#its like. i pour my soul into this weirdo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

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in support of Texas relief, @romancewritingandwinchesters donated $20, and requested Sam and Dean waiting out a Texas storm with no electricity. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

When the snow starts coming down, Dean's not yet worried. He's driven the whole country at least five times; he can handle snow. It's when the temperature starts dropping fast that he pulls up, at the closest gas station, and fills the tank, and sends Sam inside for a few gallons of water and whatever food they don't have to cook. "I told you," Sam says, which frankly Dean thinks is a very smug and unattractive way of looking at the situation. "Remember, that front I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, but who thought it'd get this cold in Texas," Dean says, watching the numbers tick up on the pump. Shit, this is gonna be expensive.

"Oh, you know," Sam says, arms folded tight over his chest, stamping his feet by the car's rear door. "Meteorologists. Climatologists. Just that level."

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam's turned away luckily and can't see it. Turns out Sam gets a little bitchy when it's this cold. They didn't really pack for it—this was supposed to be a low swing south to check a few harmless jobs, stuff that'd take Sam's mind off the whole soulless thing, a couple of easy wins and some weather a little better than February in South Dakota, but it's not working out that way. Fourteen degrees, according to the display on the Shell sign above their heads, and it's only nine at night.

The snow's already piling up, on the parking lot and in the street, making the nice local El Paso people drive under ten miles per hour and making the world seem—not-right. Alien. A cactus planted in the median glints with ice and Dean sucks his teeth, shivers hard. When the car's full up he recaps the tank and sets the nozzle back in place and then looks out at the frosted world. The black shine on the asphalt. "I don't like the look of that road," he says, after a second, and Sam follows his gaze and nods, immediately. "Tonight's not the night to get out of town."

"Texas blizzard on the highway?" Sam says, a little sarcastic, but shakes his head, more serious. "Yeah, it's gonna get a lot worse." His nose is pink from the cold. "Too cold for the car. Even if we still had that—remember, that awful pink blanket?"

"The one you totally ruined?" Dean says, and Sam grins, even if he shudders after. Sam ruined it by getting clawed up by a ghoul when he was twenty-three and trying to protect Dean from something he didn't need protecting from and then bleeding all over the damn blanket when Dean put him in the backseat to race him to the ER. Dumbass, Dean had called him then, but honestly not much has changed. Dean shoves Sam's side, shaking his head. "Why are we standing around here in the cold? Get in the car, let's go."

"You're the one who took forever with the gas," Sam argues back, but he gets in the car, so. Win for Dean. Beyond the win of having this Sam, this right good Sam, in the car in the first place—whole again, with the soul to make a context for the memories that make him Dean's brother.

They're not far off the highway so there'll be motels. The issue hits when they're driving—slow, painfully slow, crawling behind snow-caked Texas plates that don't know how to handle the weather—and the street goes suddenly dark, the lights crashing off in the fast food places and gas stations lining the road. "Shit," Dean says, checking the rearview, but luckily the truck behind him hasn't slammed its brakes and they're not about to be involved in a black-ice skid.

"You think—" Sam says, but cranes around and it's obvious. Some part of the grid, failing, and that's going to mean some panic and it's going to mean some accidents and it's also going to mean finding a place to stay just got a hell of a lot harder.

The kid at the motel they pick clearly has no idea what to do. It's a shithole, which is why Dean pulled in, and clearly there weren't too many customers to begin with. The lobby's dark other than a flashlight the kid's waving around while he explains in a panic that their electricity is out—"I can see that," Dean says, trying to be patient—and Sam finally leans over the counter, takes the flashlight out of the kid's hand, and sets it upright on the counter so it acts like a shitty lantern, filling the room with grey.

"Oh," the kid says, eyes gleaming big in the suddenly stable light. The kid—the boy. He looks barely older than Ben.

"Look," Sam says, while Dean's trying to shake off that thought. "We get that there won't be cable. We just need somewhere to weather it out."

"My register doesn't even work," the boy says, and Dean reaches into his wallet and peels out two hundred bucks and lays it fanned out on the counter. More big eyes—the room rate on the sign outside is forty-nine a night. "Oh," he says, again.

"Just give us keys, okay?" Dean says. "You can explain to your manager in the morning. How these weirdos paid a hundred, cash."

A blink. Maybe he's too young to realize he's being bribed. Sam sighs, and leans over the counter again. "We're taking room 13," he says, coming up with a key in hand. A physical key—Dean was right about the kind of dump this is. The boy opens his mouth and closes it, and Sam jerks his head at Dean before he gives the boy a half-smile, fake as hell. "Try to stay warm in here, okay?"

The Impala's already inch-thick with snow, outside. "Why the hell did that take so long," Sam mutters.

Dean snorts. "Thirteen?" he says, and Sam nods, folding himself back into the passenger seat for the short drive over—"Center room, more insulation," he says—and when they pull around to the odds side of the building he's right. The city's blanketed in dark and weirdly quiet, with the muffling of the snow, so it feels almost like opening up some hidden hunter's cabin as they unlock the room, unpack the car inside. Sam bought jerky, chips, iffy-looking gas station fruit, and Dean still has one lantern and two spare d-cells and a bottle of whiskey that's almost entirely full, and the water, thank god, is still running. "For how long, though," Sam says, so Dean drags a hand over his face and zips his jacket closed and goes down the row of rooms in the freezing dark to the one that's marked PRIVATE, and breaks in to find cleaning supplies that… clearly haven't been used in that long. Buckets, though, that he rinses out and then fills in the utility sink. Spare bedding on shelves above the laundry machine and he picks out two blankets, the shitty supersoft microfleece kind that have always been his favorite.

When he gets back, burdened like a mule, he finds the room—weirdly sort of homey. Sam's got the lantern on the rickety little desk and it's blasting white light up that wall, but he's lit their spare ritual candles, too, and put them on the nightstand, on top of the blank TV, the minifridge crammed up in the corner by the bathroom. It's warm inside, especially once Dean's got the door kicked closed behind him again, but it won't stay that way for long. "Laundry?" Sam says, and at Dean's nod he disappears outside too, and comes back with a pile of the thin towels in his arms, and packs them in against the bottom of the door, the base of the single-pane windows. The water heaters might be gas but they might be electric, too, and with no way of knowing they take turns in the shower, cleaning up fast. The water's still hot when it's Dean's turn and he luxuriates, for a minute that he counts off in his head, letting the weak stream melt over his shoulders and put heat into his bones, where hopefully it'll stay a while.

The bathroom's steamy when he gets out but it's already cooling fast. Not much insulation in the walls. He dries off scrupulously, trying to get off every bit of damp he can, and redresses by candlelight. Smells like beeswax, the hippie natural candles Sam always picks when they restock their kit. His soulless self didn't bother with that. What a weird thing to turn out to miss.

Back in the room, Sam's made a pile of their food on the desk by the lantern, and lined up the buckets of water by the door. Dean checks his watch: ten o'clock, and they're packed into this room like a bunker. Safe, as warm as they can be, clean and healthy and food to hand. Now there is, truly, nothing at all to do but wait.

"Not even wi-fi," Sam says, under his breath like he had the same thought. Dean huffs. Sam's mouth lifts on one side, wry. He sits on the end of one bed, hands folded between his knees, and gives a shrug. "Well. We got a night off."

They did. About time, too, with how they've been running lately. Sam making up for every bad thing his soulless self ever might've done, and Dean just trying to hold onto the bar so he won't fly off. First time in weeks that Dean's had Sam to himself without Sam searching for another job or trying to pin down his own sad timeline or his brain melting out his ear, and he almost doesn't know what to do with it. A bit of silence, between them, that stretches. Dean licks his lips. "Wanna play charades?"

Sam snorts. "You'd cheat," he says, and Dean smiles his most honest smile, and that makes Sam roll his eyes but smile a little, too. "How long do you think we have until it gets really cold?"

Dean tips his head back and forth, thinking. "It's—what, fifty degrees in here?" Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be friggin' cold in the morning, but we won't freeze."

"Guess not," Sam says, but he's still just sitting there. His eyes on Dean, his body quiet. Dean pours them both cups of the whiskey and sits on the other bed, and Sam rotates to face him, and they toast each other with a rasping papery excuse for a clink and take a swallow each, and it sinks down to Dean's gut like fire, welcome with how chilly it is in here, and Sam's just… still looking at him. Like he's something worth looking at. Dean feels his face go warm and wonders if he can blame the whiskey.

"Hey," Sam says, cup held easy between his knees. "Tell me something."

Dean leans back. "What, truth or dare? We're a little old for that, don't you think?"

His legs are kicked out into the space between the beds. Sam shifts and their boots knock together. "Maybe you are," Sam says, and Dean makes a face at him. Sam smiles and takes another sip, watching Dean over the top of his cup, and after the slight pull at the sting he's still smiling, small. "This last year. Did you ever think about…" He shakes his head, looks down at his cup. Dean nudges his ankle to get him to keep going and Sam looks back up, his hair hanging a little in his eyes. "Did you ever want to sleep with—him?"

Dean's lips part but nothing comes out. He's genuinely surprised. Sam's eyes tighten, a tiny shift that's almost not visible in the dim combination of candle-and-lantern light. "No," Dean says, after a pause that's too long. Sam's head tips back, assessing. "No," Dean repeats, firmer. "It wasn't—right."

Sam hmms and Dean takes a drink. Truth or dare, he really ought to do his forfeit. It's not a lie, not really, but it's not—completely true. Robo-Sam never seemed interested and Dean was still half-caught with Lisa and Dean's a lot of things but a cheater's not one of them, and he'd thought—he didn't know. That Sam didn't want it anymore. Whatever fumbling they'd gotten up to, their drunken stupidity, the almost violent way it'd get sometimes, the way Dean would sink his nails into Sam's back and Sam would bite his throat and then the way, after, sometimes, Sam would look at him in the dark and Dean would think, god—

His cheeks are flushed, hot enough to feel in the cool air. "So," Sam says, after the moment's stretched out, "we never—even when I came back—"

"Not exactly trying to make it with my long-lost brother when my creepy resurrected grandpa's breathing down my neck, no," Dean says, and Sam grimaces but then laughs, and then bites his bottom lip. Still looking at Dean and Dean takes a breath, deep, and thinks, jesus. Eighteen months, more, since the last time, most of it with Sam walking around with no soul, and Dean caught up in a relationship that crashed and burned, and it feels—different. They're both different. Happened somehow when Dean wasn't looking but here's the evidence, in how calm Sam is, in how they're just—quiet, here, together. Something building slow, in the cold, with the snow sifting down outside.

Sam lets his lip go, slow, his teeth dragging white. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth, and lower. "I've got lube," he says. Dean blinks. Sam lifts a shoulder, almost apologetic. "Don't know from what, but it's in my duffle. I've been—wondering."

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean says, and has to laugh, too, kind of breathless. It's hot. Jesus, it's hot, hotter than it should be, to just have Sam say it flat out like that. Asking. "What, you want to huddle for warmth?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, glances sidelong at his bed. "I mean," he says, and Dean has to laugh again. "If there were ever an opportunity—"

Dean leans in and gets Sam's jacket in one hand, and pulls. Sam scoots forward easy, his knee sliding up against Dean's inseam, and it's—easy, weirdly easy, easy in a way it never was, to lean in and press his mouth to Sam's and have Sam just—kiss back, pressing Dean's mouth open right away and brushing his tongue over Dean's lip, slick and hot, his breath warm on Dean's cool skin. "Damn," Dean says, soft.

Sam smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, puts his chilly fingertips against Dean's exposed throat. "I mean, we don't have anything else to do, right?" he says, pulling back an inch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You really gotta learn some better lines."

Sam presses in, kisses him again soft on the mouth. God, Sam's mouth. "I don't think I do," Sam says, hanging there, and Dean groans, pushes Sam's face away, thinks: yes. Yes.

He goes to the bathroom. Takes his time. The toilet, thank god, is still flushing, so the water lines haven't yet gone down. He runs the sink and wets a washrag and cleans up, and washes his hands, and then he licks his mouth wet and looks at himself, in the spotty mirror, the candlelight flickery and making his face strange. When he comes out Sam's stripped the bed closer to the door and the other one is spread with that bedding, the blankets Dean stole, and Sam's in the middle of taking off his belt, standing in his socks with his shirt off and his chest bare and his hair a little ruffled, and he looks up at Dean in the bathroom doorway and smiles, and lays his belt on the bare bed, and says, "C'mere," and Dean comes.

Sam's hands are cold and Dean bitches about that, immediately. "Shut up," Sam advises, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone needs to—" and Sam kisses him, like Dean knew he would, so that's okay. Together they get Dean's jacket off, his flannel, his t-shirt, and he shivers but Sam's hands drag down his arms and that's so warm Dean can hardly stand it. He drags his fingers through Sam's chest hair—hair, when Sam had been so sleek before—and Sam kisses the top of his ear, weirdly affectionate in a way that makes Dean's chest hot—and then his fingers go for Dean's belt, his jeans, and Dean pushes him away an inch, then, taking a second to breathe.

Sam's—christ. Hot. His nipples pebbled up tight and his cheeks a little pink, even in the candlelight. "Gotta get my boots off, man," Dean says, and Sam looks down like he's surprised that an impediment to getting in Dean's pants might exist, and Dean grins, sits back on the bed. Okay, so. Sam's not suddenly a pure sex god. Somehow that's as much of a relief as the breathing room was.

He works at the knot of his laces. Sam takes the opportunity to strip off his jeans, and then there's his bare long legs, his boxer-briefs. His dick's thick in them, obvious, but while Dean's tugging off his second boot Sam skims them off and down and then he's just—naked, nearly all the way except his stupid black socks he always wears, and Dean huffs and says, "Sexy," dry, but then Sam's kneeling down in front of him, sliding his hands up Dean's thighs, and—well. Truth or dare. Dean wouldn't have to take a drink, this time.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts and he unzips Dean's jeans, and then tucks his fingers into the waistband, and Dean lifts his ass up and lets Sam pull and Sam—takes his time about it, damn him, pulling down Dean's underwear too so the cold air ripples up goosebumps all the way down Dean's legs, freezing. Sam kisses Dean's chest, his nipple—Dean grabs Sam's head, surprised—and then ducks down, kisses the root of his dick and then sucks in the head, soft and warm, slick, so abrupt that Dean slams a hand down onto the edge of the mattress and his head falls back, his hips lifting. Christ, Sammy. A big hand circles around Dean's calf and Sam sucks, soft, while Dean's dick rises so fast he gets dizzy—and then Sam pulls away, the cold air hitting like a hammer, and lifts up with his mouth pinked-wet and says, "Get in bed," and Dean stares at him like a lunatic for a second and then, jesus, scrambles to obey.

He scooches in to the middle. The blankets are ridiculous, double-weight and heavy, but the sheets are chilly even through his socked feet. Sam climbs in after him and pushes right up against his back, his dick swelling up against Dean's ass, his body a hot shock among the cold. "You're a friggin' furnace," Dean says, and Sam snorts, bites soft at Dean's bare shoulder. There's a second of separation—Sam stretching away—and then Sam's back, under the blankets, kisses under Dean's ear, slides his hand over Dean's hip, down. Dean's breath hitches and he slides his leg forward. "Yeah?" Sam says, the idiot, and Dean says, "Duh, bitch," and there's a huff and then a muffled click and then Sam's fingers are slick, sliding up against his ass, pushing in.

Oh—god. It's been—since the last time. Dean turns his face against the pillow and pulls his leg higher, makes room. Sam's fingers, wet-thick, and the strange uncertain feeling of being broken open, how it pulls and worries, his body barely remembering what to do. Long time. Sweat breaks out at his temples, the middle of his back. He drops a hand to his dick and squeezes, letting it know something better's coming.

"You're tight," Sam says. Unnecessarily, in Dean's opinion. "You really, you never—?"

"Some things should be kept between a man and his hour-long showers, Sammy," Dean says, light, and it's not really true but Sam huffs another little laugh and kisses his ear, and Dean pops his leg up instead even though that makes a cool cavern of air under the covers, giving Sam the room to work him. He pushes back, pulls at his dick, works it fat, and against his ass Sam's dick feels full, ready. He always liked this part, the part where he made Dean want it. He turns his head and says, "Sam," and Sam lifts up and kisses him just like he wanted, his chest warm against Dean's shoulder and his fingers spreading deep, pushing the slick inside where they need it, and while he's kissing Dean and relearning every molar Dean feels the fingers slip out, rubbing instead at Dean's hole where it's hot now, wet, flexing. He drags in air through his nose and reaches behind himself, finding Sam fat and heavy. Thick. Jesus, he could never forget how thick.

"Ready?" Sam says and that's a stupid question. Dean tugs the blankets higher with his free hand, covering his shoulder against the cold, snubs Sam up against himself and then lets go, finds Sam's hip, pulls—and Sam takes over, holding Dean's belly as he pushes inside, and Dean tries to contain the flinch but can't and Sam kisses his temple, soft, and his ear, and his neck, and doesn't stop, bulling open that place for himself, splitting Dean wide. His pubes press against Dean's ass. Dean grips the pillow and lets his knee sink down and immediately what's already tight is tighter, closer. Sam grunts against him, slides his hand down to find Dean's half-wilted dick. "You feel—" Sam starts, but he squeezes Dean's dick instead of saying, and Dean's fine with that, he doesn't need compliments when he just needs Sam to—

"Move," he says, and Sam moves.

It's slow, from being on their sides. No real force behind it. Dean knocks Sam's hand away from his dick and Sam squeezes his balls instead, and then slips a hand to the inside of his thigh and keeps him close that way, locking Dean in place to be fucked. He's still tight but he's loosening up, from the thick rocking churn of Sam inside him, buried up to the root half the time, flexing in and making Dean stretch for him, forcing in that deep good ache of being open, slick for it. With the underhand grip on Dean's thigh his thumb slots in right at the base of Dean's dick, a soft dragging pressure every time Sam squeezes, and Dean can hardly think for how good it all feels. For how much he missed it and pretended for so long he wasn't missing it. Sam's other arm is tucked under the pillow, under his head, and he manages to shove the pillow away enough that he gets bare skin and bites there, soft in Sam's bicep, and Sam drags in air through his teeth and pushes in harder, the wet drag enough that Dean shudders, shoulders to hips, and Sam squeezes his thigh so hard that it hurts.

If it weren't so damn cold Dean would want to throw the blankets off—get on his back with Sam between his legs—lift up, ride, to remember the way Sam's eyes went so dark and hot and intense from seeing Dean get off on him. As it is he feels it building slow, the sweat between them starting to get oppressive, his throat a little abraded from the way Sam keeps dragging his teeth over it, his breath hot there where Dean's skin's so wet. He clenches inside, as much as he can when he's split wide like this, and Sam grunts, warm burst of air against the back of his ear. "Fuck," Dean says, squirming back. He presses his knees together and Sam feels even thicker, his hand caught between Dean's thighs. "Fuck, Sammy—"

"God, I want to come," Sam says, and Dean jerks, caught against him, his dick spitting. Sam worms his hand out and cups Dean's nuts, rubs warm at the root of his dick, his lips smearing against Dean's neck. "God, you're—are you close?"

"Out of practice," Dean says, breathily light, like that's even fucking remotely true. "Can't you tell?" Sam's hand pulls up, fisting his dick, and Dean arches as much as he can, shoving down onto Sam, his teeth floating on this feeling. His gut's molten. "Fuck—Sam, if you—"

"I have to," Sam says, thin, and pushes—Dean tips over and Sam slides, god, out, but in a second he's covering Dean's back and Dean's spreading as wide as he can and Sam slots right back inside, hard, and Dean drags in air against the mattress but doesn't really care, doesn't need it. Sam's pumping inside, fast and deep, the jolting drag of it sliding all over exactly where Dean wants him, and Sam's hands slip from Dean's sides to his hip to his shoulders, holding him in place, and Dean worms a hand between the bed and his dick and lets Sam shove him into his own grip, the rhythm perfect, perfect—Sam's mouth hot against the knob of his spine—and Dean comes pulsing into his own hand, his toes curling and his lips spread against the sheet and his whole body locking up, it feels like, tense, unloading—and Sam groans, shoves his hand between them to feel the mess Dean's making, says, "Fuck, you're—fuck, you're so hot, Dean, the hottest I ever—" and gets a hand on Dean's ass and pulls it wider, shoves in harder, for a shocking minute where it almost hurts except that Dean's so floaty and satisfied he'd take a knife in his flesh and wouldn't mind—and when Sam finally comes he presses right up inside and pumps it deep, forcing it in, and Dean sighs against the bed, overheated and wet, and lets go of his own dick enough that he can tangle his fingers with Sam's, slick, crumpled, bone to bone.

Sam's a deadweight on his back. Dean turns his face against the sheet and gets a pocket of slightly cooler air, content to take it. He squeezes Sam's fingers and in response Sam squeezes his hip, and then slowly, slowly, his lips brush the back of Dean's ear, and then Dean's cheek. "Wow," Sam says, quiet, and Dean snorts. A shift, inside, that makes Dean open his eyes wide—oh, he's open now but it feels—and one of Sam's knees slips over to the outside of Dean's, different leverage, as he pushes in again on all the wet he made, and in again, still thick. Dean licks his lips and it's so quiet he can hear the wet noise it makes—match, to when Sam pulls out—a spill, trickling down over Dean's balls—and then the squelch as he pushes back in and makes Dean grip the pillow, makes his nuts pulse in heated shock.

"I could go again right now," Sam says, low against his ear, entirely honest.

Dean has to take a deep breath. "Don't press your luck," he says, raw, and Sam laughs quiet, drags out again—still hard, christ above—and tugs at Dean's shoulder, and turns him over in a messy sheet-tangling pull, and gets them the right way around to kiss, full, open, Dean's hands on Sam's waist and the bed smeary and disgusting, between them.

When Dean pulls away, Sam's got his fingers curled around the back of his ear, his dick warm and full up against Dean's hip. He smiles, looking back at Dean in the barely-light. Dean smiles back, kind of helpless. "We really wrecked this bed," Dean says. Just for something to say.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "Heated it up, though," he says, and, well. He's not wrong.

The candles are still lit, and they'll have to take care of those so they don't burn the damn room down. The lantern, too—they shouldn't waste the batteries. There's a slit in the blankets somewhere, cool air pouring in over Dean's back, and he tugs, and Sam gets it and helps him smooth them out, making a cocoon for the two of them. The discarded lube bottle ends up under Dean's back and he slides it up under the pillow, for hopeful future use. Their socked toes bump together. Sam's nose is cold, where it bumps Dean's cheek, but that's all right. Dean's not in a state to mind.

"It's gonna suck to dig out the car in the morning," Sam says, out of nowhere.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls at Sam's waist, getting him closer. Sam's knee slides between his thighs. "That's what I missed about you, man," he says, drowsy. "You always know what to say to get me hot."

Sam snorts. His knuckles drag over Dean's jaw, safe and warm.

#ffcc #wincest #bedsharing #huddling for warmth #my writing

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thevampirearcher-md · 3 years ago

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"...Did you just sniff me?" - Crygi if you don’t mind? Can totally imagine either of them doing the sniffing. Jankie or Rosenali is good too! Thank you 🌹

hello, anon, I don't mind at all, thank you very much for this prompt✨ I'm sorry it took me so long to get to it. I tried it - this is my first ever attempt at Crygi and hopefully it's alright? 🥺 if it isn't, this never happened 😁 but here goes

Harvard. The dream had finally come true.

It was a coronation of all of the effort Gigi had put into her life, into her schoolwork, into her reading and her writing - the countless hours perched on a seaside bench, earning herself teasing words from her friends for being a nerd. She was one. Still is one.

But she’s a nerd who gets to walk the hallways of Harvard University and attend its prestigious classes and have all of - well, part of - its knowledge poured into her head. She can’t wait.

“Welcome, fresh faces with fresh smiles,” the professor greets. He’s a stout man, dressed smartly - just like they are in the movies. “I’m very sorry about the way I’m about to wipe them off of your faces,” he snickers, cleaning up his glasses. “This class is going to be an in depth study of literature. Here we won’t only look at a character and their actions, we will discuss them, analyze them. We will get to know the souls of the ancient heroes, learn how to bewitch those around us with ancient rituals,” he bellows, enjoying the eagerness of first day freshmen. They lean forward imperceptibly, drinking in his every word. “Now, I hope you’ve already started on your reading because we’re about to dive into Ancient Greece. Hold on to your desks while I start the time machine,” he turns to scribble on the board.

And that’s when Gigi feels it - a foreign presence in her personal space, the warmth of another person, the subtle way her hair shifts, the uncomfortable way in which her heart speeds up. She spins around in her chair to come face to face with electric blue hair.

“... Did you just sniff me?” she asks, a bit freaked out. She’s dealt with quite a few weirdos in her day - they seem to gravitate towards the sandy beaches of Los Angeles, but she didn’t think she’d be sniffed. At Harvard, of all places.

The girl is smiling, wide and bright, her cheeks flushed and covered in quantities of blush and highlighter that Gigi doesn’t think should be legal. Somehow, she still looks good. Cute.

She giggles. Too cute for her own good, Gigi thinks.

“Well, you looked like you’d smell nice,” she beams, a tinge of shyness in her voice. “Maybe even rich,” she giggles again. There’s a tone to her voice as if she’s perpetually amused by life. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Gigi asks, remembering that this person has probably messed up her hair - the perfect hairstyle that she’s put together for her very first day of class.

“Rich,” the girl giggles again and Gigi rolls her eyes. She may be, but she doesn’t need to know that. Not even when she doesn’t even know who this quirk of nature is.

“I don’t even know you,” she scoffs.

“Crystal. My name is Crystal Methyd,” the smile on her face somehow gets even brighter. “And yours?”

“Gigi,” she mutters under her breath. Their conversation has started to gain attention from their colleagues.

“Well, Miss Gigi, you smell great, but I did sense a lack of coffee,” Crystal winks. It’s endearing. “Want to go get a cup when this is over?” she asks.

The smile on Gigi’s face, small and subtle, is answer enough as she turns back to the front of the class and her attention refocuses back on the professor.

“There’s many fascinating aspects of this period in time! And I want you to get to know each and every one of them - the tradition, the organisation, the rituals, the witchcraft,” he drones on, until someone interrupts.

“Oh, witchcraft! I can help with that,” Crystal announces to the entire room and Gigi wonders what exactly she got herself into.

#fic prompt #crygi #crystal seems the kind to be fascinated by witchcraft

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yongiefilms · 4 years ago

Text

EVANESCENCE.

pairing: mark lee x reader (female)

genre: fluff; angst; hints of humor; best friends!au; high school!au; college!au; unrequited love!au

warnings: language, heartbreak, indirect mentions of depression, crying is involved, mentions of death and loss, complex feelings, if you have a weak heart this may be hard to bear, you are literally in for a ride with a lot of ups and downs (i don’t know this is hard to put warnings on for some reason just beware with angsty teen feels aka angsty teen mark)

word count: 6.4k (how did i write this much? it is surely a mystery)

summary: distance is hard for anyone. it’s especially hard for couples, and maybe even more so best friends. with hundreds of thousands of miles separating you and mark lee, it’s impossible not to note the countless possibilities of what could go so wrong by being away from each other for an unknown amount of time. to cope with that longing mark lee writes to you, and he can only hope the feelings he pours out to you on paper are enough to keep that one thread you both are hanging by, unwavering and simply together.

author’s note: this fic is dedicated to our favorite giggly, watermelon loving, and adorably awkward social boy—mark lee. it’s officially his birthday in the states so happy 21st birthday, my precious and sweet boy. thank you for always brightening up our world and putting a smile on our faces. also, huge shoutout to my proofreaders/beta readers ( @wooqzi and @mjlkau ). you both were literally lifesavers and i can’t thank you enough for enduring through this semi-long fic with me, but i love you my renjun enthusiasts, you’re amazing.

THE CONTENTS OF THIS LETTER IS CONFIDENTIAL AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE OTHER THAN Y/N L/N. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

march 16, 20XX

my dearest y/n,

i remember the first time i saw you. i remember it so vividly that it seems like it was just yesterday, a fleeting instant in time that managed to stand still, being permanently engraved in my brain. it was november 15th, 20XX—our sophomore year of high school. i recall walking into our school’s library at around 3:25pm because i had to return a book from my literature and composition class. at that point i was also still waiting for my ride to come pick me up so i thought why not kill two birds with one stone? however, i wasn’t prepared for what i would see. (call me cheesy, though i already know you did once you saw the first couple of sentences).

when i strode in i saw you as if we were in the movies, where the male lead is stunned into awe at the gorgeous girl he comes across. you were sitting at a table by yourself in the center of the room with your back to me and the infamous large window that covered nearly the entire wall behind you. for some reason that same day was exceptionally beautiful. the sky was a vibrant blue shade with a few remains of scattered clouds, dotting the sky in white freckles. the sun shone a little brighter than usual, its warmth felt like a blanket wrapped around the body and it reflected across your face at the heaven-sent angle when you turned your head the tiniest bit, adoring you in a pleasant glow. i strolled in right at that moment when the sun decided to showcase you in its beauty and i couldn’t help but be astonished. you looked so ethereal and virtuous. i simply couldn’t look away. your arms were rested on the table, on either side of the book you had opened and when the sun was covered by a transient cloud, casting you in its shadow, is when you became more real, more like someone who was attainable. you then suddenly groaned and put your head down rather harshly on top of the book, emitting a loud sigh. i was quite surprised that no one called you out due to the noise you were making, you were in a library after all. (just know i can picture you rolling your eyes just about now).

yet i perceived it was odd that from merely hearing your sound of distress, i wanted to protect you. i wanted to shield you from future harm and future inapt doings. you made my heart clench so tightly i wondered what was wrong with me and how i could feel so deeply. i didn’t even know you. i hadn’t even seen you around school before. you were a stranger to me so why did i feel a certain way? i questioned myself and even still, to this day, i can’t bring myself to give you answers for that query nor can i find them. i suppose that is where i put the blame for what happened next.

i was so caught up in my head that i didn’t notice my feet had moved on their own accord right next to your table, where your head still rested. i know i must have looked insane and i don’t inculpate you for your reaction in the slightest. i was brought back to reality when the sun shone in my eyes just allowing me to turn my head to see you in your empyrean grandeur. the timing was appropriate too, because that was when you snapped your head up to meet my eyes. i was as startled as you, but it showed more clearly in your eyes rather than mine, considering i was so disoriented from reality. your eyes were wide, allowing me to clearly see the stunning color that was full of curiosity. you tilted your head to the right like a lost puppy kicked to the curb, waiting for someone to finally claim them. nevertheless, your own surprise didn’t last long since mere seconds after you scoffed loudly and turned away from me to bring your attention back to your assignment. your next words were the ones that sealed the deal and i seriously must have been crazy to be attracted by mere words that offended me above all, but they didn’t. if anything my heart clenched in my chest even more. (i must have been so out of it…i know you are laughing your ass off right now because of the dilemma i had. cruel). but you said, “what the hell are you looking at? you weirdo.” i knew then that would be the start of a glorious friendship and it was. i never happen to be wrong and that was one time i was thankful, even if it isn’t my most fondest memory (shut up) it still sparked the start of something much greater. something that i felt could last a lifetime.

so yes, we became the best of friends ever since that day and what a wild ride it was to get to that point. i knew you considered me too weird, too quiet, and too awkward for your taste, but we made the friendship work. we became inseparable even in our differences and for the rest of the years to come in high school, we were joined by the hip. there wasn’t you without me and there wasn’t me without you. you always had mark lee with y/n l/n and vice versa. i guess you could say you had me marked in your heart as you were in mine. (cue another eye roll and a laugh. i know you laughed). we were known for being that inseparable duo of best friends. you couldn’t have one without the other. some thought it was peculiar to see the once lonely boy and spirited girl befriend one another and be so compatible. it was unexpected, but they got used to it like all the other things that come and go. they came to accept it and even if their opinions didn’t matter to you, those things did to me because i wasn’t like you. i couldn’t brush off dislike or unacceptance. i didn’t have the power to do so, but don’t worry anymore, my love, i have come a long way and perhaps it is all due to you.

i’ve always wondered how we balanced each other out since everyone said we just didn’t quite fit the picture. you were dauntless and confident, knowing exactly what you wanted and you weren’t afraid to go out to get it. while i was embarrassing and closed off, not knowing the path to follow for my life and too scared to make mistakes when i knew i couldn’t fix them. although through our own struggles we were able to help each other grow and find ourselves. we became comfortable in our own skin and accepted who we were with all our faults, failures, and imperfections. you were someone who guided me and i only hoped that i was able to guide you the same way you did during this absurd journey of teenage life.

i suppose that is why i am afraid to tell you these next few words, these next few paragraphs that place my heart out for everyone to see and hear—but i don’t care about them, i only have ever cared for you and i always will. you may have assumed this from the start of this letter or it may have gone over your head as something that is normal for everyone to experience with another attractive soul at first glance. or you may have known throughout our years of knowing each other. you could have picked up the signs of things that weren’t so platonic—the gazes, the touches, or the words that meant something more than just friendly. you could have noticed, but refused to acknowledge the deeper undertones for your sake and most certainly my own. i know you and i know the last thing you would want for me is to be hurt or disappointed. to feel like you failed me when in reality if you knew that wouldn’t have mattered, since to me our friendship is worth more than any romance, if there would have been one at all. so you know, i am certain now, but it still scares me to write it down, to have it on permanent record for you to read whenever you want.

so here it goes.

over that time, over the course of us getting to know each other and becoming who we are today, the best of friends, i slowly started to fall for you—the person you were, someone i couldn’t be even if i tried. someone so raw, beautiful, and most of all real, both on the inside and out. you know i never was shallow, i never cared about someone’s appearance as what held significance to me the most was the heart. if your heart was good and wholesome and filled with love. that is what matters and the only thing that should. so while you are gorgeous (don’t let that get to your head now), you had a golden soul that i fell for ever so intensely.

i guess that’s why i decided to be daring that day—our senior graduation. you may be confused on what i mean since nothing was out of the ordinary that day, well for you at least. for me it was a different story. you see i had decided to do something, something out of my comfort zone and i honestly don’t know what came over me to do it in the slightest. you know how i am, i never like to be put into an uncomfortable situation since i don’t know how to deal with them. my social awkwardness just gets the best of me, but in that spur of a tick, realizing this was a huge milestone in our lives that we were overcoming, a milestone that would release us into the real world, i mused there was no harm. i really didn’t have anything to lose, except you that is. i could lose you, but i guess i knew deep within my heart that was a slim possibility because nothing could tear us apart, not even stupid teenage feelings. so you could say i finally gained enough confidence after spending so much time with you to do something out of the ordinary—to be bold like you. to just confess the truth and not worry about the consequences after. to just speak my mind and not surrender to fear. you helped me get to that point and while it did take some time, i was happy with who i came to be. someone proud with who they are, even for split second and i knew i had to do it before i turned back into a coward—before it was too late.

i had the ideal moment planned prior to it happening. i was going to tell you after we finished taking our graduation photos. there wasn’t a better time than that, when we were trying to capture the last moments of our high school career together. taking pictures with those we grew closer to over the years, those that made everything a little more sane, a little more fun. so when we look back we can reminisce about those times, no matter how many ups and downs there were because we finally reached the end goal. we made it.

after searching for you amongst the growing crowd for several long minutes after we proceeded off the stage, i saw you come towards me first, with your blue gown flowing in the wind. you literally ran full speed ahead and when you were a few inches away, you crashed into me. i had stumbled from the impact, taking several steps back so we both wouldn’t fall, as my arms came to rest around your own. you maneuvered your arms around my chest to give me a bear hug, stripping the oxygen away from me. when you let go after being in my embrace for what felt like eternity, i could clearly see your face. you were in a great mood—a beam on your face, your cheeks flushed from the sun’s heat, your eyes wide open with stars that filled the void, and your skin left in a brilliant glow. happiness surrounded you and a grin made its way onto my face at how in your element you finally looked. i knew it was then or never again, for your encouraging grin left me weak, yet strong. the perfect moment. yet, no moment is perfect. no one moment ever seems perfect for me. it doesn’t work out because fate wasn’t on my side—nor would it be for a long time.

you must have wanted to tell me something too that fateful day, since i could feel your excitement in my own bones and spot it a mile away, as right when i was about to confess, right when i opened my mouth to say those three dreaded words, you cut me off. you told me you had news, exciting and life changing news. news that would shatter me and wither my confidence away till what was left was speck of dust. you told me you were leaving to go to the states. that was the first pain i felt in my body. your admission letter had come in the mail earlier that morning when you were about to leave the house, on your way to the graduation ceremony. you were too anxious when your father relayed the news that you had gotten mail as your foot was almost out the door. you couldn’t wait to open it as your eagerness didn’t allow you to, so when you were handed that one large envelope addressed with your name from your dream college, your hands didn’t stop from ripping it open.

you got in.

you got into harvard university, the one college you told me since sophomore year that you wanted to go to, if it was the last thing you could do. i was so estatic for you, i was, because i knew how much the acceptance meant to you. you were working hard ever since you could talk and your passion was a huge part of that dedication to excelling in your academics. you deserved it more than anyone i knew, but my heart couldn’t help but crumble out of that exuberance.

you were rambling on about how thrilled you were and what you would do at college, all the classes you would take, the extracurricular activities, how you would have your own dorm or apartment and decorate it the way you wished. you just looked exactly how you did that day i took you out on a picnic to watch the sunset on that hill that overlooked the town—without a care in the world and so very content. so i couldn’t confess now, when you were going places, the places you dreamed of and when your life would take off for the better. you were just getting started, yet i couldn’t say what i so desperately wanted to say when you simply told me you were leaving, and so soon at that. i didn’t want to hold you back and i just know you are telling me i wouldn’t have, but i know the truth as do you. you would have stayed behind because you care too enormously with your heart to ever let me go, to ever have me sorrowful. so i didn’t say anything when you backtracked and asked me what i wanted to say before you spilled the news. i was thinking more with my head rather than my heart at that juncture. you gazing at me with your star-filled eyes and dazzling smile, i couldn’t do it, no matter how much energy coursed through my veins. i kept my mouth shut and told you it was nothing. you accepted the excuse though i know you knew it was a lie. we could always tell when the other lied and i was just glad you believed it at that point. i held back my feelings and my wants for your feelings and wants—for your needs. your life, your wishes, and your desires always meant more to me than my own. so we took those graduation photos and laughed with the rest of our friends. we were joyful then even if the future remained imbalanced and unsure.

you left later that month since you had to settle into a new country, a new state, a new culture, and a new life. in that time it wouldn’t be us if we didn’t spend every minute side by side and we did since you wanted to cherish our time together—our last time together. you would be on one end of the world and i would be on the other, thousands of miles separating us and a wide expanding sea. it was surreal and it still is. so we treasured all of it, even the little moments of going to each other’s houses in the wee hours of the morning to just watch the sunrise or late at night to watch the stars, to go get ice-cream when we felt like it, to watch movies in your bedroom with the lights down low—to just bask in each other’s presence. we made even more memories, granted that we had plenty to go around. those last weeks with you were the best of my life, even if it felt like nothing was changing, even if it was our normal routine before the shift. even so it still made me fall deeper as i saw your true colors in an even brighter light as if i never truly saw you before. there was so much about you that just made me curious even if i knew every part of you, every aspect of your being, from the simple things like your favorite color to your hatred for pineapple on pizza, and to the deep things like your fear of being forgotten or not being good enough. even if i knew so much, there was still more to unravel and discover as you were so complex. there isn’t another person like you in the world. there can’t be since you are one of a kind. they may have your face or outward appearance, but they can’t have your fair heart or pure soul.

i shouldn’t have been dazed that these emotions i had for you would solely blossom beyond belief. i couldn’t protest either because i knew they would grow more fervent since it is so hard to control myself around you. i sound like a giddy schoolboy, but with you i can’t help but let everything run wild and free. i put my entire heart and being out onto a silver platter just for you and i knew you would only ever take good care of it. after all if anything they would be yours to either tear or mend.

so when that dreadful day arrived i wasn’t ready for the whirlwind of storm to be released and let loose. you were leaving and wouldn’t come back.

i had been in the car with you that day as well as with your parents since they were flying over with you in order to help you maneuver around a new territory and get you settled in before the start of your semester. i couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you before so i tagged along. we all strolled up to the gate and your parents passed through, leaving you with me so we could have some privacy to say everything we needed to say. albeit there weren't enough words in the world to tell you how i felt at that stage, enough words for the both of us. therefore, we let our actions speak louder. you latched onto me, putting your arms around my neck and hugged me so closed till i was sure there was no room between our bodies in that suffocating airport.

you know you told me a hundred times, maybe even a thousand times during those last weeks before you left, how much you loved me. how much i meant to you and how much you cared for me. i don’t even think the amount of times i heard that from other people could compare to how many times you said it. while they may have meant it, i know you truly did and that was the deepest sorrow to know, which broke me a little further. regardless, i did tell you them right back, how could i not when it was you? i told you those three words and eight letters every time in response, twenty-four hours and seven days a week, but when you said them there, in the midst of the crowd in the airport, it felt different. it felt more meaningful, like there was an underlying tone i couldn’t decipher and it broke me the furthest i could go.

tears came from me and you, flowing between our clashed bodies. they made their way down your face and stained my own, out of jubilation and utter devastation. when you said it in between your sobs, repeating the words like a mantra against my neck and pulled me in even closer, i told you those words back. i whispered them against your temple, kissing the side of your head every time i repeated them and i meant them with all my heart because i truly did love you, so much, just in a way you didn’t love me, and never could.

i was sure i couldn’t recover from your departure once i saw you walk through those gates and let go of me. i wondered if i could ever hold you back again like i did at that moment. it felt like a part of me was being left behind. we were two halves of a whole and with you going, there would always be a missing puzzle piece. a piece of me would always be incomplete and i didn’t know how to feel, nor do i now. there is a hole in my chest of where you belong and i think there always will be until we connect in person again.

looking back i still smile at that memory—at all our recollections together. the woeful ones and the euphoric ones because they help me burden the pain, the heartbreak at your withdrawal from my life. it may sound dramatic considering we are still part of each other’s lives, just not in the way we were before. for distance separates us and threatens to split us apart.

you may think it doesn’t, but we both know the actuality. distance is the cause of these things—friendships, relationships, and love breaking beyond a point that is impossible to fix. where all those things are left in the dust and are fragments of what once was. now distance endangers our own foundations, our own very little things, so it’s illogical not to think about how it might destroy us. i never was a pessimistic person, but now being miles away from you, it’s hard not to think this way. i try to block it out. i try so hard, but sometimes i can’t help but allow negativity to take over, for without you here to shed light, the darkness swallows me whole.

i already know how you look reading this letter, in fact i knew from the very start what it would result in. i knew your emotions would get the best of you as they overwhelm you and you can’t hold them in like you desire to. maybe it happened from the very start or maybe it started now, but i want you to stop the tears that are already cascading down your face. don’t cry reading this. this piece of paper is not worth your tears, even if you think the opposite way and maybe those words i just wrote don’t mean anything because you are already sobbing, but stop them before they consume you. i am not worthy of those tears nor is it my intention to ever make you weep.

you know you always said you couldn’t cry, your body wouldn’t let you wail even if you begged it to. you told me that the day your grandmother died and you came over to me after the funeral. you told me no matter how glum you were and how much pain you felt, you couldn’t mourn for your grandmother. that you pushed your body to release tears but it wouldn’t so you looked unmoving and without emotion during the service. while that may have been the truth just that once, i knew well enough that was a lie. you were numb to feeling since you lost someone, but you body did want to grieve since you were just holding yourself back from looking weak. nonetheless you never are so-called frail because you are the toughest person i know and tears don’t dictate that strength regardless.

so in the deepest part of your room, at the latest times of the night when you thought no one was looking or knew, you cried your heart out. you whimpered too often and i was able to tell even if i never voiced it, but somehow you knew that i knew and you were okay with it. you were okay with letting me know you were and are human. so every time when you would cry i told you that you were too beautiful for it, in order to give you a piece of how i saw you in my head. to allow you to understand it was okay and normal above all. even now, though i can’t see your tear stricken face, you are stunning. so don’t bawl, but rather smile for me.

good.

your smile was always one of my favorite characteristics of yours. the most blinding beam that could light up a room and make anyone forget their worries.

you know even if it may seem gloomy, blame the mood in which this letter took a turn, i still am grateful we keep in contact even if you are so many miles away, because that’s the only thing i ever wanted, to keep in touch with you—to remain best friends. a factor that we still are…(for now).

so yes, it may be six months since i last saw you face-to-face, six months since you left, six months since we managed to stay in contact, but i can just feel you slipping away, becoming someone without me by your side through it all. yes, i know you and i are still who we are since those months ago, since sophomore year, but it’s just something that i can’t help but feel.

in fact i already sense it, it is near, but yet far. you know how i know? when we were on call the other day. it was last wednesday i believe and we were chatting about how our day went, the usual things in our routine, that is until you casually mentioned someone asked you out on a date last week. the mere fact that you didn’t tell me the day of or the day after it happened hurt more than your following words, albeit they equally packed a punch. you told me it was that one boy from your history of psychology class, the boy you did countless assignments with before, the boy you befriended nearly the first day your classes started. the boy i felt would take my spot from your life, if not as your lover, then as your best friend. i forgot his name, but i recollect you said he had that incorrupt look on his face that you perceived him to be pure the first day you laid eyes on him, although after learning more about him, he was far from being innocent. you told me in explicit detail what he looked like and the personality he had. i recall bits and pieces, even if i desperately tried to forget. delicate hands, an artistic gift, a slightly short stature, a cute grin, and a savage attitude to contradict the façade. exactly like you, exactly like the day i met you with your sharp tongue and doe eyes in the library, the complete opposite of each other. while i know i reach far in many regards calling him a soon to be lover or best friend, he still has potential even if he may not have any of those labels. i know he might not be the one—the one you’ll end up marrying in a few years down the road when you have a doctor’s degree in one hand and a ring on the other, but he might as well be. he might as well be that man because the future is unimaginable to foretell, but he can still be that shell of someone you want, he can still fill the void until the time comes. so yes, he very much will have your heart for a while, if you deem him worthy enough, if you pursue him the way he wants to pursue you. the way you were talking about him with your tone and the smile i could hear it in your voice gave it away. i knew something was there and you would give it a shot. he might be one of many before you find the ideal one over the years and he very well might be the one, but even if he was not, he would be your first in more ways than i was. he’ll be someone i wish i could have been. someone i wish would allow me to shoot my shot, but i didn’t since with all my talk i still, deep down, was a coward.

you can’t say i am wrong anyways since sometime, someday, some when it will happen. however, what still remains, in this bit, right now, as you read, is that we are still y/n and mark. mark and y/n. we are still us, but why does it feel like we aren’t at the same time?

it’s a deep question i must admit, it is what keeps me up some nights as i search for the answer and ponder for the meaning. i still don’t know the full answer, but i know enough. we are growing up. we are growing up y/n. we aren’t 15 anymore. we aren’t those sophomore kids that had no idea what the real world had in store and were gullible in every way, shape, and form. we simply aren’t high schoolers who only cared about our grades or appearance or the plans we had after school. we aren’t those kids. we are slowly becoming adults. we are slowing steering away from our teenage years and in that comes this question of self-identity.

who are we?

that is what we are trying to look for. we are finding who we are through everything we do—through our daily lives. we are finding ourselves…without the other. we have been so close for so long and grew into that space in an unhealthy amount of time. we grew accustomed to each other’s presence so now it is almost unbearable being apart for so long. we became so attached we don’t know what to do with ourselves and it’s the cold hard reality. it’s the truth that we don’t know ourselves individually, only together and that’s why it hurts more than ever that we have to be led astray, sometime soon. to know that soon enough that time will come. to know that yes, we still contact each other every day, we still have our weekly face times or calls and what you deem our “online friend dates” during the weekends, but as often as they are, they will change. we will no longer have the time to do that as college gets crazier for both of us, as we become more involved in a college life full of parties, friends, clubs, and whatever else it may be as we move out of being freshmen and get closer to our real life careers. you and i will know when that happens as our calls will become less frequent, our check-ins almost nonexistent with the other being left in the dust for days to weeks to months on end. we merely won’t be in contact anymore and i am sorry when that comes, my love. we’ll forget each other, its expected especially as we grow older, as we date, as we find love, as we befriend new people, as we move in the direction we are meant to be going and with that the worst part follows because i know sooner or later we will have to let each other go, if we don’t neglect. we can’t hold each other back and we will dwindle to a memory of what once was, of a simpler time before. i will be the forgotten one, the one in the background of your most prominent memories, someone you can’t help but look back on.

although we aren’t there yet, but we will be.

soon.

even if at this point you hate how many times i have written that word and so do i, but don’t you dare take the high road since we all know at some point all marvelous friendships die for an unexplainable reason or reasons. ours would just have to be because of life. that’s what makes life well...life. it is all part of the journey, the road to an unforeseeable future, but there can still be hope, it doesn’t just diminish like a candle flame put out by a gust of wind. no, hope still exists, you just have to grasp it when it comes around.

if. i always hated the word if, but if it’s meant to be then we will find each other, we will come around full circle at some point. have hope for both of us when i have none.

still, when you get this, it may be too late. maybe you will have unremembered about me in the seconds of time in between the unwavering silence. only then would we have both moved on, since there is no point in reaching out for something that isn’t worth saving when it all faded away before. only then will i be just a memory and reading this will spark those thought of i knew him once before during a ephemeral moment in my life when i was a teen in high school rather than a college student, but i know i am not late.

it is one thing i am sure of.

until then, until that foreboding time arrives i’ll hold dear what we have. i will try to preserve this friendship for both of our sakes until it’s time to say goodbye or more accurately a see you later if you want to be hopeful.

whenever that may be.

i know you hate goodbyes more than anything, the word itself rattles in your bones. so y/n, see you soon, in person—someday if it’s what’s right.

it has to be right doesn’t it?

fate has to be on our side because it knows us, it knows that there isn’t me without you and there isn’t you without me. when that time arrives of us seeing each other or withering away like every flower does at the end of its life, i hope, i pray that you won’t forget me as i most certainly won’t forget you.

so just call to mind in everything you do, in everything you say, dwell on the time before college—of a time when you were a child, someone lost, someone finding themselves and in it all remember there was someone who loved you before. someone who loved you at your worst as well as at your best, before you became who you were truly meant to be, and he loved you with all his heart.

he promises he always will.

that he is me.

i love you, y/n l/n. always and forever.

never forget it.

yours truly,

mark lee

on march 16th, 20XX at approximately 8:02pm mark lee sealed his letter to y/n and put it in his coat pocket. on march 17th, 20XX at approximately 10:32am mark lee made his way to the postal office to drop off his letter and at 10:36am the letter dropped into the box on its way to the united states. on march 20th at approximately 11:42am mark lee’s letter arrived at the massachuesetts postal office and was separated upon arrival to be delivered sometime within the week. on march 22nd at 2:07pm, mark lee’s letter arrived at y/n’s apartment complex and was dropped in the inboxes of the residents. on march 24th at approximately 7:02am y/n went to pick up the mail, but what wasn’t in the pile was the letter from mark lee. sometime between when the letter arrived in the states to the mailman driving to the complex, his letter had gotten lost. the truck’s windows were open and mark lee’s letter was at the top of the pile when the truck was parked. an unsettling breeze was felt against the mailman’s face as he gripped the entire pile of mail, though mere seconds before the letter was picked up by the wind and whooshed onto the ground several feet away. the mailman did not take note and continued on, not noticing something was missing. y/n never received mark lee’s letter and neither of them would have known how things would have ended up differently if she had. for from that point on they would be a fading memory to each other and their friendship would wane away. y/n would begin to forget the calls with mark. mark would no longer reach out after months of silence from both parties. y/n would date the boy she told mark about, his name was huang renjun and they would fall in love, but mark would never know his name or know what came to be. they would become strangers and not best friends. lost to the tragic distance that separated them across the sea. if only y/n received the letter. if only mark lee confessed. if only he had know y/n felt the same. if only their friendship hadn’t evanescenced into nonexistence…like all unrequited love stories do.

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alch3mic · 4 years ago

Text

in between. (drabble series)

chapter three (words.)

prince!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of anxiety, panic attacks, self-doubt, some light cursing and sadness.

* the third chapter of the series, this time focusing on our dear underswap sans, prince! he has no official fic as of yet but has his own tag here on my tumblr that you can check out if you wish to learn more about him! thank you all very much and i hope you enjoy!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words shall never hurt me.

....

Bullshit.

...Whoever came up with that stupid rhyme must've never heard a cruel word spoken to them in their life!

...

...Or maybe they were trying to sell themselves the world's biggest lie...

....Because... words.. hurt.

They snapped.

They stung.

They burned.

They engraved themselves upon his bones as permanent reminder of his worth.

"Coward."

"Freak!"

"Idiot."

"Weirdo."

They sloshed and swirled inside his skull, drowning him in the waves of their meaning, pulling him down further and further with their weight like an anchor tied to his legs. They sang like a horrid symphony that refused to let him rest, violins screeching their painful notes while the drums bellowed out their laughter at him.

It was so loud.

So loud.

So.. damn.. loud...!

He..!

Couldn't think.

He couldn't breathe, he was...!

....

...Shaking.

He could hear his bones rattling as an accompaniment to the symphony of word in his head, his eyelights refusing to focus and the world practically became a blur around him. Every single thing was fading from his sight. The colors, the shapes, all of it falling away as the sounds sang louder and louder, drowning everything else out. The air felt putrid with every breath he tried to take in, making him want to gag on the horrid taste of it all.

"...ns.."

..Why..

Why did he think he could do this..!

After... what they said to him..!

After everything they.. they..!

..No...

No..!

He was..!

"......ans..!"

His teeth were chattering.

Clicking.

Tapping.

Adding to the unending concert of syllables as they picked up their pace and momentum. They were hitting their high point, the music of words becoming louder.. and faster and..!

His soul was pounding so painfully too, he feared it might just burst from his ribcage.

"sans!"

Panic.

He was panicking and.. and..!

He needed to..!

...

..Papyrus..

...

He could barely make out his brother's features anymore, his name becoming lost to the noises eating him alive.

What was he saying...?

'breathe.'

No.. he.. he couldn't..

He was choking.

Coughing.

Sputtering.

The air was refusing to enter his body anymore no matter how hard he tried.

The air was just too..!

He.. he couldn't..!

His magic was buzzing as it couldn't ventilate properly, straining and pulling against him, making his head spin further out of control.

He..

He couldn't do this.

He.. wasn't.. strong enough..

"You're.. not the person I once knew."

The words they were..

They were going to.. swallow him whole.

"Look at what you've become!"

"What's happened to you, Sans?"

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know!

He doesn't-!

"You're nothing but a shadow of yourself now."

No-! He's-!

He's still here!

He's still himself!

He's just-!

Just...!

"W-w-why di-did you... b-become l-like...this..?"

How the hell was he suppose to know!!

"...How.. disappointing.."

The words were..

Breaking him.

It hurt.

It hurt!

It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt!

"sans!"

No.. please..

..Not him too.

Please.. he..

Couldn't take it anymore.

It was too loud it..!

It hurt too much.. he... he had to get away!

He had to get away..!

From this!

From them!

From those people he thought were...!

Just... get away...!

GET AWAY FROM HIM!

GET AWAY!

.....

And so he ran.

....

Or... he tried, until his brother caught his arm.

"sans! wait, please-!"

But he snatched his arms back, not wanting to hear anything anymore.

He just couldn't...

..Take anymore words...

.....

So he fled...

Out of the room.

Down the hall.

And away from those people...

....

His shoes were stomping against the floor as the tears filled his eyesockets, making the once blurry world a complete mess of runny colors and odd shapes.

How stupid was he... to believe he was strong enough to face them.

After everything they went through.

After everything they said-!

..He was..

....

He was still a coward.

....

And so he fled, like cowards do, every bone in his body screaming at him to just keep going far, far away from the source of those painful word.

From the people who.. he thought he trusted, a long time ago.

Who he thought would understand, but in the end they...

....

..Mocked him..

"The sky?"

He still remembers the disbelief on their features.

"Wait.. seriously? That's why you've been hiding inside? You're scared of the sky?"

...Yes...

"Sans it can't hurt you. Everything fine."

...He.. knows that...

"Then why?"

He.. doesn't know....

"I can't believe this!"

He.. can't either..

..What was...

...What was wrong with him?

"You're nothing like the skeleton I knew before."

..No.. he' still..

...Here..

"What happened to him?"

He doesn't know..!

Stop.. talking to him like he's someone else..!

He's right here!

He's still right here!

Why are they...?

"What happened to the 'Wonderful' and 'Magnificent' Sans?"

HE DOESN'T KNOW!

.....

...He just... doesn't... know anymore.

....

..Just like now, he didn't know where he was running to.

He didn't have much of a destination in mind, just that he had to go.

He just wanted to get.. away..

"ˢᵃⁿˢ!"

Just get away...

Away from this.

From the pain.

From the looks on their damned faces as they spoke those hurtful words that tore his mind and soul apart piece by piece.

They treated him like he wasn't aware of what he's become!

As if he didn't wish with every damn fiber of magic in his body that he wasn't like this!

A coward!

A disappointment!

An idiot who's so afraid of the open world around him that he couldn't even step outside anymore!

He-!

He wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back...! He wanted to go back!

He wanted to go back to who he was, before all of this but..!

....

The person he once was... was gone...

..He vanished into thin air the moment he took one look up at that sky on that fateful day..

...And the terror he felt had almost swallowed him whole....

..Or maybe it did.. and all that was left was a husk of a skeleton who use to have more confidence than he knew what to do with.

Now the simplest of words could.. break him.

And that.. was the hardest thing of all to accept.

....That somewhere along the way he had..

...

...changed.

And so.. like a coward he ran, wanting to hide somewhere no one would find him so he could lay there for all of eternity without a single thought in his head until he dusted. He was tired of this. He was tired of feeling this way! He was tired of them and these walls and that damned sky that struck fear into his bones every time he looked at it.

Why..?

Why..!?

Why couldn't he be.. him?!

Where did he go?

When did he lose himself..?

Who...

..Who was he...?

The quiet hallways threatened to split his head open as his thoughts poured all over the place, causing his soul to spasm and spiral out of control while he desperately tried to breathe in, but the air still refused to enter his lungs.

He needed something..!

Something to replace the noise..!

All of his hiding spots were inside and if he stewed in his thoughts much longer he really was going to come undone!

He just needed.. something...

Anything..!

Make it stop.

Make it stop!

MAKE IT STOP!

Woosh.

....

He drew in a heavy breath, all at once the scent of rain hitting his nasal bone and the sounds of water hitting the roof, disrupting the symphony.

Softly.

Gently.

Then harder, tapping and thundering against the roof as it...

Washed away the words inside is head.

....

...But they were still singing.

Even the sounds weren't enough.. he...

Glanced further down the hall, to a set of doors that led...

..Outside...

...

He swallowed, desperately chasing the harmony that made all the words fade away and taking a few careful steps towards it...

"ˢᵃⁿˢ!"

.....

Before running off.

....

..Right through the doors, throwing them open with what strength he had left and letting them close behind him as he bolted out into the rain.

It splattered and splashed against the tile, filling his head with nothing but their sounds as the droplets tapped against his empty skull. That tight burst of energy was fading from his chest, gradually falling further and further away as the fatigue set into his bones and he slowed down.

He finally come to a stop in the middle of the garden.

Gasping and heaving, he finally managed to take in some fresh air that filled his body with its cold embrace and overwhelmed his humming soul with relief. The rattling of his bones ceased... and soon he gained control over his breaths, willing his legs to take just a few more tiny strides further out to where no one could find him.

Out, past the normal confines of the garden and into some rose bushes...

...

He was.. exhausted..

Glancing around, the normally pink flowers scattered along the bushes were diluted by the cloudy skies above and harsh rain that thundered all around them. His shirt now stuck to his bones, sending a chill down his spine and making him feel heavy but.. he didn't care.

The symphony had silenced.. leaving him..

..Empty...

...and alone.

....

..Eventually it was all to much as his legs gave out, sitting down to the muddy ground and placing his skull on his knees as the world continued to rain down on him.

And it poured.

All alone in the garden, without a single thought in his head, Sans suffered.

The pain of it all marched on in his bones, gripping and grinding, threatening to break him apart bit by bit.

It hurt so badly and yet..

Yet there were no sticks, and no stones.

Just words.. and the marks they had left on his soul.

And it hurt.

And he was sure he would finally just break...

And his soul would finally give in..

And he'd come undone at the seams.

And...

It.. stopped.....?

He could still hear the sounds of the rain all around him, crashing and thundering upon the bushes and muddy grass, but it stopped tapping against his skull and instead began hitting something... else.

An umbrella..?

Sans picked his head slowly, still having so little energy after his fit of panic and looked up.

You smiled at him sweetly as you stood beside him, holding up an umbrella above as the world continuing its downpour.

..Ah...

...You..

....sat down.. right beside him in the mud, sheltering the both of you under the clear plastic umbrella as you glancing up at the clouded sky with a small look of peace on your features.

..Not a single word uttered from your lips.

..Instead you sat by him..

And even in the dull and grey world around you both..

He swore he could see your eyes shine.

He.. didn't know what to say.

The words just didn't come.

Normally his whole head would be buzzing of things to blurt when you were around, but they were all washed away with the rain.

...

..But maybe he didn't need to say.. anything.

At least not right now..

So slowly he let go of the tension in his chest, relaxing his shoulders and taking a few deep breaths as his eyelights also hesitantly traveled to the sky above. That once endless blue abyss was now covered under a patchwork of gray clouds making that ceaseless void just.. disappear.

In a way he almost felt like he was back underneath the mountain again and.. a strange form of peace also found its way to his soul.

...As did the tears.

Quietly they gathered, because even when the words weren't present in his mind.. his body still ached from the pain that they had caused. Somehow it even felt worse than any sticks, stones or even broken bones. Nobody could believe how much he was hurting because there were no physical wounds, just the throb left in his soul from their brutality. They ached in a way that couldn't be healed by magic... in a way that couldn't be explained or cured..

It's clear that they had.. no idea what they were doing to him anymore.

How badly their words had hurt him, because he tried to hide it all under fake smiles.

He wasn't.. unbreakable anymore.

Somewhere along the way.. he had become so fragile...

And yet they still stacked all of their expectations on top of him.

...Then they mocked him when he just couldn't keep up...

....

He..

...blinked once, catching something on his peripheral vision and glancing towards you again.

Carefully you held out a handkerchief to him.

....That was..

The same one he gave you... those few months ago, when those delicate tears had been falling from your eyes.

....

"...I..." he began softly, tearing away his gaze for a moment as a wave of embarrassment washed over him at his current state.

He was a complete mess with his shirt coming undone, soaked to the bone and his eyesockets brimming with tears.

"..THANK YOU.."

All this time he had built himself up to you as a perfect prince.

He was so desperate for you to.. see him as that....

Kind, strong, charming.. and most of all brave.

..And.. now he's tarnished all that hard work by running and crying in the rose bushes like a coward. Still, he tried to gather what remained of that broken image and took the handkerchief from your hands, wiping away his eyesockets.

Heh...

He really was pathetic wasn't he..?

And.. a liar.

....And you..

Must surely hate him now.

"...FORGIVE ME, MY DEAR.. I JUST.."

The words left again as the rain stole them all away with their pitter and pattering...

"It's okay," you said softly gifting him that gentle smile of yours again. "There's no need to apologize or explain yourself to me."

..Why..?

Everyone else practically demanded an explanation out of him.

Why was he like this?

Why did he lock himself up inside?

...Surely you wanted to know too right?

So, why were you..?

You didn't say anything else..

And neither did he.

So the two of you sat quietly in the middle of the rose bushes as the world poured out it's tears all around you for what felt like a small eternity.

Until he stood up suddenly and pocketed that handkerchief.

"..Sans..?"

He smiled at you rather sadly, but offered his hand. You clearly look up at him a little confused and a bit worried, but didn't hesitate to take it as he helped you stand up as well. The both of you were coated in mud now and the refreshing rain began tapping on his skull once again.

"..Did you want to go back..?"

"...NO," he said softly, taking a moment to admire then gentleness in your expression. "BUT STRANGELY I DON'T FEEL MUCH LIKE SITTING IN THE MUD AND CRYING ANYMORE EITHER.. SO.."

The words threatened to leave again, but he shook his head and steeled his resolve.

"WOULD YOU DANCE WITH ME?"

..He couldn't help but love that surprised look on your face...

..But he loved it even more when you smiled at him, and without a single moment hesitation you threw the umbrella to the ground and let the rain begin to douse you too. He lightly took your hand in his, placing the other on the wonderful curve of your hip as you put your free hand on his shoulder. The two of you fell into an easy and comfortable rhythm, the same one the two of you always fell into when you danced, with nothing but the downpour to accompany you as you swayed.

Just like with the rain, you always brought such an easiness to his soul.

You were always so refreshing and calm, and with you it always seemed like his troubles were so far away. A part of him really believed he could just be himself around you..

..Perhaps that's why he's always so desperate to hide it all behind charming smiles and lavish words..

He didn't want to.. scare you away.

He didn't want you to look at him in that way everyone else did.

He wanted to keep you right here, with the rain dousing you both as your clothes stuck to your form, with wet hair and a sweet and gentle smile that was reserved just for him.

....

..He..

He wanted this to be the fairytale he always read about as a babybones...

With a truly happy ending...

And he really thought he had it now that he had you with him here...

No longer a friend just visiting, but... you now called his place your home.

And you gave him your love.

....

..But.. life keeps going.

And the past.. comes back to haunt you in the shapes of people who you once thought of as friends.

.....

....Would you..

...Become the same way.. one day..?

.....Was this happily ever after.. only temporary..?

He.. didn't want to let go..

He wanted to stay here, under the rain and lost in this fantasy...

..but he did, staring at the wonderful expression on your face as you took the hand from his shoulder and lightly placed it on his cheek. It was a touch so gentle and full of love, he couldn't help but lean in to it and let out a small breath.

"CAN YOU PROMISE ME SOMETHING, MY DEAR..?"

"..What is it..?"

He hesitated for a moment, watching as the droplets of rain gently glided down your face, dousing your hair and your clothes.

"...WOULD YOU..?"

..Again the words fell away.

He took in a struggling breath, trying to push them out but his fears kept them wound tightly inside his chest. He never wanted to be without you again. He never wanted to think of a day where he would wake up and you wouldn't be by his side. He couldn't stand the thought of you becoming... like them..

You were.. so good.. and.. he was...

"Sans."

...

..He never wanted a day again where you wouldn't say his name so tenderly...

....

You took your other hand from his and also placed it on his face.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

....

"I'll always be right here for you."

.....

"Because there's no one else in the world I love quite as much as the skeleton here before me right now."

....

You loved.. him..

Not the person he was before.

...But him.. as he was now..

....

..And that's exactly why he could never let you go...

So instead he pulled you close, burying himself in the comfort of the crook of your neck and letting those quiet words of love soak into his bones..

Softly.

Gently.

Then harder, tapping and thundering against his soul as it...

Washed away the words inside is head.

...

..Only leaving him with thoughts of you.

...

And...

How he will do anything to desperately hold on to this..

...happily ever after...

#the music hit just right when i was editing this and hooo boy #did it make me kinda sad #i'm sorry my poor boy #prince!sans #sans #undertale #underswap #underswap sans #undertale fic #yandere sans #long post #fic #fanfiction #drabble #anxiety tw #panic attack tw #alch!writes #inbetween!fic

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angelnumber27 · 3 years ago

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People are so stupid like I make art every day of my life (I draw every day, paint every day, take photographs everyday and lately have been getting back into making digital art) and I’m not bad at it lmao. I’ve been doing it my whole life, I’ve always loved art and anything creative and making things with my hands. I can show you things I’ve made from every month since I was three. Its been a comfort in dark times and a beautiful outlet when I didn’t have anything or anyone. It’s just who I am. Because I make things and have personally had tons of my art and photography stolen and my writings plagiarized constantly, I understand artists wanting credit and artists should always have credit so I always give it. If something isn’t mine you’ll know that. And if it is you’ll know that too. Because I’m not a snake ass weirdo who saves art or writing other people worked hard on and poured their soul into and claim it as my own as I see other people doing on here and as has been done to me, both constantly. It’s gross, just give artists credit! It’s not that hard. Thank you :)

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

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Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 7

Fourteen Days to Conspiracy

Ichigo sits by the river again. The day is dawning, pink in the east.

He can’t see the sword any longer, not since he stumbled back into his body from his inside. His inner word, Zangetsu had called it.

Even still, he can feel it’s phantom weight, familiar and comforting in his palm. It feels like all he has to do is wrap his fingers around it and pull and the sword would be in his hand, gleaming and ready to swing, to block, to guard him. Holding Zangetsu had felt like coming home.

Despite that, it had also felt like there was something missing. Like his other hand was empty.

Was that what Diarmund had felt whenever he put one of his swords or spears down?

He could hear all of Achille’s dumbass bisexual jokes at his expense.

Ichigo leaned back on the damp grass, drawing in steady breaths, one after another. Up the incline he could see people waiting for him. Elmelloi, and a happily familiar face and pale hair.

Waver Velvet, or Lord Elmelloi II and his apprentice, a phenomenal mage and prodigy Flat Escardos. Waver had said there was something strange about the town, and now Ichigo has to wonder if he’s not partially to blame. Because of his fight with Uryu and massive monster had tried to crush the city. Because of him and Rukia some high class shinigami had come to visit and started causing trouble.

Ichigo wants to help. Really, he does. He likes Waver even if he is grumpy. He’s one of the few people Ichigo knows who’s just as shit at actual magic as he is. Waver, like Ichigo, makes due with other means.

He’s an alchemist, and a detective. With no magic lineage to fall back on, and no innate talent for mage craft he uses outside forces to get things done. He draws his power from ores and reagents and uses reason to puzzle out what the best course of action is. Without the ability to fight head on Waver relies on other people for combat, and merely acts as their guide and support.

The one thing Waver truly excels at is teaching.

It takes him no more than a glance to understand how a spell is cast, and minutes to figure out how to teach someone with the right type of circuits how to use it as well. And how to strengthen and improve it.

Waver cannot perform his own magecraft, but he can strengthen and support others.

He, above all others, is one person who understands Ichigo’s abilities.

They are peas in a pod, and it’s almost scary.

Ichigo lifts himself up from the banks of the river and picks his way up to the pair. Flat is as exuberant as ever. Even in snow, surrounded by recovered corpses of Chealdeas, he’d been delighted to be there.

What a weirdo.

“Hey,” Ichigo raises his hand to them. Waver grunts. His long red scarf shifts when the wind changes direction. The breeze comes with the smell of smoke and cardamom.

“Ichigo. You disappeared.”

“Sorry,” he’s not, “Something came up. I’ll be gone for about a month.”

Waver scowls at him.”We need you here. We’re investigating changes of ley lines around the city. Your city. And you know how I feel about this place.”

Yes, he does. Ichigo’s never gotten the full story, but he knows ten years ago something happened that left Waver embittered to the entire country. The fact that he’s standing on japanese soil in the first place is frankly bewildering.

Ichigo doesn’t say so out loud.

“A friend of mine needs help,” he says instead. “So I’m sorry, but I need to go to her first. I appreciate your help with the house, but this is important to me.”

Waver frowns at him, and even Flat’s smile tilts sideways, like he’s not sure he understands. Ichigo doubts that he does. This child is a freaky innocence that isn’t innocent at all. Somehow he can look at pain and suffering and still thing its ‘cool’.

Ichigo does not envy Waver.

Waver must know Ichigo well, for he looks at him and his stubborn jaw and his hard eyes and he grunts irritably.

“Fine then. There’s no changing your mind,” he knows. “We’ll handle this matter. You help your friend.”

“Not like I needed your permission anyways,” Ichigo points out, but it’s not really angry. For all he’s a cantankerous old guy in the body of a man not even thirty Waver is good natured and nurturing in his own way. Even when he was summoned a servant (and Ichigo still doesn’t understand how exactly that happened) he’d been the same. Maybe that’s why Ichigo is so biased towards him.

“Good luck,” Waver says instead of anything else.

Ichigo nods to him, ruffles Flat’s hair, and makes his way to the Urahara shop as promised.

By the time he comes too, Ichigo feels less like a mage and more like a pile of recently tenderized meat.

The sky is burning pink and purple and night air is slow to fade to day. There’s dew settled into his bangs that glistens when the newborn sunlight hits it.

It would be lovely, if it wasn’t for the fact that ichigo could barely lift his head to shake the moisture off.

It’s a bone deep ache.

A lightness in his body that makes him feel like if he isn’t careful he’s going to go flying off into the sky, an empty void of a man.

Mash’s worried face poked in from the side of his vision.

“Master?” her voice is terribly soft, tumultuous with worry. Worry for him.

Ichigo pushes himself up slowly, only his own pride and stubbornness keeping him from falling right down back into the dirt.

Mash rushes to him to help, and her strong arms around him help to ground him back down. He still feels drained and hollow, but the warm hands that hold him steady are a help. They make his body feel more reel. And less like he’s not tethered to reality.

“Hey Mash. How long was I out?” He can’t quite remember what happened. There was a swarm of demons, and Kyo couldn’t handle all of them. Ichigo had-

What exactly had he done again?

Right, he’d shoved all of his reishi into Kyo, so he could cast a spell and destroy the monsters that had been coming at them. Where is Kyo, anyhow? Where are any of the others?

“Mash?” Ichigo asks, touching her side. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh,” Mash slowly lets him go, looking off to the side. “We got a cart to carry you in, since we can’t really stop right now. We’re in that now, and the others are laying down outside.”

Ichigo looks down to see that it’s not dirt he would have fallen into, but a scratchy brown blanket.

“How long was I out?”

“The rest of the day and all of the night. About eighteen hours in total. Nightingale wasn’t happy,” Mash grimaced. “She couldn't do anything to help you. No one could.”

Mash suddenly scowls at him and tightens her hold to the point of pain. “You could have been hurt! Master, you need to stop being so reckless!”

Another voice joins in. “Master is awake?!”

The cart rocks and Ichigo finds himself being shaken back and forth by hand so strong they could break his shoulders. “What did you do that for! You could have died! You fool!”

“Me-du-sa. Can’t. Breath.” Ichigo choked. She didn’t loosen her hold but she did stop shaking him so he could catch his breath. He put his hand on her elbows and looked at those ethereal golden eyes. “Sorry. I’m not going anywhere, promise. I just got overzealous. Are you okay?”

“Are we-?!” she bristled. “We’re fine! You were the one that almost shoved your soul out of your body!”

Ichigo blinks at her.

“I did what?”

“You almost shoved all of your reiryoku, your spirit energy, into me.”

Ichigo looks to the side, where Kyo is perched on the edge of the wagon. His dark eyes are fathomless, searching for something in Ichigo that Ichigo isn’t sure he has. There’s a light in them too, one that Ichigo can’t for the life of him decipher.

(Years later he will recognize it as hope.)

“Okay,” Ichigo takes Medusa’s hands from his shoulders and guides her to sit next to him. She looks into the seemingly empty air, but they are all beyond questioning him when he talks to nothing. “It still worked, didn’t it?”

Kyo’s brows furrow minutely. “It did… It was still reckless. I’ve never seen someone do something so utterly foolish in my life. You could have more than died. You could have destroyed your own soul doing that. Feeding your energy into spirit beings is dangerous, there is a reason it isn’t done. Even these heroic spirits contracted to you are a risk. Whether drawing on your life energy or your spirit energy, you put yourself in tremendous danger.”

“I know,” Ichigo tells him truthfully. Kyo is closer than he ever has been, like some wall he’d set up is starting to crumble. His mask is cracking. “I know it’s dangerous. Everything we do is dangerous, but if I don’t do it then everything will end. Everyone will die. All of my friends, all of my family will be gone. I can’t fight on my own. All I can do is strengthen others, even if I have to pay a price for that I will.”

“That’s very noble but-”

“Don’t make me into a saint,” Ichigo cut him off swiftly. “I’m not. If you want one of those you’re in the wrong singularity. I’m doing this because I want my sisters back. I’m doing this because I want to stop fighting and go home already. Every motivation I have is entirely selfish, Kyo.”

Medusa smacked the back of his head.

“Hey!”

“He may make you into a saint but you make yourself a sinner!” She snapped. “In Fuyuki we were on opposite sides of a war. You should have killed me. Even if we weren’t enemies I was, am, darkened by the cursed mud of a corrupted grail. In stead you told me to stop being a lunatic and poured your power into me, so I could stand at your side. You trusted me with your back when I could have easily stabbed it.”

“Medusa-”

“No! You may not be a saint like Jeanne but you’re a good, stupid man!”

Ichigo is so stunned by the fact that Medusa of all people has called him a good man that he doesn’t even notice the fact that she has heard Kyo as well.

It tops as one of the weirdest days of his lives.

* *

Ichigo finally finds himself standing in front of the Urahara shop, the old sign hanging above the doorway. It’s out of the way, stuffed between two towering modern buildings. If one didn’t know what they were looking for they would never find it. It was just an old shop tha hadn’t been converted yet. They’re not common but they’re also not so out of place that anyone would bat an eye if they happened to see it while out and about.

It’s exactly how mages run things and not for the first time does Ichigo wonder just what in the world it is that Urahara is. A mage? A shinigami? Something between? Ichigo can’t get a good read on him, but to be fair he hasn’t really been looking.

He knows his half hidden eyes and he knows he’s willing to help Rukia and help Ichigo. That’s enough for him for now.

He raises his hand and knocks firmly on the door. On the third knock the door slides open, revealing the tall man from before. Tessai.

Ichigo can’t get a good read on him. His glasses bar him from seeing his eyes and the eyes are the window to the soul. Never the less, Ichigo can still see his strength. A hundred times stronger than Ichigo, and now that he’s of a clearer mind when he looked past the man to Urahara he realizes that he’s stronger still.

They aren’t as strong as someone born in the Age of Gods, but they’re at least on par with weaker servants.

How had he missed that before?

Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.

“Hey. I’m here for my training.”

They let him inside. Underneath the shop there happens to be a massive chamber, stretching out in all directions. A mockery of the sky spreads across the ceiling, painted with fluffy clouds that almost seem to move across the sky.

Whoever this man is, he’s not a mage. A mage would never have something so cheerful in their home. Mages were creatures of darkness and shadow. Lonely beings of solitude.

Urahara was no such thing.

He had children, for one thing, and his assistant (husband?) seemed utterly devoted to him. He did not have the cold air of a mage obsessed only with legacy and the enhancement of his crest. No. For all Urahara reminded him of Merlin, he was certainly not a mage.

“So. What do we do first?” Ichigo asks, turning his sights from the sky to the man in front of him. His hat shadows most of his face, save the strange smile beneath that darkness.

“First, we would need to return your shinigami powers to you-”

“Yeah. I already did that part. What’s next.”

Ichigo was treated to the sight of Urahara tilting his head and blinking rapidly at him. It’s the only real sign of surprise on his face.

“You… already did that?” he repeated. He lifted his cane, exposing the flaming skull on the underside, and drives it into Ichigo’s chest.

Ichigo pops out the other side, in a familiar shihakusho with a sword strapped to his back. Zangetsu is actually less of a sword and more of a giant cleaver as long as his body. The curve of the red mark that sits above his heart just barely crests over the white folds of his clothes

Urahara’s mouth opens but no sound comes out for a few long seconds. Ichigo scowls at him.

“You said I needed to get my shinigami powers and I did. Now hurry up already. We’ve only got ten days before I have to go save Rukia. So what’s next, huh?”

Urahara recovers (not very) gracefully, clears his throat and stands straight.

“I see. So you managed to do that all on your own.”

“Not really,” Ichigo isn’t one to brag, or take undue credit. He touches Zangetsu’s hilt lightly, fingers running across the bandages. “Zangetsu helped me out.”

“You know his name as well? Then I suppose we can skip three whole lessons.”

Ichigo doesn’t like the sudden, calculating look in Urahara’s eyes, but he can’t say anything about it. He understands he’s just done something expected, but doesn’t he always? He’s used to the staring, to the incredulousness of people who are just meeting him.

He misses the familiar presence at his side, at his back. Guarding and guiding him. But with Zangetsu in hand the void where his friends had once been is lessened, even if it’s not entirely gone.

Zangetsu has always been with him. That’s what he’s said, isn’t it?

“Then we’ll move on. Ichigo, your first task is to knock this hat off my head.”

“...huh?” Seriously? What kind of bullshit is this?

Ichigo squinted at him while Urahara drew a sword from his cane and pointed it towards him. A straight blade, thin and deadly he can feel the barely restrained bloodlust from here.

“Awaken, Benihime.”

The air sings with danger and a thrill shoots up Ichigo’s spine. Red light flickers, bloody and dangerous, across the blade until what’s left is no cane but the unmistakable sight of a zanpakuto. The hamon is straight, the tip is sharp and straight instead of tapered.

“There’s no timelimit. So try as hard as you can to knock this hat off with your sword.”

“That sounds like a good way to loose an eye, and if you do I can’t fix that,” Ichigo warns even as he pulls his sword from his back. The ribbon flutters off, wrapping drawing back to reveal the deadly curve beneath. It’s not the type of sword ichigo is used to holding. He’s used to something shorter, but the blade is as light as his own arm in his grasp. Is’t a part of him, he knows for certain. His instincts flare and he dodges just in time, avoiding a strike that leaves a deep gauge in the rock behind him.

“You should really be worrying about yourself,” Urahara says. His voice is deceptively soft, his smile is just as mild, and the shadow of his hat hides his eyes.

As if that would hide from Ichigo the singing his sword does for his blood.

“Fine,” Ichigo adjusts his grip, bounces on the balls of his feet and swings.

Their swords come together in a clash of metal against metal and power against power. Ichigo is raw strength poured forth and an unbending will, straight forwards and unyielding.

Urahara is swift and sharp and takes jabs at any opening, no matter how small. He is powerful, stronger than Ichigo, and when he’d released his sword that strength had more than doubled. There’s no doubt that he could go toe to toe with Diarmuid.

That’s fine. Ichigo meets him blow for blow.

He doesn’t run. He won’t wear scars of shame upon his back. He can’t go backwards now, not when he’s set his sights on his goal. Not when Rukia needs him.

Even with all that, he’s not winning.

He may not run but he’s being force back, further and further with Urahara taking every inch given for his own, eating the ground as he cuts at Ichigo’s defenses.

Ichigo keeps an eye on his unused hand. He knows these men are tricky. He knows shinigami can use kido, and he won’t be taken by surprise again.

Urahara shifts his stance and Ichigo lunges for the opening. Too late he realizes it’s a trap.

He takes a hard blow to his side, and blood drips down into the white fabric beneath the black.

Ichigo jumps back, a hand on his side, and hisses with the pain. It’s shallow. Not even enough to pierce into anything important. When he looks to Urahara he sees not the man but a predator stalking towards him. He’s not even close to running out of energy. Neither of them are, but now Urahara has drawn first blood.

Ichigo remembers red. He remembers the red of Fuyuki, the terror of the grail and the fallen kings. He remembers the blind desperation of the fight with Lev, and barely keeping Olga Marie from being dragged into the red earth. Red was raw destruction, blood and death.

Ichigo is beyond being afraid of it.

“Zangetsu,” the name comes to his lips. Zangetsu. He’s always known it. He’s always had this sword at his back, and now a phantom hand lays upon his shoulder. His partner. His weapon. The means by which he will protect all he loves.

“Forget fear,” his words echo, and a second hand touches his on the hilt, “ Look forward. Walk forth. Never stop. If you look back you are lost. If you are afraid you’ll die. Swear, Ichigo.”

He does.

“I’ll never run. I’ll never be afraid. Even if I have to tear the heavens apart, I will win! Zangetsu!”

Power swirls around his sword, Zangetsu squeezes his shoulder and falls into the blade, still crossed with Benihime. They sing together, a song of the hunt and a refusal to die. A cat and the moon, Ichigo pushes everything he has into the sword. Into Zangetsu. He trusts him.

Silver light rips out of the blade. He can see the moment of Urahara’s briefest panic and the last-second switch of his sword. From offense to defense, but it’s not enough to save his hat from the wave of raw energy that shreds from Zangetsu.

Ichigo catches the hat as it falls to the ground, a good sized chunk now missing.

He can’t help the grin that splits his face when he sees the land past Urahara’s red barrier has been torn into a fissure that stretches all the way out to the seemingly endless walls of the room, and cracks it’s way up towards the ceiling.

He lays Zangetsu back along his back and walks over to Urahara, twirling his hat around one finger. It feels good. Fighting with his own power, nothing has never compared to that. Nothing ever will.

Ichigo eyes the cracks and crumbling edges of the red shield Urahara has erected to guard himself, and eyes the sword in his hand. The bloodlust isn’t gone, but there’s something else in it. Ichigo touches that blade, drawing Urahara’s attention away from the new canyon in his basement. The touch is all Ichigo needs for a proper reading. Confusion, curiosity, and off all things hope.

There’s definitely something weird going on here.

Urahara pulls his sword back from ichigo delicately and sheathes her again. “You should be careful,” Urahara warns. “Benihime isn’t nice.”

If zanpakuto reflect the soul of their wielder, does that mean Urahara is also ‘not nice’?

Ichigo hands him his hat. “I think I passed your little test.”

Up close, Urahara isn’t nearly as old as Ichigo first thought he was. He almost looks young, somewhere in his later twenties. Most questions, no more answers and no time to ask them.

“I’d say you did,” Urahara takes it from him, futility knocking dust away from it. “Ichigo, you are one scary kid.”

* * *

“Do you know where you are?”

“Are you going to ask me that every time?”

Ichigo isn’t surprised to see where he is tonight. There’d been a creeping dread that had begun crawling up his throat the closer and closer they came to the day he was to leave.

Merlin toys with a strand of Ichigo’s hair. It’s finally grown past his shoulders these days, and Merlin seems to take some small pleasure in the tactile sensation.

If Ichigo was trapped at the edge of the world for over 1500 years he’d probably be starved for new sensations himself. Or even something as simple as the presence of someone familiar.

He is reminded again that he has sworn to free Merlin from his prison, even if he has no idea how he’s going to do that. He’ll figure it out.

“Perhaps. It’s consistent if nothing else.”

“Everything here is consistent,” Ichigo retorted. “You’ll stop once you get tired of Westworld.”

“Maybe I’ll start with the Game of Thrones references then,” Merlin teased. Ichigo shot him a scowl.

Merlin laughed it off easily.

“Okay, something else then. In the meantime, how has your training been going?”

“My training? It’s fine. It’s mostly been Urahara fighting me. He hasn’t taught me much of anything, but I’m catching up to speed with my new sword at least.”

“Ah yes. And how does he fight?”

“Urahara? I dunno. Sometimes he moves like Kojirou, sometimes like Mordred.”

“Those are very different fighting styles,” Merlin mused, tapping his fingers along his staff. Ichigo nods his agreement.

“It is. More than anyone though, he reminded me of Okada,” and you .

“A man slayer?” Merlin pretended to startle. “A man equally capable of saber and assassin techniques. What a terrifying concept.”

Merlin didn’t know the half of it.

“Do you fear him?”

Ichigo paused. “Huh? No. I probably should but… he doesn’t mean to hurt me, or my friends.”

“My, my. You always have had a knack for judging people.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader,” Ichigo groans, falling back into the flowers that perpetually bloom aroun Merlin. It really is a very pretty prison.

His gaze wanders to Merlin’s staff.

“Those ribbons,” he says suddenly. “Are they soul ribbons?”

“Hmm?” Merlin follows his gaze and delights. “Aha! No, not quite but they are very close. They’re designed to keep my staff from being stolen or abused. I suppose, in some ways, they’re the essence or the soul of my staff. They work a bit like command seals.”

Merlin was being weirdly forthcoming.

That only happened when it was something Ichigo really needed to know. Why would he need to know that much about Merlin's fancy magic stick?

If he tries to ask, he’ll just be brushed off, so he doesn’t. Instead he engages Merlin in a game of twenty questions, to pass the time until he must leave again.

“Are you worried?” Merlin asks abruptly, breaking their game and starting a new one called ‘try to get Ichigo to talk about his feelings’.

“Why would I be?” Ichigo replies, narrowing his eyes.

Merlin holds up his hands placatingly. “This will be the first time you go alone into something like that. I would think you would be frightened.”

“I’m not alone,” Ichigo says evenly. “I have my zanpakuto, Zangetsu. Besides. This way I don’t have to be so careful. I won’t be leading anyone except for myself, and anyone who inevitably joins along while I’m there.”

“Your charisma is the stuff of legends.”

“I’m not charismatic!” Ichigo argues, scowling again. “People just like to glue themselves to me, it’s not my fault.”

Merlin laughs and Ichigo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, crushing more flowers around him. They’re replaced in second by yet more.

“Will I see you while I’m in the soul society?” Ichigo asks, peering at his friend.

Merlin considers this. “Most likely not. It’s a different world, and the realm of the dead at that. I don’t think I can reach you there.” There’s sadness hidden in his eyes. Ichigo scowls at him for a long moment before he gives in and hugs the grand mage.

Merlin stiffens in his grasp, his air leaving his lungs for the long seconds before Ichigo starts to fade away, back where he’s come from.

If he doesn’t come back, he won’t have Merlin doubting their friendship.

* * * *

Seven days. Seven days, and Ichigo is on his way out of the house.

There had been a festival earlier, and he’d wanted to go with his sisters and give them one last memory, before he potentially ran off and got himself killed on a rescue mission for a girl they didn’t even remember exists.

The fireworks stopped him.

He’s already on edge, already gearing up for a fight, for an infiltration (for a war). He doesn’t want to know what the sound of the sky cracking open and lights and fire roaring over his head will do to him at a time like this.

Instead he’d waited for them, and tucked them in when they’d been too exhausted for anything else. He left breakfast in the fridge so Yuzu didn’t have to worry about it in the morning, and when Urahara’s creepy ass blood message came through the window he switched bodies with Kon and was on his way.

Along the way, he bumps into Orihime.

And at Urahara shop Chad is waiting.

Uryu shows up last and when the door opens he grabs Urahara by the collar and drags him inside. The door shuts soundly behind them.

Ichigo spins them around and shoves Urahara against the wall, baring his teeth at the man. “What the hell are they doing here?!”

Urahara is completely unaffected, and it kind of pisses him off.

“What do you mean? They’re you’re friends, they’re here to help you. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Yeah, I know what they came. I wanna know why you let them?! I’m not letting them come along. They’ll be in danger. I’m not taking them with me!”

“Then what was your plan?” Urahara asks, his playful voice overturned with one that Ichigo has never heard. Dark and serious, with the same edge as his blade. The hat tilts and Ichigo can see his eyes. Old, and intelligent. He’s reminded, once more, of Merlin.

“They’re not strong enough for this,” Ichigo insists. “I would have made friends while I was there to help me. At least three.” Usually closer to ten or twelve.

“That’s the most naive thing I’ve ever heard. Why would anyone turn their backs on their home, on their captains and friends, to help a stranger like you?”

Ichigo bristles. “I don’t know.” But they always do, for some reason. “Rukia has to have friends. I can’t be the only one who thinks this is wrong and people will fight for what’s right if you push them to it-”

Urahara catches his hands and pushes him back. “You can’t rely on a strategy like that. You can’t count on peoples ‘better natures’ or you’ll always be disappointed. Your friends have come to help you, and they are stronger than you’d expect. Likely they’ll be the ones you can rely on. Do you understand?”

Ichigo narrows his eyes at Urahara. “I’m relying on you, aren’t I?”

The air crackles with tension between them, until the door slides open and his friends step inside. They freeze at the picture; Ichigo looming over Urahara, who’s got pinned to the wall.

“Uh.” Says Ichigo eloquently.

“Oh dear!” Cries Urahara, snapping his fan in front of his grinning face. “Whatever shall we do, now that we’ve been caught. Oh Ichig -ow!”

Ichigo elbows him in the side and lets him go. Fine. They were already here, and Ichigo can see their own stubbornness. Chad and Uryu aren't going anywhere, and Ichigo knows even Orihime can fight. He’d been there when Tatsuki was training her. Even with her ability, her personality will be the biggest problem.

Already he feels himself shifting. This is no longer just about him. This is the team he’s been given, and he reads over their strength as best he can. It’s not as clear as a servant, but he’s working on it.

Chad he knows is a brawler, brute strength and fierce dependability. Close rang, and he’s got an insane pain tolerance and durability. He can tell by looking, Chad is stronger now than he was even a week ago. Fine.

Uryu is an archer, through and through. Long rang, he’ll be at a disadvantage if they have to fight up close and personal. He also knows basic first aid. He’s maybe the best person to counter Ichigo, to bring with him. The biggest problem might be his hatred for shinigami. People do stupid, impulsive things when they’re filled with animosity.

Your anger keeps you warm now, but it will leave you cold in your grave.

Orihime.

“Orihime,” he speaks to her for the first time, startling her out of whatever daydream she’d been having. “What exactly can you do?”

“Huh? Oh well I guess I’m pretty good at math, and I get good grades in gym class too. I won a volleyball game last year and-”

“I think he means your powers,” Chad corrects quietly. Powers. Good god, what have they gotten themselves into?

“Well?” Ichigo presses. Orihime touches her hair clips, the ones she always wears.

“Well um. I can make barriers that bounce things off of them. And I can shoot Tsubaki at people like a laser light beam. And I can heal too!”

Ichigo doesn’t know who or what a Tsubaki is. He doesn’t know what powers Chad has.

Fuck he hates this.

But healing and shielding are something he can work with too. That’ll make Orihime their third tier, a support class.

Damn it.

And damn Urahara for not telling him about this!

“You need to calm down,” says someone new. Ichigo looks down, and finds the cat from before peering up at him. Golden eyes, and black fur.

“...Oh. You’re Urahara’s familiar.”

The cat shakes her head. The masculine voice throws him off for a minute.

“No. I am Yoruichi. Kisuke is just an old friend of mine, and asked me to train your friends. The only person here who might have a familiar would be you, Ichigo.”

“I see,” Ichigo says. He looked at the other three, stronger than he’d ever seen them but so inexperienced. He doesn’t want to bring them to this. He doesn’t want them to have the paranoia, the nightmares, the noose around their neck that comes with constant fighting and desperate attempts to win. But there’s no going back now. They’ll follow no matter what he says.

Ichigo bows shortly to the cat.

“Thank you for helping them, then, Yoruichi.”

The feline preens and licks at her paw. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when we get back with Rukia.”

“Right…”

He still doesn’t know exactly what he’ll do once she’s safe with them. Probably he’ll have to call in one of those favors from the clock tower. So be it.

“Okay,” he shot one last look at Urahara. “Let’s go.”

Urahara leads him down into the training grounds. The fissure Ichigo had created has been fixed by now, leaving the ground flat and dusty once more. There are conspicuous stitches across the ‘sky’. Everyone else is to busy marvelling to comment.

Tessai goes to get a large square of hollow stone set up in the corner, while Ichigo’s friends watch on. He can feel Urahara come to stand behind him. He’s good, but he’s no King of Assassins.

“You seem to be thinking awfully hard there, Ichigo,” Urahara says. If he expect Ichigo to jump, he’s disappointed.

Ichigo presses his lips into a line before he answers.

“It’s heavy,” He says at last.

“Heavy?”

“The weight of their lives.”

Urahara is silent when Ichigo leaves him behind to stand at Chad’s side.

* * * * *

Ichigo is confined to the cart for the rest of the day, regardless of how he’s feeling or how stubborn he is. No one can outstubborn Florence Nightingale. Not that even Ichigo is stupid enough to try. Not after Medusa offered to chain him to the cart if he didn’t behave himself for her.

He was at the mercy of the nurse. Rama looked smug at the fact that it was finally someone other than him that she was fussing over. When Nightingale’s back was turned Ichigo made sure to flip him off.

The only person who rides with him is Kyo, his legs cross with a his sword in his lap.

Ichigo eyes is speculatively.

“Why don’t you draw your sword when you fight?” he asks at last.

Kyo looks up at him, his brown eyes startled. “Well,” he considers his words, “Mine is not a sword for combat.”

“...what the fuck does that mean?”

“My sword, this zanpakuto, is capricious, and not always friendly towards those that are even my allies. My Kido serves me well enough, and if I’m honest I try to keep her abilities a secret.”

“Oh,” Ichigo says, looking down at the sword. He can’t help being curious. Kyo is such a walled off person, even if he pretends to be friendly.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” Kyo says suddenly. “You’ve proved that you’ll go to great lengths to help me, even if it to save your own skin. And whatever you say, I can tell you’re loyal and your morals are rigid.”

“It’s fine,” Ichigo waves his hand in dismissal. “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t.”

“Ichigo…”

“It’s fine,” he says ago. “You’re not in the wrong. Everyone has secrets, and you’ll only know us until we return to our own time. In 2018.”

“I’ll still be around then, if I’m not killed,” Kyo tells him swiftly. “Shinigami age much slower than humans. At least a tenth as fast, if not slower than even that.”

“That’s great,” Ichigo says, “But honestly it won’t matter if you’re alive or dead. Truth is, you won’t remember us.”

“What?” Kyo’s brows furrow and he sits up straighter.

“You’ll forget about all of this,” Ichigo says again, “When we set the world to right, everything that we’ve done here will be erased from history. Including your memory. There’s nothing we can do for it. We’ve seen it in people we knew before. We met Nero when she was still alive, but as a servant she’s forgotten all about us. The same will happen to you.”

“No,” Kyo shakes his head, narrows his eyes. “No. I won’t! And if I do, you must remind me!”

“How would I do that?” Ichigo asks, leaning back lazily. The idea makes his chest clench and ache. No one will ever remember him or Mash. They aren’t in this for glory. They won’t find any. All that will happen if they succeed is he will return to his family and Mash will return to Chaldeas.

“Find me. Tell me.”

“Tell you? Tell you that I’m a time traveller and I met you two hundred years ago but you can’t remember because we stopped the apocalypse?”

He doesn’t say aloud that if they fail it won't matter. Kyo won’t remember them because Kyo won’t even exist anymore.

Kyo narrows his eyes in thought. He runs his fingers through his curly hair, brushing it away from his face where a single strand likes to fall nearly to his chin.

Finally, he snaps his fingers.

“I’ll tell you something no one else knows,” he announces abruptly. He leans forwards, grasps Ichigo’s hand and brings it to his blade before he whispers into his ear a truth that Ichigo will not fully comprehend for centuries.

Not until he stands on a cliff and looks upon his once friend, flanked by a man with silver hair and a person whose eyes are hidden with thick glass.

* * * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #bleach/fate grand order #mash kyrielight #kyo (SCoF)#Merlin Fate/Grand Order #Urahra Kisuke

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hxney-lemcn · 4 years ago

Text

Recluse

Word Count: 1,240

Paring: Leviathan x reader

Fandom: Obey Me!

Warning: None

Master List

≑≑≑≑≑≑

((Y/n)'s p.o.v.)

When I first came to the Devildom I felt out of place. No one seemed to care that I was here which is fine...only that I'm in a world full of demons who want my soul. So I tend to just stay in my room not wanting to bother the brothers. Well Mammon and Levi both send me mixed signals when it comes to how they feel about me. I think Lucifer is only nice due to Lord Diavolo, Beel well...just wants food so he doesn't really mind me. Satan was also nice yet it was like he didn't want to talk to me. Asmo was just too touchy feely and seemed to only want something dirty so I tend to avoid him. It was normal for me to miss out on meals, I tend to eat after everyone is asleep.

*𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠*

"It's dinner time~" Asmo cooed on the other side of the door.

"I-I'm not hungry right now," I spoke out pausing Haikyuu so he could hear me clearly.

"Are you sure, you haven't been coming to dinner lately," I could hear his pout on the other side of the door.

"Don't worry, I'll eat l-l-later," I stuttered feeling bad that he sounded worried.

"If you need anything just know my room is down the hall," Asmo spoke out. "Just know my door is always open," With the suggestive tone I couldn't help but cringe. I heard him walk away and I unpaused the anime.

After a few episodes I noticed it was already 11 pm so I got up once again pausing Haikyuu. I made my way to the kitchen as quietly as I could. Looking through the cupboards and grabbed a box of mac and cheese. The kept some human food for me so I felt a bit more comfortable which warmed my heart. It probably took some work to do that. Grabbing a pot I filled it with water and waited for it to boil. So I went on my D.D.D. and watched some DevilTube. I missed YouTube but I found some cool people on DevilTube.

I jumped when I heard Levi talk to me.

"What're you doing normie?" He asked as I turn around. I turned off my phone and nervously smile.

"Uh, I'm making mac and cheese," I replied softly.

"Talk louder, I can barely hear you," I heard him scoff.

"Uhm, I can't eat it all by myself," I started, talking a bit louder. "Would you like some?"

"Fine, but only cause I came here to eat some food anyways," Levi spoke covering his face with the back of his hand. The water started to slightly boil, so after putting some salt in I poured the noodles in.

"It's gonna take a bit to cook," I responded as I grabbed a stool and sat by the stove. He sat on another stool by the counter, pulled out his Nimtendo and started playing a game. I kinda felt disheartened and let out a silent sigh, I was hoping to become friends with Levi. I mean he was sorta harsh on me but I could tell he just didn't know how to interact with me...I mean I'm the same way. I just felt like we were similar and that could make a strong bond between us.

Yet I felt to scared to try and start a conversation, he probably wanted to be left alone and play his game. So I turned my attention back to Serpentine this one commentary DevilTuber. I stirred the noodles every so often and I noticed that the noodles looked soft.

"Uh, hey Levi..." I started trying to think on how to form my sentence and not seem pushy and rude. He glanced at me looking right back at his device, I'm guessing he's listening? "D-do you think you could get some butter and milk, I need to strain the noodles." I was already moving to the cabinets looking for a strainer.

Slightly whining he replied with a "Fine." The noodles were back in the pot and Levi handed me milk and butter. I put in half a stick of butter then the cheese packet, finally pouring in the milk. After I mixed it all together I grabbed two bowls and split the pot. I handed one bowl to Levi and kept one for myself.

We both sat next to each other eating in silence. I don't know if its just me, but it felt nice. His expression showed enjoyment which made some pride swell in my heart.

"How is it?" I asked wanting confirmation.

"I-It's okay," He blushed, his gaze not meeting mine. A smile made it way onto my face, I could tell he loved it no matter how much he denied it. I started to feel sleepy when I finished and I groaned out loud because I didn't want to wash my dishes. I put my head on the counter and closed my eyes trying to gain some energy, but it was the wrong decision as I felt even more tired. With a sigh I opened my eyes and stood up grabbing my bowl.

"I...I can wash that for you," Levi spoke up which surprised me. I didn't really expect that.

"N-no its fine," I stuttered rubbing my eyes. Before I could take a step towards the sink Levi grabbed the bowl from my hands.

"Just go to sleep," Levi huffed giving me a lighthearted scowl. I felt a bit flustered at how sweet he was being and I looked away from him.

"T-thank you Leviathan," I mumbled. With my mind still groggy I stood on my tip toes and gave his cheek a small peck. With that I walked to my room with a dopey grin.

ওওও

The next morning I went down for breakfast. When I got there I was greeted by the brothers. Levi never showed up which slightly concerned me, I mean he may be a shut in but he never missed breakfast. Maybe I should bring him his plate before Beel eats it. Lucifer smirked at me, he seemed to notice my stare was lingering at Levi's spot. I just felt too shy to do anything.

"(Y/n), could you bring Levi his food?" Lucifer asked, but it was clearly an order. I nodded my head grabbing his plate and going to Levi's room. Knocking on his door I anxiously shifted on my feet hoping I wasn't being bothersome.

"What's the password?" I heard him shout through the door. Shit I don't know how to respond. So with one hand I texted him asking what the password was hoping I didn't look like a weirdo. I got no response but the door cracked open showing Levi peaking from the small opening. I noticed he was slightly blushing and giggling at something.

"Y-you weren't there for breakfast so I brought you your portion," I mumbled showing him the plate.

"Whaaa-" Levi gasped once again covering his face with his hand. "D-d-don't think that this makes me happy," Levi mumbled defensively looking away. I knew he didn't mean it cause his expression gave him away yet I still felt kinda hurt.

"O-oh," I whispered looking down.

"W-WAIT NO!" Levi shouted shocking me. "I don't mind it." He opened the door wider motioning for me to enter. He took the plate from me, our hands slightly touching making us both fluster.

Don't tell me I'm already gaining a crush.

#levithan #levi #levixreader #levi x reader #leviathanxreader #leviathan x reader #xreader #x reader #fluff #obeyme #obey me #fanfic

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theres-no-protocol-for-this · 4 years ago

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Kitties Afoot

At some point, this started a discussion about Murderbot in the present as a cat. It has since become something else entirely, and I don’t regret a thing. So, I guess, stary kitty meets almost-stray human.

There’s more written, but I haven’t edited the rest and I’m not sure I trust Tumblr with anything longer.

I came home to find a giant, scrawny feline curled up on my front porch. The black and gray creature lay on top of the welcome mat with its paws tucked under its shivering body. It looked huge for a cat but not big enough for a mountain lion, and it didn’t look like a kitten. The strange animal was malnourished; as I approached, I could count the poor baby’s ribs with each shuddering breath it took.

“Shit,” I whispered and checked my phone.

It was well into the evening and getting colder outside with each passing moment. The kitty looked up when I got to my front steps. Bright blue eyes stared at me as the creature scrunched up, making itself as small as possible.

“Hey, it’s all right,” I said as soothingly as I could. “I won’t hurt you. Let me get you inside before the weather turns nasty.”

Not that I thought the cat would understand me, but I was used to talking to animals. Before Tasha had passed away earlier that year, I had always had pets at home. I’d spoken to the family dog as a child and to my ex-boyfriend’s two ferrets. And, of course, Tasha the Princess never shut up. Most days, I still woke up expecting to find her dozing on my head.

I set my backpack on the ground, slipped out of my sweater, and wrapped the warm clothing around the shivering kitty. It tried to claw me through the thick fabric but didn’t get very far, though I caught a good look at its sharp talons. I held it in my arms and did my best to navigate the front door. The cat must’ve weighed twenty pounds, but it was probably all muscle and grump.

Inside, I set it down on a folded blanket on the couch and went looking for a heating pad. September was a little early to be getting out the winter stuff. Still, the kitty wouldn’t stop shivering, and I wanted to warm it up as quickly as possible.

The furball stayed put and watched me from its new comfortable perch. Its sleek fur was pitch black, the color of raven wings, but its paws were gray, as was its stomach. I couldn’t tell if the cat was male or female, and I wasn’t going to peek between its legs to find out.

Once I had the heating pad in place, I put a couple of Tasha’s bowls on the coffee table and scooted the table right up to the couch. From here, the kitty had to only shift its weight to reach the water and wet cat food. Everything about the situation was weird, from the cat’s knowing glances to the constant reminders that Tasha was gone.

I scrolled through my contacts and found the phone number of a family veterinarian. It was too late to call Dr. Hopkins now, but I sent him a quick message and asked for an urgent appointment. If the kitty survived the night, and I had a sneaking suspicion the grumpy monster wasn’t going down without a fight, it would need medical attention.

The cat shifted restlessly on its pile of blankets, so I turned on the television. Tasha had loved those stupidly endless videos on YouTube where the camera was trained on a tree stump where birds came to feed. This cast couldn’t care less. It didn’t even notice the TV until I turned on a food documentary episode on Netflix.

I went to make myself a snack in the kitchen and noticed the cat half watching me and half paying attention to whatever it saw on the television. Like I said, weird cat.

My home is tiny, a two-story townhome with an unfinished basement that occasionally floods. I’d gotten lucky with the place; I’d been sharing it with a roommate who suddenly had to move cross-country, and she paid for her share of the mortgage for three months. And then I’d found a decent manager job at a local cafe that let me keep the place.

I hummed while puttering around the kitchen. It was too late for a proper dinner, and I wasn’t hungry anyway. And I couldn’t drink coffee that late in the evening, not if I planned to get any sleep. The kitty drank some water from the closest bowl and then closed its eyes.

Asleep, it could almost pass for a house cat.

Up close, though, there was no mistaking that it was a wild creature. Its ears followed my motions even while it dozed. I turned up the heater for the night and then sat on the other side of the couch, giving the strange feline plenty of space. To my surprise, it stretched out a bit once I was sitting down like it didn’t mind the company so long as said company kept a respectable distance.

***

I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but that’s where I woke up the following morning. I sat pressed against one of the couch’s plush arms, legs tucked under me. There was a blanket draped over me that I didn’t remember grabbing. The strange cat lay curled up a few inches from my left foot; I could swear it was purring slightly.

As soon as I moved, uncurling my stiff legs, it got up and jumped off the couch. Standing next to the coffee table, it was apparent just how big it was for a feline. It trotted over to the front door like it owned the place. Standing on its back paws, the cat had no trouble reaching the handle, though it didn’t have the thumbs needed to operate it.

I stood up, followed it, and opened the door for it. “You’re pretty smart for a kitty,” I said as it jumped out onto the front porch. “You gonna be OK, little guy?”

“Meow,” said the cat and vanished into the bushes next to the porch steps.

“Bye, kitty!”

I went back inside but didn’t close the front door. It seemed stupid in retrospect. What kind of person leaves the door open for anyone to stroll inside? But it was Friday and my one day off, so I made coffee in the kitchen and texted with my mother. And maybe hoped that my feline companion might return.

My mother lives halfway across the country in a memory care facility. I can’t say I love my mother — that would be a bald faced lie — but we still text occasionally. I know that my stepfather is taking good care of her, and I love him dearly.

That morning, she was showing off a watercolor painting that she’d created that week. She told me she’d never been to the beach before, and I had to put the phone down for ten minutes before I could answer. Mom and I had vacationed at the beach every year while Dad was still alive. She’d painted a sunset over those turbulent waters.

Sniffling, I cradled my mug and tried not to let the tears fall. I should’ve known better by then, but it still stung every time.

I was still struggling to keep my composure when I heard the sound of claws on the linoleum. Tasha had loathed coming into the kitchen because it wasn’t carpeted, and the drama queen just hadn’t liked the feel of it under her little kitty feet.

Giant Cat had no such compunctions. It stood a few feet out of reach, watching me with those soulful eyes until I had to look away. Sniffling, I rubbed at my face and forced myself to smile.

“Hey there, furball. Back for more food?”

“Meow.”

I opened a can of wet food — if I was going to feed this beast, I would need to get more immediately — and poured the contents into a bowl. After setting the bowl on the floor, I stepped away from it and perched on a counter, watching the cat.

I walked over to the bowl, sniffed at it a few times, and then devoured the food like it was starving. When it was done, it licked its lips and, in one mighty leap, jumped onto the counter. Where it sat down and nuzzled the toaster.

Tasha had never mastered the art of climbing on the furniture. Anything taller than a couch had warranted a loud, obnoxious mew until I came over and picked her up. Not this cat. It seemed perfectly capable of getting up to wherever the fuck it wanted.

“How about a trip to the vet?” I asked. “Just to make you’re not all scratched up inside.”

“Hiss,” said the cat.

I rolled my eyes and giggled. “Not a fan of vets, huh?”

“Hiss.”

“Right.” I finished my coffee in three big gulps. “Of course not. Though, to be honest, I’m not a huge fan of doctors, either.” Mom had seen so many doctors after she’d first gotten sick that I loathed the smell of disinfectant now.

Kitty jumped off the counter after sniffing at the coffee maker and my box of tea samples and went exploring. Like it owned the place, it wandered into the laundry room and then up the stairs into my bedroom. I rinsed out my coffee mug and followed it, curious to see what it might do next.

About half an hour later, the cat decided that it had sniffed at those things it deemed essential and returned to the living room. Hopping onto the couch, it settled on top of the blanket pile and stared between me and the television.

“Seriously?” I asked, choking back laughter.

I’d never heard of a cat that liked watching Netflix. Tasha had mostly enjoyed shows with bird noises or where things moved. Sometimes, the princess would randomly attack the TV like she hoped to catch whatever she was looking at. Meanwhile, this cat meowed at me unhappily when I turned on a bird video and didn’t stop until it saw the Netflix logo. Then, it focused on whatever action flick began playing and snuggled further into the warm blankets.

“Seriously,” I muttered again, quietly, and stood there by the banister, shaking my head.

My weird companion spent the next few hours chilling in front of the TV. Its ears would occasionally perk up when a truck passed by, but mostly it watched the show. Have you ever seen a cat watch television? Because, up until this point, I hadn’t. And I wasn’t sure what to think.

Doing chores proved somewhat tricky when I kept casting furtive glances toward the strange creature. It paid me no heed, but somehow, it seemed to know when I watched it with blatant curiosity. Like, my previous pets had been… pets. This hissy weirdo, meanwhile, was something else entirely.

Eventually, I decided that I needed to get groceries and more cat food, and generally get out of the house for a little while. During a nice, long shower, I convinced myself that I was crazy, and there was nothing weird about the kitty in my living room. Then, I came back downstairs and found the kitty nuzzling the TV remote and decided that I didn’t care.

“Wanna watch something else?” I asked.

The cat looked up at me. “Meow.”

It took me a moment to actually look at the TV and realize that the action movie had ended while I was upstairs. Kitty apparently just wanted something else to start playing. Right. Totally normal right there.

“I need to go out for a while,” I said while scrolling through the Netflix menus. The rest came out before I could think too hard about speaking to a wild animal. “I need to pick up groceries. And cat food. And honestly, I’ve worked twelve-hour shifts for the last week and a half, and I’m ready to see something other than more walls.

“So, let’s get something nice and long started, OK? So you don’t get bored while I’m out. I’m not too keen on leaving the front door open, but the back door’s not locked — I know, I know, bad habit — and you can probably just reach the handle. It’s the pull-down kind.”

“Meow.”

I turned on some kind of drama that promised at least fifteen hours of episodes. “Well, anyway. I’ll be back in a while. Tuna or chicken?”

“Meow meow.”

“Chicken it is.” I was still talking to a cat. Maybe I missed Tasha more than I’d thought. “See you later, kitty.”

#fanfic #of what i don't know #kitties afoot

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sortyourlifeoutmate · 4 years ago

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“If it has turned its attention our way once more then we are naught but food for the gods! Food for the gods!”

I know the ship sailed on this years and years ago but I still infinitely prefer the Oldcons. And I have reasons for this.

Ahem.

You see, the Oldcons, as they were, serve as both a foil to the Tyranids and to Chaos, and also sit as another existential threat in the 40K universe (as though there needed to be more).

I’ve thought about this much more articulately on my walk to work but I’ll do my best to vomit my thoughts out here, for the edification of no-one.

(This worked out way longer than I initially thought it might, so I’m putting in a cut.)

SETUP

The basic schtick of the Oldcons - and I can’t remember how much and how little of this passed over intact in the retcot, quite a lot as I recall - was that the Necrontyr, a long, long, long fuckin’ time ago, were on a planet dying a lot. They had super-good technology but their sun basically fried them to death, so their lives sucked.

Then one day they met the Old Ones, classical precursors of the 40K universe and Those Who Shall Not Be Seen. The Old Ones were basically immortal and liked to cruise around space through their webway, seeding life and generally just being precursors.

The Necrontyr got mad about this because, well, they were bitter and angry that these guys got to live forever and they didn’t, so they had a war. That’s maybe an oversimplification but a war did happen.

Now the Necrontyr had super-good technology, as said, so did very well for themselves all things considered, but the Old Ones had access to the webway and mastery of the warp and basically just ran rings around the Necrontyr and kicked the shit out of them so much the war fizzled to nothing and the Necrontyr were pushed to one podunk corner of the galaxy to sit and get even angrier.

The Old Ones pretty much forgot about them at that point.

Meanwhile, the Necrontyr had been studying stars. This was partly because, as they had a somewhat rocky relationship with their own sun they kind of hoped they might have found a way to make their lives less blighted and shitty, and partly on the off-chance they’d find something useful to go fuck with the Old Ones.

The former didn’t work out, the latter most certainly did.

To cut a long story short they found the C’tan, star gods. These ancient, ancient, formed-at-the-start-of-the-universe entities that lurked around old stars feeding off them.

For some reason the Nectrontyr immediately knew that this was a key turning point? I don’t know. Guess they knew they were powerful somehow (they were).

But! Since the C’tan at this point were just enormous, planet-sized diffuse clouds of energy they couldn’t really relate to the world as the Necrontyr were aware of it. They needed bodies. And so the Necrontyr built them bodies, using the same super-duper living metal they used to make their super-duper spaceships.

This was one of those points where things - already not great - started getting worse.

The C’tan (in a process you shouldn’t think about too hard) poured themselves into these fancy-pants new bodies and in the process got a new, different understanding of the world and how things worked. And they liked it. To quote the codex:

“As the C’tan became ever more manifest with the focusing of the their consciousness, they began to appreciate the subtleties and pleasures of both matter and life. The close weaves of dancing particles enthralled them and the deliciously focused tickles of electromagnetism leaked by the mortal bodies of the Necrontyr about them awoke a hunger in the C’tan quite unlike the one they had sated among the raging torrents of stars.”

As you might not need me to tell you that last part is kind of important.

So these star-devouring things had bodies now, and were basically gods. They could do all sorts of reality-bending shit (don’t look into the hows or whys, they just can) and they got a real taste for being the object of adulation for their mortal subjects.

The next part always kind of confused me, but here we go.

So with their super-duper technology and ships that could cross the galaxy in the blink of an eye and their own GODS walking around and willing to pitch in, the Necrontyr were ready to get the war started again, but before they did the C’tan came to them with an offer.

The offer boiled down to “Hey, do you want indestructible, eternal, metal bodies so you can be our servants forever? You’ll totally get to kill the Old Ones!” The Necrontyr leapt at the chance but - surprise! - they weren’t told the whole story. While they did get their shiny bodies, they also basically had the whole essence of their species devoured by their ravenous gods, almost all of them ending up as blank, hollow shells that existed only to serve and a slim handful retaining only a glimmer of their former selves.

Why this always confused me was because there aren’t many details provided about the process, what it involved and why it was even the C’tan who floated the idea - they’re not the ones who made all the technology, after all, were they? Why weren’t the Necrontyr the ones who cooked up the ‘transfer ourselves into everliving bodies’ plan? And what was it the C’tan ate? Their souls? Or just their vague ‘life energy’?

(This ‘What is it C’tan actually eat?’ question is another one that always bugs me, but I don’t think it matters especially - souls or the bio-electrical energy of living beings they eat people one way or another and that’s what counts.)

So the Necrontyr are now the Necrons, the C’tan have vast legions of unkillable, implacable, mechanical doomtroops and technology the likes of which can be scarcely imagined. The war kicks off again, and this time the Old Ones are the ones getting their arses handed to them. They’ve still got the webway and their warp magic but the C’tan and their Necrons are more-or-less unbeatable in the real, physical world.

Things get worse from here.

The Old Ones are pushed into a few isolated spaces and barely hold onto these. Meanwhile, elsewhere, everywhere else in the galaxy the Necrons and the C’tan are in charge and they run the place about as well as gluttonous, capricious gods who feed on life itself can be expected to run the place - that is to say, badly. Planetary populations are harvested to sate the hunger of the C’tan, whole species made into cattle, etcetera.

And even that’s not enough! Not enough to satisfy the C’tan! So greedy are the C’tan that they start turning on one another, eating each other even as the war continues.

It’s worth bearing in mind for later that the C’tan don’t need to do this. They just want to do this.

The Old Ones, with their backs to the wall, start getting desperate. They start engineering species to act as living weapons in the war, species that can use the warp given that it’s their main edge. This is where Eldar come from, explicitly, and I think it’s also implied this is where psychic potential got put into humans (Necrons also put the Pariah gene in here, but I don’t know if that’s still true).

Oh, and Orks also got invented. Maybe. It’s less clear but I like to think it’s true that they made the Orks towards the end and never got around to finishing them properly. But that’s me.

So now you’ve got a galaxy teeming with life, all of it tapping into the warp in a millennia-spanning, apocalyptic conflict for the fate of the galaxy itself. This is when the warp starts getting bad, because it’s being fucked around with so much. Beforehand the warp was actually fairly sedate, but now since it’s being swung around like a big stick for years and years and years it start getting messy. It starts getting angry. Nasty things start appearing in it.

The C’tan have a plan for this, it should be said, and that plan is to seal off the material world from the warp. Completely. What this would mean in practise is unclear but as far as they were concerned it would just fuck over the Old Ones and that’s what counts.

And then things get WORSE.

Enslavers appear. You may have heard about these. Weirdo warp beasts. Possess those with psychic potential, melt their bodies down into gristly flesh gates that more Enslavers can come through, enslave everyone to make this easier and defend against threats that might want to stop it, repeat across whole population across whole planet, repeat across whole system, etcetera.

EVERYTHING STARTS TO DIE.

The C’tan have eaten themselves down to a nub at this point and there’s only a handful of them left. The Old Ones are basically done too, the webway is breached, their uplifted races are in disarray, shit’s fucked. Across the galaxy Enslavers are just wiping out whole populations, everyone and everything is dying.

But the C’tan don’t really care. The Old Ones have lost at this point and that’s the only thing that really matters. That all life is dying out is just a passing thing, they can ride that out and come back later. The C’tan plan to settle in and have a nap. In a few million years the Enslavers will be gone and the galaxy will have produced new life and they can get restarted on their ‘Seal off the warp, feed on life forever’ plan.

And, millions of years later, 40K happens.

That’s it in broad strokes.

OLDCONS

If you followed any of that congratulations.

The practical upshot is this:

A) The Necrons are an undying, soulless race of borderline indestructible machines that are the slaves of the C’tan B) The C’tan are immeasurably ancient, star-eating beings given physical form by the the Necrons and who really, really, really like having physical form C) Neither the C’tan or the Necrons have anything to do with the warp other than not liking it. They are NOT PSYCHIC, they have zero presence in the warp. It has nothing to do with them other than being an obstacle.

Now I’ll tell you why I like this and why I think they serve as a good foil to a couple other factions in 40K.

GOALS

Broadly speaking, every faction in 40K has their own little motivation, right?

Orks want to fight forever. The Imperium basically wants to survive and kill everything that looks at them funny. The Tau want to expand and spread their philosophy. The Eldar want to cling on for just another day please just another day (and also fuck chaos and Necrons). The Tyranids want to eat everything and then leave. Chaos wants to sunder reality and just sink into a mire of mindless chaotic indulgence forever, maybe, kind of, whatever it’s chaos.

And so on.

The Necrons (as a faction) I always liked to think of having some distinct lines that run close to some of the others, but don’t cross over.

So let’s, uh, talk about that.

CHAOS

Necrons are associated with sterility, lifeless sterility. They are associated with order - serried ranks of mindless machines marching in lockstep across the surface of dead worlds; towering, silent monoliths of black stone built to sever the material world from the immaterial, to eliminate variables and ensure that everything runs as desired for eternity.

In this they’re fairly obviously set against Chaos.

Chaos! The Chaos gods! Beings born from both the unrelenting, brutal psychic warfare of the War in Heaven (as the war between the Old Ones and the Necrons was called) and from the constant, churning wants and desires of the countless beings in the galaxy.

The Chaos gods are distinct, separate beings but they are also intimately tied to the souls they were born from. They’re individuals, yes, but they’re individuals born from very specific things. They have purviews, they have domains. They are - and are for - these things.

Khorne is as much an incarnate desire for bloodshed and furious anger as he is also a sapient entity who happens to enjoy those things.

If you can follow that?

By contrast, the C’tan existed first. They weren’t born from the desires of mortals, they were just there, sucking on stars until they were put into bodies. They exist separately from mortals. They don’t need mortals, they just want them so they can eat them.

The Chaos gods, for all their cruelty (the extent of which is the result of the War in Heaven is kind of an open thing), want and need mortals. They need mortals to act in certain, often contradictory ways. They need mortals to be chaotic, to give into their desires, to want things.

The C’tan need mortals to eat them. And that’s it. Maybe to do things they don’t want to do, but mainly to eat them since, hey, they’ve got the Necrons if they want stuff done anyway.

So while the Chaos gods would, ideally, like a galaxy overrun with (appropriately enough) chaos so that the endless roaring conflict can generate a lot of that sweet, sweet tumult they thrive on, the C’tan want a nice, quiet galaxy where they can eat in peace.

Order and Chaos, see? Foil!

Oh, and of course the other part about Chaos being All About the warp while the C’tan are All About the physical, real world. Gods both, but on the flipside, yo.

Tyranids

Now I’ve mentioned a lot that the C’tan like to eat people, and you might (rightly) be thinking “Hang on, eating people? Isn’t that the schtick of the Tyranids?” and, again, this is one of those things where they run close, but don’t cross, and in an interesting way.

See, the difference is in the approach. Or something.

The Tyranids are ravenous, the C’tan are gluttonous. To put it simply.

The Tyranids come in a great, all-consuming swarm to strip worlds completely, down to the bedrock, just everything. They do this world by world, system by system just across all of space. They leave nothing. And their hunger won’t ever let them stop, they’re always pushed forward by it. Their hunger is their defining characteristic.

The C’tan specifically eat living beings. They savour the flavour. What’s more, like I said before, they don’t need to eat people. They could easily go back to being sun-sucking energy clouds and get by just fine. The point is they don’t want to.

See? Ravenous versus gluttonous. The Tyranids are pushed by constant hunger to devour everything and have no future planning beyond moving on to the next meal, the C’tan want to arrange the galaxy so they can a specific thing without interruption forever.

So that’s the difference. The Tyranids would leave the galaxy utterly stripped and barren and dead because of their hunger, while the C’tan would have the galaxy turned into an eternal farm-stroke-slaughterhouse-stroke-whatever because of their desire to eat.

TO SUM UP

Chaos: The galaxy as an anarchic maelstrom of reality-bending madness forever

Tyranids: Eat everything move on.

Necrons: A sterile galaxy, severed from the warp, everything in it as food for the gods, forever

IN CONCLUSION

I know why they did what they did. The Necrons did come across kind of bland.

Their only characters were two C’tan (one of whom didn’t say anything), all of their fluff was written from the perspective of other factions (like the Tyranids, actually, but again that’s another reason to change them around) and there was just kind of a...sterility, I suppose.

Appropriate, really.

And while I like that - indeed, it’s the whole reason I like them, as you might have picked up on - I guess others didn’t, and it didn’t really give the writers anything to work with.

So now they’re basically a fallen alien empire that wants to reclaim its glory. The C’tan have been jobbed out and the Necrons have leaders with personalities now, internal factions, competing interests, the capability of having plans beyond SERVING THEIR HUNGRY GODS and so on.

Which I can see the appeal of, I really can. And they’ve also left in Oldcons after a fashion, saying that some are still like that, but that’s a sop for me - it’s all or nothing.

But it’s all water the bridge now anyway, no going back. I just liked them the way they were. Oh well.

The new fluff for the flayed ones is dumb though, I hate it.

Or do I like it? I can’t remember.

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voldemorthatesnose96 · 5 years ago

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Robbe IJzermans’ Log

Robbe’s short journal entry of his trip around Asia and his meeting with Sander. Enjoy❤️❤️❤️

It got yeeted so I have to repost it! Sorry!

Memory is a strange thing. Even the smallest part of it sometimes can take the biggest place in our mind, making us speechless by its beauty and sadness altogether.

But put it this way. Let’s imagine that memory is like a box of chocolate; once you eat it, you can’t stop taking it again until it’s done. It’s so decadent, bittersweet at times, a true guilty pleasure but utterly satisfying. Sound almost like memories, right?

For me, I still remember this one particular moment in life where I’ve finally falling in love with someone. No, it’s not a woman, but a man—a carefree soul, unapologetic for having such big dreams of traveling around the world, a bit selfish but have a heart as gentle as a lamb. His name is Sander Driesen.

We were practically strangers who accidentally met on 3 weeks trip around Asia. There were about 20-25 people who participated, almost all of them already knew each other. Sander even brought 3 high school friends with him. And guess what? I’m the only weirdo among this travel group. Surprise surprise.

It was genuinely frustrating for me back then. I’m the only child in the family. My parents wanted me to be a doctor someday, because both of them are surgeons. In short, my whole life is already planned. I couldn’t even take a break on Sunday because I’m always too busy to study and they were still nagging. When other boys like me playing outside blablabla, I could only dream about it. So at that point in life, I decided to take a chance, to became a rebel for some time and joined the trip. Didn’t even care that I have to emptied my saving because of it. I only got one thing in mind : “I NEED TO BE FREE!” and that was exactly what I had later. In short, I ran away from home and only left a goodbye note which said “mum, dad, I’m going to Asia for 3 weeks. Sorry and see you later”.

Anyway, meeting Sander Driesen was both endearing and strange for me. When I almost tripped while climbed up the stairs on the plane, he swiftly held my back with his palm. I turned around and caught the most alluring dark green eyes I’ve ever seen. Later, he asked me if I’m alright and my shitty brain couldn’t made the simplest word such as “yes” or “thanks”, so I just gave him an awkward nod instead and continued to climbed up without saying another word. Why the fuck did I do that??? I should’ve at least said something! Lord!

And I think fate was hating on me so much back then. Sander was actually my seatmate during the entire fly. He was also kind enough to asked me if I’m truly alright or not, and ONCE FUCKING AGAIN, I just gave him a nod, still tongue tied to say anything at all. From the corner of my eye, I saw him smirking while looking at me—didn’t know what’s that for.

There’s so many things I want to pour but sadly, I don’t have that much time to write the entire journey of my marvelous trip because I have to be at the hospital in 2 hours. But I’ll try to summarize it. Especially about Sander.

He’s also an only child, with a remarried father. He said he doesn’t hate his step-mother but if he could choose, he’d rather not be in the same room with her. His dad was actually half-begged him to not going, but Sander insisted; he wanted to see the world, needed to make the most of it and this trip was one of the best offer. He told me all this when we were at the airport in Shenzhen while waiting for our flight because it was delayed for an hour.

During our trip in Shibuya, Sander gave me a small Gudetama plushie that make could make a sound if you press it. He won it from a skill-crane and thought I’d like it because it has the same color as my sweater. And I do like it, very much and I still keep it safe inside my desk at home.

He was also introduced me to his other friends and we got along quickly. They were loud and didn’t understand the meaning of personal space, but I didn’t mind that at all. Being around them gave a brand new energy that I didn’t know exist within me.

Sander even introduced me to David Bowie’s music. That guy loves him too much, until one evening, when he was too drunk at this bar in Gangnam, he got into a small karaoke stage and started singing Rebel Rebel loudly. The others were too busy laughing and cheering, I was the only one who could convinced him to get down from the stage before he nearly took off his t-shirt. It was a rather wild night, but I enjoyed it. Every seconds of it.

Our last destination stopped in Bangkok. There was this hilarious experience where we tried this dangerous-looking fruit called “DURIAN” and boy, the smell was FUCKING HORRIBLE! Sander even had to excused himself once his nose caught the smell, and he wasn’t coming back until half an hour later. For the first time ever, I laughed at him, hard. I remembered how his expression was more amused than offended. He asked, “where’s this side of you since day one, Robbe?” and I answered in between my laugh, “I had no idea either.”

It was also Valentine’s Day. All of us were invited to a party at this club. But I got too dizzy because of the sound and everything. Not long after, Sander took me outside and we went for a walk together. It was almost 5 AM. I still remembered the night breeze across my neck, the thrill when I accidentally got too close to Sander—maybe you can call me weird but in 3 weeks only, I already fell in love with him. I fell in love with how he spoke about the world, the universe through his eyes, how his eyes always crinkled whenever he smiled, how his nose scrunched whenever he cackled, the gentleness of his voice even when he was drunk; Sander Driesen was captivated and mesmerized me in a way that no one ever could. And that time, I needed to confess, about everything that I felt. Though I couldn’t.

When we were talking about our future plan, Sander pulled out an acceptance letter at one of the most prestigious university in US. Full scholarship too.

But then, I saw doubts flashed in his eyes.

“I’m scared, Robbe.” He admitted, genuinely.

“You? Scared?”

“Because life’s never gonna be the same anymore.”

I still held my ground, kept my voice as steady as possible, “so?”

“I’ll leave my friends behind and they...”

“Secretly aren’t too thrilled about it.” I continued.

His dark green eyes were almost black now, even under the street lights.

“What will my Dad’s say? I haven’t told him yet.”

I considered it for a moment, “yeah, America is very far. When will you be going?”

“In 2 weeks, more or less.”

“Okay.”

Sander took a step closer to me, “I’ll be alone there, Robbe.”

I smiled softly at him, “and here? What about here?”

“Here feels nice. Too nice but...”

“But you want to fly,” I continued calmly. “You want madness. You want adventure. You also want to fall. I remember everything, Sander.”

“And this scholarship...”

“Will bring you a lot closer to your dreams.”

For few moments that felt like eternity, both of us just stood there and stared at each other. It was comfortable, it was needed, it was enough.

“Will you miss me?”

I grinned, “of course not.”

Biggest lie ever.

But from his face, I could tell that Sander only took that as a joke because he was simply gave me his usual dazzling smirk to me.

“Were you about to say something earlier?”

“It’s just... just wanna say that night is ended.”

Just like I thought, I couldn’t say it. Just... couldn’t say it. Because no matter how much I loved him, his love for his dream was bigger than mine and I wouldn’t want to stopped him.

I was hurt but also grateful. Every single memory that I take with me is always gonna be the part of who I am today and in the far future. I can never forget the madness, the sadness, the laughter, the thrills in those days and those nights.

Sander Driesen chased his dream so hard that he was gone in a blink of an eye. It’s almost 7 years now, he never turns back and I’m not waiting for him.

#wtfock #wtfam #fanfic #IT GOT YEETED

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bluntnelliejsthoughts95 · 4 years ago

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journaling my life

Honestly Just started this to get things off my chest. I don’t know anything about blogs just that if anyone listens fine if not then I’m just some weirdo on the internet spouting off my own personal problems. when it rains it pours. maybe I'm whiny or maybe ranting I really don't care haha you know cause what's the point sometimes we fight so hard in our relationships whether it be family, friends etc.. life has its ways of making sure you stay in your place doesn’t it? what do you do when life keeps knocking you down? do you get back up? do you mope and cry ? we all have out ways who knows what is right? sometimes I wonder about giving up the peace of letting go is that demented sure but oh well of course i logically say oh well i have 3 babies that need me and i wouldn't dare put my children through that pain. sometimes its so hard to push through am i enough am i a good enough mom am i providing enough am i too harsh do i discipline enough so my children don't turn into assholes i don't know some many unanswered questions. Why do i constantly feel so alone? is it being a stay at home parent but its so isolating and if my spouse and i fight forget a fight he works so when is there time to get a bottom of a problem well life makes sure money is priority you know cause you cant live without it house, cars, bills, food ,clothes so god knows we put our shit on hold stuff it down till it blows up in our face later. Honestly I’m at a point I am rambling I don't even care I just know I have had it right now. I fight for my relationship for it to fall on deaf ears yay! talking to anyone even if its not seen sounds better than talking to a meat suit that refuses to help out or push it to the back of priorities am i writer lol far from it just once i want to feel like i matter will talking to random strangers help lol probably not but this makes me feel better a little. maybe one day i can love myself but i hate everything about myself except for the little lives i love so much honestly they are the only reason i push through anymore nothing exciting happens cause finances are rough. relationship is falling apart and anymore i just throw in the towel where do i start to fix this mess of broken glass shattered around tiny shards all around. Anymore my only Friend is with God himself. you can think me silly but when you pretty much talk to yourself its nice to hope that someone even an entity like Jesus is listening kinda hope he does but oh well. Am I fulfilling a purpose why do i not keep going for my art career anymore it seems I'm so meh with art i love creating but no one really supports me i can tell not a soul is impressed so what do i continue i really am so lost . i have lost myself i am just mom and the lady that keeps the house clean. friends? lmao what the fuck are those! No one fucking sticks so here i am on the internet pouring out my heart cause well who else is going to listen just seems I'm a burden to everyone else but my children again I'm not even sure what friends are anymore no one told me that the only reason id want to live is to see my children grow and hope that i did a good job or am i creating underlining issues and i don't know because they are to young to express those things. my gods I hope I'm doing a good job cause i certainly am a mess even though my mom is amazing here i am insecure stressed and feelings of isolation that are never gone even surrounded by people. If you read my mini book thank you at least someone was interested in my tiny minuscule life. I hope you guys are doing better.`

#feeling #pouringoutmyheart #journal #talking #lonely #no idea what this is #mompushingon #why am i this way #real life #relationship problems #yup pretty much #it is what it is #completeramblingofmylife #personalblog #mylifeproblems

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ponett · 5 years ago

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Welp... it’s over. After nine years, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is over. I just got done watching the series finale with Anthony and, just like I knew I would, when the credits rolled, I cried my eyes out

I should probably say something, huh. I’ve been sharing thoughts like this mostly on Twitter lately, but I started using Tumblr to blog about MLP, so I don’t think it would be right to post this anywhere else

I have a complicated relationship with MLP:FiM. It’s a show that got really hit or miss after the second season, and it has a fandom so toxic and so full of edgy libertarians that it scared me off from formally participating in fandoms for the rest of my life. But it’s also probably my favorite TV show of all time. There are other shows that are much better written, that have more to say, that are more consistent, even including several other cartoons from the same decade. But I think I’d be lying to myself if I said it wasn’t my favorite show

No other piece of media has had as massive of an impact on my life as My Little Pony

I grew closer to some of my closest high school friends because of our shared enthusiasm for the show. I started PonyPokey with Jake and Derek and made a bunch of bad videos and got invited to be on a wildly disorganized BronyCon panel with Jenny Nicholson in 2012. (We went on stage immediately after Lauren Faust’s panel. I barely said a word due to stage fright.)

After years of being too afraid to share my art online, I started putting more effort into learning digital art so that I could draw ponies. It started out rough, but with the drive to improve, I quickly got better. I started Fluttershy Replies. For the first time, I had an audience. I had people who cared about my work and supported me. Even as times have changed, many of you have been following me since way back then

Around the time I came out as bi in 2012, I got really into MLP shipping. Writing sappy comics and drawing sappy art became an outlet for my years of pent up feelings, and helped me sort out a lot of stuff. My Little Pony also completely changed the views on femininity that had been beaten into my skull since childhood. Suddenly, it wasn’t this strange, alien thing to be afraid of. MLP, at its heart, is a show about how there’s no wrong way to be a girl. That’s an incredibly powerful message. Rarity wasn’t a vapid snob. Fluttershy wasn’t a background character who got made into the butt of the joke. Pinkie wasn’t a ditz. These were characters written to be empathized with. And writing about my own feelings from the perspective of Fluttershy felt... right. It took me a few years to fully process those feelings, but eventually, I realized the truth. I was a trans woman. And a cartoon about horses was the first step on my path to realizing this

In 2013, one of the roughest years of my life, I decided to download RPG Maker on a whim to give myself a distraction. Naturally, my first instinct was to make a game where Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash kiss. What was initially supposed to be a short, Fantastic Game-esque playground of silly little jokes spiraled out of control and became Super Lesbian Horse RPG, a game that I poured my heart and soul into over the course of a year. And then, a couple years later, my desire to preserve the ideas from my copyright-infringing fangame also spiraled out of control, as all my creative projects do, and became SLHRPG’s successor: Super Lesbian Animal RPG. SLARPG isn’t really a reskinned MLP fangame anymore--it’s more like a new game inspired in part by my old project. The story has been drastically rewritten, the characters changed, the levels and gameplay redesigned. Most of the cast of the new game wasn’t in the original project in any form. There’s much, much, much, much, much more new content than old left in the game. And the original game had already strayed so far from the canon anyway. But I’m also not sure it would exist without MLP

I made a bunch of friends online, including close friends I still have to this day. I met the people like Bee and Thomas who I’m still working with on SLARPG. Most importantly, because we both blogged about MLP and had some mutual friends, I met Anthony, the love of my life. We’ve been together for five years now and supported each other through good times and bad. This is the lamest, corniest, stupidest thing I will ever say in my life, but he’s the Rainbow Dash to my Fluttershy

...

So what about the finale itself? (spoilers, obviously)

I have... mixed feelings on the finale. There were some things that really annoyed me in there. But also, like I said, I cried, so I think it’s safe to say they did good overall

I think the thing that stuck in my craw the most was Discord. Which I guess shouldn’t be surprising. I’ve been saying for years now how I hate Discord, how he spits in the face of everything the show stands for. He’s an obnoxious elderly manchild who constantly causes problems on purpose and torments his so-called friends the second they stop paying attention to him. But they have to put up with him and give him infinite second chances, because he’s a god and Celestia said they had to reform him

The overarching plot of the final season is that Queen Chrysalis, King Sombra, Tirek, and Cozy Glow (a Darla Dimple-esque filly villain from season 8) had teamed up with Grogar, a “new” villain taken from G1. While this goes on in the background, Twilight is making her preparations to become Celestia’s successor, as we’d known would be her destiny since the day she got wings six years ago. The villain team-up stuff was genuinely fun, and a highlight of the season for me. But then, in the three-part finale, it’s revealed that Grogar was actually Discord in disguise, and that he’d been intentionally trying to orchestrate a big attack on Twilight’s coronation so that she and her friends could save the day and get a big confidence boost going into her reign as princess. This is like... one of the most bafflingly stupid plot twist of all time. It’s literally the end of the show, and Discord has learned nothing. He’s “nice” now, but he’s still intentionally causing huge problems and putting everyone’s lives in danger to solve his problems. He freed four different villains they’d already defeated just so Twilight could beat them again, and in the process they literally blew up the goddamn castle in Canterlot and nearly killed everyone. And yet... they still forgive him, because they have to

I did, however, think that the last two-part adventure episode was fun overall. It tied a nice bow on much of the series, bringing back a bunch of old friends (including cameos from the movie cast!) to band together and save the day. Of course, in the end, they beat the bad guys with a big rainbow laser and sealed them in a statue. You know, even though a previous season finale was all about how solving their problems with a friendship laser and sealing the villains away never worked. Also, Cozy Glow might be evil, but she’s still literally a child? And now her petrified body is on display in the center of Canterlot? What the fuck????

I’m complaining a lot, but again. It was fun overall. It was nice to have one last big adventure, and to have the mane six reflect on how they’d grown since Twilight moved to Ponyville

...

And then we got the actual final episode. And boy did this one hit me HARD

I’m so glad that they ended on a quieter episode about the main cast’s friendships, because that’s what the show is actually about. The two-part adventures to save Equestria every season are fun, but that’s not the real show. We all came back every week for Twilight and her friends

There are things I can complain about here, too. Spike being a buff adult dragon with the voice of a child is fucked up. I’m still not used to seeing Twilight be Celestia’s size. But more than anything, I was always worried that we’d get a Harry Potter ending, where all the characters are paired off into arbitrary marriages so they can all have kids. Thankfully, this didn’t really happen. The only one who had a kid was Pinkie, who apparently got married to Cheese Sandwich (Weird Al’s character) at some point. Like, they literally shared two episodes together, with no hint of romance? But then they got married and had a kid off-screen??? What the fuck???? A lot of people also think that Fluttershy ended up with Discord, and I know I’m massively biased against that ship, but... I mean, they teased the FlutterCord shippers, but there wasn’t really any actual textual evidence that they were any closer than they had been previously. Y’all weirdos who ship Fluttershy with an obnoxious elderly man can interpret that as being “canon” if you want, I guess, but it’s not

The other relationship that shocked everyone in the finale was Applejack and Rainbow Dash, who... appear to be a couple? It’s definitely hinted at. I have... very, very mixed feelings about this. I mean, okay, obivously I’m the big FlutterDash fangirl. But I think AppleDash is cute, too! The problem is that, like... they’ve barely interacted in years? Like, they had a lot of episodes together in the first two seasons, but then the writers barely ever had them interact past that point. I can’t even remember when the last time we got an actual episode focusing on them was. And no, the one where Rainbow takes Granny Smith to pony Vegas doesn’t count

Like... yeah, it’s cute. It’s a nice gesture. Lyra and Bon Bon getting married in the background was also cute. But we can do so, so much better in 2019. We have so many explicitly canon lesbian couples in cartoons. Couples that actually kissed, or got married, or showed feelings for each other. Rainbow and AJ barely even fucking talked to each other in the final few seasons. I dunno, it just feels very hollow to me. Even the Equestria Girls crew admitting they were pushing RariJack felt more substantial to me, because at least they were given on-screen chemistry and lots of canon interaction

But in the end, complaints aside, the finale was about Twilight moving back to Canterlot, and worrying that her friendships would fade because of it. Honestly, I think this is what the finale of the show always would’ve been. It was the perfect story to end on. And boy, it hit really close to home

And then the last song happens, reflecting on how things have changed, but how they’re all still friends. And we see all the other friends they made along the way. And the camera zooms out, and the book from the opening of the very first episode closes, bringing the entire nine-year saga full circle

And then I started sobbing really hard in Anthony’s arms

...

I dunno. I just got done nitpicking a lot, but I still think that the last episode was a good and very emotional ending for the show

I’m going to miss this show dearly. I know it will be back in a new form, and that the leaks indicate that it’ll still star slightly different versions of the Mane Six. I’m also used to shows like this getting rebooted. Hasbro cartoons are honestly lucky to last past three seasons. FiM, on the other hand, got over 200 episodes, a theatrical film, a few specials, some shorts, a bunch of comics (which I still need to read), and a spinoff human AU series that was also really great. There’s no shortage of content, and I’m sure I’ll be returning to the series for years to come. I’m also glad that the show managed to go out on a high note

But still. It was a constant presence in my life for nearly nine years. Even as the quality got really hit or miss, even as they took the premise in strange directions, even as the crew of the show grew more and more dominated by men, it was still a show I could rely on to always be there, 26 episodes a year. I’ll miss it. I hope what comes next is just as good, if not even better. I also hope it’s gayer

I was going to end my ask blog, Fluttershy Replies, around the time the show ended. I’m not sure if I’ll do that just yet. I don’t know. I think that might be a bit much for me to process emotionally. Too many doors closing in my life in quick succession. But I do want to do more with it. These characters will be special to me for the rest of my life

I mean shit, I haven’t even drawn StarTrix yet. I’ve still got a lot of work to do with these horses, folks

#bobby thinks about horses

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