this size...and yet still too cramped. Perhaps the tubes were the culprit. They had arrived just last week, after all, and this was the only safe place on the ship where he could store row upon row of cryogenic-stasis tubes.

Speaking of which...

Dr. Eggman paused and turned toward the lines of tubes. There was one more thing he needed to check on.

"Hello? Sonny boy?" he said. "Daddy's home!"

He walked over the capsule marked with the Roman numeral 'I', the only one in operation. Yet more tubes jutted out the sides of each, meant to hyper-accelerate growth by supplying oxygen and water at high enough doses at the proper times. For all his studies and labors, this was his reward.

A shriveled mass of a lifeform grew inside, flaccid tentacles jutting out of the bulbous mass of a body trying desperately to form limbs, its color as pale as cigarette ashes. Eggman's head slumped to his chin, unimpressed with the results. It was just as he'd left it that morning...and the morning before that, and the night after that. He'd hoped he would see some positive growth after a hectic day apart from its master. But one look dashed those hopes.

He tapped on the tube vigorously, waiting for something, anything. Nothing changed...not even so much as a ripple in the standing water.

From a nearby table, he picked up a pen and clipboard and set about marking off all of the project targets that he hadn't come within a country mile of reaching. As he made his way through the list, marking off failure after failure, his nerves frayed.

Grandfather never had it this rough...

"Sir?" asked a muffled voice from afar. Dr. Eggman turned to find his trusty Egg Flapper occupying the space where he'd directed him to go, the glass tube at the very heart of the room. "Shall we begin the experiment?"

Oh! Of course! The...um..."experiment".

In one smooth motion, he tore the sheet off the clipboard, crumpled it, and threw it toward the closest trash can. Turning away, not even taking care to note that his impromptu sky-hook had undershot the basket by twenty feet, he entered the radiation-proof observation chamber. By the time he settled into his seat, he had already lapsed into another episode of "Dr. Eggman's Thinking Out Loud".

"Bah! No matter! After I'm through with the hedgehog and his friend, I'll have all the time in the world to perfect the procedure!"

"Sir, may I politely remind you that Project Beacon is still in an untested state?" asked Flapper.

"Hmm? Oh…yes," muttered Eggman, as he tapped on a touchscreen, cycling through a rather rudimentary menu. Sprawling bulleted lists of flora and fauna from all over the planet were, for the moment, rendered in little more than a white background and the default system font. He was planning to mold it into a sleek and shiny interface worthy of the Eggman name, but Sonic and his annoying friends just had to butt in and ruin his schedule.

If there was going to be a guinea pig for this test, Flapper was the ideal candidate. One of the few remaining holdovers from the Legacy Series, which all drew power from an "organic battery", it was effectively rendered obsolete for battle duty once Dr. Eggman had found a self-sustaining power source. In one stroke, this opened the possibilities for larger and more destructive Badniks...although Sonic and Tails' little jaunt through the middle decks of his ship should have indicated how successful he was on that front.

But Dr. Eggman kept many of the Legacy Series mechs around – or at least the few that hadn't been felled by the hedgehog's foot. Perhaps it was out of a perverse sense of loyalty. Maybe it was his sick version of 'survival of the fittest'. Either way, he bided his time, waiting for the right moment to use them in the field once again. That time had finally come.

"Ah!" He'd finally reached the right selection in the menu.

Theoretically, there was a checklist with scores of other safety procedures both before and after this part, but they'd all become unreadable by this point, obscured by months worth of coffee stains. Throwing caution to the wind, he flipped open a glass box and pressed the silver button encased inside.

The moment his finger pushed down, all electric light in the room dimmed, sprang back into life for a nanosecond, then went out altogether.

Flapper turned upward to watch the spectacle of light above it. Tiny, green bolts of lightning crackled from an orb at the center of the tube, intermittently at first, but becoming more and more frequent...even persistent. As more energy fired through the tube, the bolts connected with each other, forming a consistent pattern which settled in the miniature vaccuum-chamber at the top. The energy only intensified, and chaos collided with chaos to create more chaos. With nowhere else to go, it grew into an unstable vortex looking for an outlet.

This was an inconvenient time for Flapper to notice that the outlet was pointed directly at it.

"Sir?" Flapper asked. "Requesting information on the nature of this experimen-"

Eggman didn't even wait for his loyal servant to finish before pressing the button a second time. The time for questions had long since passed. Had Eggman given Flapper X-ray vision, perhaps it would have been able to see what Eggman saw on his touchscreen.

The target species he'd selected: FLICKY - Flapper's container animal.

Then again, there wasn't anything Flapper could have done about it.

One blast of Chaos Energy from the top of the tube phased through its skin, tearing through every atom of its being. One second passed. There was no movement, no signs of resistance. Two seconds.

The weapon depowered, and one by one, lights returned to the room to revealing Flapper unmoving at the bottom of the tube, reduced to little more than a non-functioning shell - a shell which the Chaos energy had left almost as pristine and new as the moment it left the factory.

But only a shell, with no power. And no power source.

The word, stuck to the tip of the doctor's tongue, fell out with a soft, almost awed whisper.

"Success."

"AAARGH!"

Knuckles fell to his knees. Never before, not during any of the crises he'd dealt with before, had Chaos cried out to him like this.

#Supernova #guess i kinda missed that six month target from last year #sonic fanfic #sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog

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