#will definitely write a fic abt them

[rottewanges]

i have forged a crossover ship with my own two hands. may i introduce to you: ridrey.

pinterest board | spotify playlist (it’s all taylor swift, sorry)

[conanssummerchild]

writing a fic abt rick having an ed bcs why would i recover when i can just project all my issues onto fictional old men in cartoons and pretend everythings better now ‼️

tw eating disorder, minor self harm and vomit near the end

Morty stopped in the open doorway of the garage, watching Rick who was sat scribbling down some kind of invention idea, or equation, or whatever it was he did when Morty wasn't around, for all Morty knew he might well be writing fanfiction.

An involuntary smile pulled at his lips at the idea of his almost 70 year old genius grandfather spending his free time writing silly little stories at his work bench. What would he even write? Ball Fondlers fanfic? Maybe he wrote about his stoic bird friend, Rick had always been touchy with him and Rick wasn't touchy with anyone.

When Morty focused back on Rick he wasn't writing anymore, the slightly crumpled piece of paper shoved to the side as he fiddled with what looked like a small metal box with a bunch of brightly coloured wires poking out of the sides. A small spark shot out of one of the wires Rick was holding and he cursed loudly, shaking his hand.

"Fuck, Morty, are you just gonna– gonna stand there, or are you gonna pass me the fucking, uh– the thing."

Rick waved his hand in the general direction of the shelf nearest to Morty, but there were so many assorted trinkets on the shelves, Morty had no idea if Rick wanted a wrench, or a hammer, or one of his laser guns, maybe the box was like a new battery for them?

"W-what thing, Rick?"

"The thing, Morty! The fucking– the uh, destornillador."

"What? Rick, I don't know what that means. W-w-what is that?"

"Jeez, Morty, what are they teaching you at that crap school you love so much?" Rick scowled, tossing the box to the side and getting up to grab the screwdriver himself.

"I havent been to school in like a month, Rick!" Morty exclaimed. "And even then I only got to stay for like an hour before you were dragging me out again!"

"Whatever." Rick said with a burp, "School's dumb, Morty. I'll teach you Spanish myself. B-but, uh, not now."

He turned back to his box, done with the conversation, but Morty stayed hovering in the room, remembering what he had come for in the first place.

"Okay, um, w-w-well lunch is ready."

"I'm busy."

Morty sighed, having expected that answer already. "When's the last time you ate, Rick? Or slept? Or... showered?" Morty said, wrinkling his nose a little.

Rick ignored him, pulling at a blue wire.

"Rick!" Morty frowned.

"What, Morty? J-jesus christ, what the fuck do you want?"

"I want you to have lunch with the family."

"And I said no, so screw off."

"Rick, come on, it would make mom so happy."

Rick glared at him, not bothering with an answer.

"...Wouldn't y-you do it for your original Beth if you could?" Morty tried.

Rick slammed the box on the table, causing the thin metallic shell to crack, sparks flying from it, the sudden noise making Morty jump.

"The fuck did you just say?" Rick snarled.

"S-s-sorry!" Morty squeaked. "I didn't m-mean– mean it in a bad way!"

"Get the fuck out." Rick said icily, eyes blazing.

Morty stumbled out of the room, shutting the door behind him to the sound of something crashing. Probably Rick throwing the damaged box across the room.

Morty winced. In his defense he was worried about Rick, and sometimes, depending on his mood, something like that would've gotten Rick to cave, clearly he wasn't feeling so sentimental today, more annoyed and angry.

"What was that about?"

Morty startled a little and turned to see Summer looking at her phone behind him.

"Just, y'know, Rick being... Rick."

"Mhm, pro tip, don't bring up his dead daughter to try and blackmail him into something he hates." Summer drawled. "You can only do that if he's already half convinced, or if he's feeling especially depressed sometimes.

"Summer! That's– that's messed up!"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, so only you can manipulate grandpa Rick?" Summer scoffed. "God forbid women do anything." She said sarcastically and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Morty fidgeted with his hands. "Can you... help me? To get him to have lunch w-with us? Please?"

"Yes, but not now. He's already upset so if we double down on trying to get him to eat he's only gonna clam up."

Morty nodded. "I know that– but how do you? You don't spend as much time with Rick as I do."

"Because he's like mom. Who do you think got her to stop drinking before parent-teacher conferences at school?"

"Wow. That's pretty fucked up that you had to do that, though, y'know, Summer."

"Yeah, well, we're the Smiths, Morty. Is anyone in this house not disordered?"

Morty winced at the blunt statement, Rick really was rubbing off on her. But it was kind of true.

"Guess it runs in the family." He muttered

"Guess it does."

---

Morty hadn't been planning on seeing Rick again until the next day. He knew that when Rick got upset he needed his space. Morty didn't quite get it because when he was upset all he wanted was for someone to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but Rick wasn't like him he supposed.

If he was being honest it made him nervous to leave Rick alone in those bad headspaces he got into. Rick was volatile and unpredictable and a borderline danger to himself and often others. He'd walked in on a couple... compromising situations where Rick had had to explain away why he was passed out in his chair or why there was blood on his hands and his lab coat despite being the only person in the room.

Morty pretended to believe him when he said he had been doing a messy dissection experiment or that "This isn't blood, this is Balorkian dust I mixed with red Squanchenite fluid from Planet Squanch, Morty." But truthfully those moments haunted him.

However, he didn't want to invade Rick's space, so he let him be and tried to eat and sleep until Rick emerged like nothing had happened, even though Morty knew what habits of his went on behind those closed doors.

Of course Morty's patience had it's limits, like when two hours after he had left Rick in the garage, angry, there was the sound of something smashing, closely followed by an unmistakable sound that Morty had grown too familiar with since Rick had moved in. The sound of a body thudding to the ground.

He was up from the sofa in a flash, at the garage door before Summer could even put down her phone, flinging it open.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, but the only sight that greeted him was a smashed bottle and rick lying on the floor next to it, not looking any more dead than usual, looking up at Morty blearily, cracking a smile.

"Oh, hi Morty. H-hey buddy." He slurred, clearly drunk out of his mind.

"Jesus fucking christ, Rick." Morty said weakly.

"What happened?" Summer breathed, now standing at his side.

"He's just drunk." Morty muttered, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering smell that he hadn't registered before between his state of panic and shallow breathing.

Summer ventured into the garage, picking up an empty bottle and sniffing it. "God, grandpa Rick, what the hell are you drinking in here, fucking rubbing alcohol?"

"Sum-Sum! 'M just having some– some fun drinks. Fun drinks just a lil' bit. Besides I only ever drank rub-rubbin' alcohol once, n' it was– tasted like shit."

"What? I was being sarcastic, why would you drink that?"

"Because I was sad... was sad 'nd lonely after B-b-blood Ridge, couldn't find anythin' else. But 'm not s-sad now."

"What's Blood Ridge?" Summer frowned, "Actually it doesn't matter right now, you need to sober up."

"Get him some water," Morty interjected. "I'll clean up the glass. I also know where he keeps all his hangover serums and stuff, but he told me not to let you into any of his drug stashes."

"Fair enough." Summer shrugged, leaving to get Rick some much needed water.

While she was gone, Morty felt along the wall until he found the small hidden panel under Rick's desk. He fished out the light blue vial of fluid for hangovers, the red one he'd forced Rick to make that would sober him up and a green one that basically equivalated to getting your stomach pumped if you took it, just in case he'd taken more than just alcohol.

He shut the panel securely and placed the three coloured vials on Rick's work bench, grabbing a purple tube-like gadget from a shelf. He pressed a button on the back of it and typed in "Broken Glass" on a small hologram keyboard that emerged, then pressed that first button again. A blue ray shot out, scanning the garage, and the pieces of smashed bottle disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Morty looked over at Rick, who was still lying on the floor, but now he was tracing his fingers along a crack in the cold ground, his expression so solemn he almost looked sober.

"Rick?" Morty asked hesitantly.

"I miss her." He said flatly. "I miss her s-so much."

His words were still a little slurred but his tone had lost all the previous levity.

"I tried to save her, Morty, I t-t-tried, but I couldn't bring her back. And no one could ever replace her." A rough sob escaped his throat. Morty felt frozen. "I'm a crappy fuckin'– piece of shit father but I didn't want to be. I was gonna fuckin' give– give up everything for them, and I would've been happy. I would've been so happy as long as I had them, but he fuckin' took that from me! I nnever even got a chance."

Rick was crying, he was crying so hard that his tears stained the concrete dark grey and snot ran down his face sideways. He was shaking like a leaf and gasping for air.

Morty crouched down next to him, fists clenching and unclenching, unsure if he should hug Rick, or if that would make it worse. What else could he do?

"Oh– oh shit, Rick, I–"

"My little girl, my baby." Rick continued between sobs. "She meant everything to me. S-so yeah, I would be better f-for her if I could, but she's gone. There's no point."

Rick's sudden fit of violent sobs was calming down, replaced by a look that Morty could only describe as pure hoplessness and defeat washing over his features.

"'S no point in anything."

Shit, this was bad. Rick didn't admit defeat, and he certainly didn't talk so openly about his feelings like this.

"Aw jeez, Rick, come on don't– don't– don't say that. we killed Rick Prime, remember?" Morty said, wringing his hands anxiously.

"Yeah, I remember." Rick said, tone now devoid of emotion. "I remember killin' him with my bare hands, watchin' the life drain out of his eyes as his blood dripped down my fists. And I remember nothing changing. W-w-what d'ya do when you achieve your life long goal and nothin's better? It didn't bring them back, it didn't– didn't give me closure or give me a reason to live. I still can't sleep, petrified he's in the fucking house, comin' for my new family, that he'll kill all of you to teach me that t-that's what happens when I-I care about people."

Rick wiped his face with his lab coat sleeve, rubbing away the snot, drool and dried tears while Morty just kneeled next to him, frozen and unsure what to say.

"Rick..." he started but then Summer stepped through the doorway and Rick's demeanour instantly changed.

"Summerfest!" he called out and Morty watched, a little shocked, as Rick's whole face changed in the blink of an eye, going back to the cheerful, goofy expression he'd been wearing when he and Summer first came in. It didn't look artificial to Morty at all, even now that he knew it was. How could Rick just switch it on and off just like that?

"I brought water and coffee." Was all Summer said, placing two mugs on the workbench. "And a cereal bar."

The second statement sounded a little more unsure and Morty could've sworn he saw Rick's jaw clench for a second.

"Gimmie coffee." Rick said, making grabby hands, still lying on the floor.

"Water first." Summer replied, handing him the larger of the two mugs.

Rick pouted a little but as soon as the mug was in his hands he drank thirstily, finishing the whole thing in one go.

"You want more?" Summer asked, taking the mug, but he just shook his head quietly.

"Okay," Morty cleared his throat when his voice came out a little shaky. "drink this."

He handed Rick the red 'get sober' vial and Rick chugged it obediently, making a face. "Tastes like– like shit." He offered.

While he seemed a little calmer after the water and serum, his eyes were still unfocused and his voice sounded thick, like his tongue didn't fit in his mouth properly, hints of his accent were slipping through too.

"Did you- are you on drugs r-right now?" Morty asked, reaching for the green vial of serum.

"Maybe." Rick mumbled. His eyelids were starting to droop a little and he curled up more comfortably on the floor.

"Hey, Rick, don't go to sleep okay? What did you take?" Summer asked, crouching down next to him, shaking him a little. He groaned. "Come on, we just have to make sure you're not overdosing and then you can sleep. Maybe not on the floor."

"'M not overdosing." Rick grumbled.

"What did you take?"

"I dunno. Just some random alien drugs I found i-in my pocket." He said dismissively with a burp. "Actually one of 'em was probably adderall. Look at me bein' all responsible an-and takin' my meds n' shit."

He of course immediately showed his 'responsibilty' by gagging and then throwing up on the floor.

Morty winced, reaching for the purple device again while Summer tried to coax him into drinking the green liquid, frowning deeply.

Finally Rick gave in, sipping from the small vial, and almost instantly his eyes began to clear up a little bit.

"Why'd I make these work so well?" He groaned. Then, "My head is killing me, I want coffee."

Summer passed him the second mug and he gestured toward the hangover serum, which Morty promptly passed to him and Rick poured it in his coffee.

He gulped down half the coffee and sighed, wiping his mouth with his already rather dirty sleeve. "Fuck, that's better."

He downed the rest of it and placed the mug on the ground, getting to his feet shakily. He swayed and nearly fell, leaning onto the wall to steady himself as the dizzy spell passed, and then stretched, his back cracking loudly.

He took a few wobbly steps towards the door but Summer blocked the way.

"Fuck– fuck off Summer I gotta– I'm gonna go take a nap."

"Could you maybe eat something first?" She asked firmly, holding up the cereal bar.

"No."

Rick tried to sidestep her but she blocked the way again.

"Summer, don't fucking piss me off right now, I'm serious."

She stood her ground. "Just eat the cereal bar, grandpa Rick. Please."

"Summer, for fuck's sake, I said no!"

"Grandpa," She sighed, the arm holding the bar dropping defeatedly back down to her side. "Do you have an eating disorder?"

The garage was deathly quiet for a second.

"Wha-What?! I'm not a teenage girl in a f-f-f– goddamn netflix drama, Summer." Rick snarled. "What the fuck kinda question is that?"

He gestured wildly, taking another step forwards, which quickly seemed to be the wrong option as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him hard, making him almost loose his balance. He blindly tried to grab onto the back of his chair somewhere behind him, but missed and fell on his ass.

"Rick!" Morty and Summer both rushed to his side, Morty's eyes beginning to well up a little from all the stress of the day.

"I'm fine, don't– don't fucking touch me." He said, shaking Summer's hand off his shoulder, which caused another wave of nausea to hit.

"Please eat this." Summer said nervously, voice shaking as she pushed the cereal bar into his left hand, his right one gripping at his hair.

"Summer, I promise you if I eat that shit right now I'm gonna throw the fuck up."

"Please?" Morty pouted, eyes big and teary.

All it took was one look at him, and with only a brief moment of hesitation Rick snatched the cereal bar from Summer, muttering angrily under his breath.

Morty only caught "Me cago en la puta." and "Maldito cabrón." which he more or less understood, more familiar with swear words than any other words in the Spanish language.

Rick peeled away the wrapper slowly with unsteady hands and took a small bite.

Morty and Summer watched in silence, not wanting to discourage him by saying the wrong thing—which with Rick could be anything—as Rick uncomfortably ate the cereal bar.

"There you fucking go." He said weakly, Throwing the now empty wrapper at Summer, but missing as it was too light to travel more than a couple centimetres, landing somewhere by his feet.

"Thank you." Summer almost whispered.

They sat in silence for a while, Morty sniffling and rubbing at his eyes and Summer shuffling a bit closer to him for both of their comfort.

Rick was sitting with his knees losely bent and his head braced in his hands, trying to overcome another hit of nausea.

He wouldn't exactly say he tried super hard to keep the cereal bar down, but it wasn't deliberate when he vomited it down the front of his shirt.

"Oh! Aw jeez..." Morty winced.

"I did warn you."

"In our defense, you had every reason to be lying to us."

"Fuck you, Summer." It sounded weak even to his own ears.

She sighed softly.

"Morty, get his shirt off. Do you have pijamas or do you sleep in jeans and a lab coat?"

"Jeans an-and a lab coat."

"...I was joking, but okay." Summer said, flipping the switch that opened Rick's garage closet and grabbing one of his sets of identical outfits.

Rick squirmed, making noises of complaint as Morty tried to take off his current shirt.

"Rick– stay still, you have vomit on your clothes."

"I'm not fucking two years old, Morty." He scowled. "I can change by myself."

Rick tried to sit up but wobbled and then slumped back against the wall, needing more time to recover. Morty reached for his shirt again and this time Rick let him pull it carefully up over his head without resisting. Morty took the new set of clothes from where Summer had left them on the floor next to him.

Summer wasn't looking but Morty still shielded Rick's body from sight with his own, pointedly not mentioning the raised scars and jagged, angry, red cuts littering his arms which he had already suspected would be there.

Rick shifted uncomfortably, seeming relieved when Morty didn't want to talk about it.

"Okay." Morty said, helping Rick pull on his clean lab coat too.

"I'm going to bed." Rick grumbled, not waiting for him to continue, just getting up slowly.

He felt weak and shaky and his brittle old bones weren't exactly helping out. Despite his thousands of cybernetic implants he was still human, much to his dismay, and he couldn't treat his body as badly as he did when he was 30. Not that that ever seemed to stop him, managing to still maintain the same shitty habits he'd had for years at the ripe age of 67.

He stumbled through the dining room, Morty and Summer trailing after him, not discouraged by the glare he sent their way.

As soon as he reached his room, he slumped onto his bed with a groan.

"R-rick?"

"Fuck off, Morty." He snapped into his pillow, a little muffled by it.

Morty hesitated, exchanging a glance with Summer, who shrugged.

"...Ookay, Rick. Uh, see– see you at dinner, today? maybe?'

"Don't count on it."

Summer frowned, Starting to say something, but Rick interrupted, "I'm gonna apply my room's Lock Protocols in ten seconds, so i-if you're still in here, I'm not letting you out until I'm done sleeping. A-a-and if you're standing in the doorway, you're gonna get fucking squashed in the doors."

"Whatever, Rick, fuck you too." Summer huffed, pulling Morty out of the doorway with her.

"Room, activate Sensory Protocol 2. And t-tell Summer to go fuck herself."

"Sensory Protocol 2 activated." Came the mechanical voice and a heavy metal door snapped shut. "Go fuck yourself, Summer."

Summer scoffed. "Dick." Followed by a sigh. "What are we gonna do?"

"I-I don't know." Morty admitted. "There's not much we can do if Rick won't accept help. And he won't."

"So what? We just give up on him?" Summer asked accusingly, putting her hands on her hips.

"No, Summer, J-jeez. I just– We're gonna have to get creative."

"Fuck."

---

thats it thats the end i didnt know how tf to end this but my goal wasnt to rewrite like the bible idfk it was just to put rick through shit and put completely unfair expectations on summer and mortys shoulders so that they could ALL suffer in this fic !! :3 also this is so mf long i sincerely apologise if u read all that

[fatuifucker]

tw SA mention

tbh i would rather have minors read my work rather than those coquette smut blogs (not targeting anyone specifically, just in general) that write really ooc drabbles and topics that are basically SA. sometimes it's even blatant SA it's wild that you'd have the reader basically crying and begging the character to stop but the post's theme is just (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[autistic-katara]

u ever think of a ship u like one-sidedly and wonder why tf u didn’t project onto them when suffering from a bad one sided crush

[eurydicees]

all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine for the song recs!!! it's one of my favorite songs right now hehe. doomsday & reckless driving are also really good!!

*you give me a great rec and prompt* *i drop the fic a year and three months later*

a perfect night and a beautiful ghost

summary: oikawa goes to argentina. iwaizumi meets suga. they learn to move on. prompt: music recs, all my ghosts (lizzy mcalpine)  pairings: past + platonic hajime iwaizumi/tooru oikawa, present hajime iwaizumi/koushi sugawara words: 2527 warnings: none

Iwaizumi fell in love with Oikawa slowly, in the same way the snow falls on a winter day: gentle, wandering to the ground and melting; then fast, quick and heavy, dropping straight to the concrete and collecting there in frozen snowbanks. He fell in love with Oikawa in the same way that the winter encroaches upon the fall, until suddenly it has dropped below freezing and you barely even noticed the date on the calendar changing. 

He fell in love with Oikawa in the same way he does everything: slowly, surely, and without a trace of hesitation. There was no hesitation, really, because Oikawa was his best friend. Because Oikawa had always been everything safe in the world, had always been everything good, everything strong, everything certain. Iwaizumi had never once doubted that Oikawa cared about him. 

Even if Oikawa didn’t love him back, there was very little chance of Oikawa turning against him, hating him, or otherwise leaving him because of it. Iwaizumi could barely imagine a world in which Oikawa left him, whether because of this or because of something else. 

So he confessed. He confessed, and Oikawa cried—because of course he did—and confessed that he loved Iwaizumi just as much. They started dating, and for a while, everything was good. 

The thing about your first serious relationship is that, because it is your first one, you have a million things to work through and figure out before you can fall into a rhythm that makes sense to you and your partner. There are going to be problems that you have to deal with, you are going to have to communicate in a different way that you’re used to, and you’re going to have to try new things and deal with things that you didn’t expect. 

The other thing about your first serious relationship is that, no matter how it ends, after the breakup, it is going to haunt you. 

You could end on friendly terms, you could remain friends, you could do everything right in order to minimize the pain, but—but it will always haunt you, still. It will always be there, just a little bit. This is not necessarily a bad thing, because it can remind you to do things differently the next time than you did the first time. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to be hung up on it forever. 

But it’s also always going to be the lightest of ghosts in the corner of your eye, in the deepest crevice of your heart. It’s always going to sit there, just the slightest of reminders. 

So Iwaizumi isn’t hung up on Oikawa, not really. He’s moved on from what they had. Still, though, he thinks about it sometimes. He Skypes Oikawa whenever they get the chance between the Japanese and Argentinian time zones and between their two busy schedules, and he wonders just a little. 

He wonders what it would be like to have stayed together after their last argument about Oikawa moving. About the time difference. About the commitment long distance would be. He wonders what it would mean for them to still be in a relationship. He wonders about all the things that Oikawa isn’t telling about his life not just because they’re exes now instead of just friends. 

Oikawa is Iwaizumi’s every first: first friend, first kiss, first love, first time. Oikawa has a hand in every part of Iwaizumi’s history, and even while in Argentina, Oikawa keeps himself clawed into Iwaizumi’s thoughts. They’re still best friends, after all, and this makes everything both better and easier and so much harder. 

Neither of them tell each other about their romantic or sexual endeavors. Iwaizumi isn’t sure why Oikawa doesn’t say anything, and honestly, he isn’t sure why he can’t bring himself to say anything either. Maybe he’s afraid of what Oikawa would think, what he would say. Maybe he’s afraid of hurting Oikawa, though he knows that after the breakup Oikawa started, Oikawa has no right to be hurt over Iwaizumi moving on. 

Maybe he’s afraid that telling Oikawa is a betrayal of some sort, though he knows he’s not doing anything wrong. They ended things on good terms; or at least they ended things on good enough terms to talk to each other without crying. Iwaizumi isn’t sure if everything has gone back to normal, to how things had been before dating, but—they’re trying. They’re making progress. 

And telling Oikawa that Iwaizumi is seeing new people maybe would take away all of that progress. Maybe that’s why Iwaizumi doesn’t want to say anything. 

Whatever the reason, Iwaizumi feels haunted by that relationship and yet he refuses to tell Oikawa anything about his new relationships. So when he meets Suga, and when they kiss for the first time, and when they start an actual committed relationship, he doesn’t say a word of it to Oikawa. 

Even omitting news of the relationship, though, feels a little like a betrayal. Like he’s lying about something important to him. He’s holding something back, and that’s just as much a betrayal as telling Oikawa that he’s actually moved on. 

It’s only when Suga brings it up, really, that Iwaizumi realizes maybe he should change something about the way he’s acting. Until Suga pointed it out, Iwaizumi didn’t really realize it, but he’s been keeping his friends and Suga in two different worlds, worlds that he refuses to let collide. 

He’s told Suga about some of his friends before, the things they got up to in high school; and about some of his university friends, too, and he’s told his university friends all about Suga as well. He’s done a lot of talking about them—though rarely mentioning Oikawa and never by name, and never mentioning that they had dated before, as if something about that is still too private, too raw, to share with his current boyfriend—but he’s never brought Suga along to meet anyone. 

It’s strange, really, because he’s been dating Suga for a few months now. Suga has met his mom and has met his sisters. He’s met Suga’s friends—Daichi and Asahi and a few others. He knows all about them and their friendships. 

Iwaizumi really doesn’t know why he’s been keeping Oikawa’s name secret, much less his relationship with him just as secret, nor does he know why he’s refused to let Suga meet his friends. He can tell, too, that Suga has been thinking about this for a while now and that it’s been weighing on him. 

“I don’t have to meet them if you don’t want me to,” Suga clarifies, when he brings it up at a date one night, “but I’d like to, if you are okay with that. I don’t—” he stops, swallows, stares anywhere that isn’t Iwaizumi— “I don’t want you to have to be ashamed of me.” 

“I’m not,” Iwaizumi says quickly, rushing through the words. “I’m not, I swear. I’m really not.” 

Suga looks at him, then away again. “Alright, if you say so. Just…think about it, okay?” 

Iwaizumi takes a breath, reaching over the dining table in his apartment to squeeze Suga’s hand. He had made them dinner—and had been disproportionately proud of it—but it all tastes sour now. “I want you to meet them.” 

“I don’t want to pressure you—” 

“You’re not,” Iwaizumi cuts in. “I want this, too.” 

Suga nods, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “Just let me know when and where, ‘kay?” 

Iwaizumi hesitates for a moment before squeezing Suga’s hand again. “Oikawa’s coming to visit in a few weeks. We’re all going to meet up. You can come with me, if you want?” 

Suga smiles. “That sounds really good.” 

Iwaizumi smiles at him, and—and the weeks between that smile and their meeting seem to pass in only an instant. It feels like the day is upon them before Iwaizumi even remembers that it’s happening. 

Or, that’s not really true. He’s been counting down the minutes until Oikawa lands in Japan since the moment Oikawa said he was coming to visit for the winter holidays. He’s been counting every second until he gets to sit in a bar with Oikawa and Matsukawa and Hanamaki again. 

He tells them all that Suga is joining them, getting enthusiastic responses from Matsukawa and Hanamaki and nothing from Oikawa. Iwaizumi tries to dismiss it as Oikawa being too busy to respond to that particular text, but it burns somewhere deep in his chest that he doesn’t really want to psychoanalyze. 

When he and Suga finally manage to get to Miyagi, where they’re all meeting for the weekend since Oikawa is staying in Matsukawa’s apartment, Iwaizumi is vibrating with both excitement and with nerves. It’s been almost a year since he’s seen Oikawa, and on top of that, introducing Suga feels a little like introducing two atoms that could either create a nuclear explosion or some new, beautiful element. 

But they get into the bar and—and everything is fine. It feels good. They catch up with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and Suga gets along with them both beautifully. Oikawa is visibly caught off guard at first—or maybe it’s only visible to Iwaizumi, because no one thinks anything of his initial reaction to Suga—but it doesn’t take long before he and Suga have charmed each other into easy banter. 

Iwaizumi sighs, rolling his eyes a little when Hanamaki leans into his shoulder and whispers, much too loudly, “So you definitely have a type, huh?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Iwaizumi mutters, and Hanamaki cackles. 

Suga glances between Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Did you two…” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Hanamaki winces a little, looking down at his drink, like he regrets saying anything. Iwaizumi’s heart is in his throat as Oikawa says lightly, “Did Iwa not tell you?” 

“No,” Suga says, eyes on Iwaizumi. He doesn’t look offended…just confused. Confused as to why Iwaizumi wouldn’t tell him. Confused as to why it’s a secret from him and no one else. “He didn’t say anything about that.” 

Oikawa’s eyes are narrowed on Iwaizumi. “We dated for, what was it? Two years, Iwa?” 

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Sounds right.” 

“The one who got away,” Oikawa sighs dramatically. He turns away from Iwaizumi to look at Suga, and having his gaze no longer hot on Iwaizumi makes him feel only marginally safer in the churning water of this conversation. “Tell me, Suga, does he still do that thing when you go to a 7/11 together?” 

Suga snorts. “Where he debates between cherry and blue raspberry drinks for at least ten minutes before going with coca-cola?” 

Oikawa laughs, light and easy and unbothered. It’s fake, it’s so fucking fake, Iwaizumi can tell so easily, but everyone else seems to be fooled by the break in tension. Hanamaki exhales, slow and steady. 

“Did he always drive like an old man, too?” Suga asks Oikawa, grinning. This one doesn’t feel fake, though, like maybe Suga is okay with all of this even if Oikawa looks like he wants to leave immediately. 

Still, Oikawa finds it in him to take a drink and then to chuckle again, ducking his head with a smile in the way he only does when he’s faking it. 

“I swear,” Oikawa laughs, “we only ever got anywhere on time if we left with ten extra minutes for him to look four ways three times at every stop sign.” 

Matsukawa snorts. “I think it took you two longer to drive places than it took us to walk anywhere.” 

That actually makes Oikawa laugh, and this time it feels real. Suga, too, laughs, and that’s real and honest and he’s happy despite the reveal of his and Oikawa’s former relationship. 

“You’re all so mean to me,” Iwaizumi mutters, rolling his eyes. 

But despite being made fun of, Iwaizumi has a drink in his hand and he’s flushed and, for the most part, he’s satisfied with the way the night is going. The conversation moves away from his and Suga’s relationship, and then he catches Oikawa’s eye as he slips away from the booth to step outside into the crisp night air. 

Iwaizumi looks between the other three, who are caught up in some debate about a TV show Iwaizumi has never even heard of, gives Suga a small smile and then walks out after Oikawa. This is a familiar routine, where Oikawa will step away from a group outing early in the night to get some air and Iwaizumi will chase after him to make sure he’s okay. 

Usually, it’s just because he’s getting overwhelmed by the noise and energy or because he’s a little more drunk than he wants to be. Sometimes it’s because something happened and now he’s spiraling. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi calls out. 

Oikawa has found a spot on a bench outside of the bar, and he’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes focused out on the distance. It’s a clear night, and you can see everything. The stars, the wind pushing a few clouds to the North, the headlights of cars coming around the bend in the road. 

Oikawa doesn’t look over at him as Iwaizumi sits down next to him, just a few inches of space between them. “Hey.” 

“You okay?” Oikawa doesn’t answer. Just lets the question settle in the air between them, hanging there with a heaviness Iwaizumi wishes it didn’t have.

Then Oikawa takes a heaving breath, not like he’s about to cry over a trivial thing but like he’s about to give up on something important. He speaks like he’s formulating the question as he says it. He speaks like he isn’t sure he wants the answer.

He asks, slowly, “Do you think we could have lasted? Been something? If I didn’t move to Argentina?” 

Iwaizumi swallows, feeling the build up of pressure in his chest spilling over into tears that sting at the corners of his eyes. He looks over at Oikawa only to find Oikawa looking at him. Oikawa is looking at him like he’s searching for something, something that he can’t find. Iwaizumi, meanwhile, is looking at Oikawa like he’s seeking something, something he doesn’t want to see. 

For the first time in their lives, they do not find what they want in each other's gaze.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I—I don’t know.” 

He stops. Leaves it there. He can’t bear the rest of the sentence. 

Oikawa nods. He takes a deep breath and turns away. He looks up at the sky, at the thousands of stars littering the world above them. At the new moon: just a ghost, invisible, breathless, in the sky. “The sky is gorgeous tonight.” 

“It is.” Iwaizumi tears his gaze away from Oikawa and pretends that every second looking both at and away from him doesn’t hurt. “A perfect night. It’s beautiful.” 

“No moon tonight,” Oikawa says, as if he hadn’t heard Iwaiuzmi speak. “All these stars, and a spot with no moon. Like a clean slate.” 

Iwaizumi nods, and he’s only able to watch as the tears spill over Oikawa’s cheeks, entirely silent in their fall. Oikawa doesn’t flinch at their movement. Just stares up at the perfect night. The kind of night meant for moving on. 

[ninjasmudge]

people really will say shit like 'the fic i found hasn't updated in a whole month so i think its been abandoned which is a shame, i wanted to read more' like where do you even get the nerve

[collegeoflore]

the thing driving me most insane about xarrai/gale these days is that like. gale turns them down/gets turned down (it’s messy. lol) so xarrai can be with astarion instead and then almost immediately he has to watch them tear each other apart. you KNOW the whole time he’s bitter because he’s thinking that he would have been better for xarrai but the two of them Never would have actually worked for the exact same reasons that they Do work with astarion. but gale doesn’t know or think about that bc he’s too busy watching them hiss and growl at each other like feral cats and assuming the reason early act 3!xarrai is testy and a little withdrawn is bc they’re fighting with astarion (incorrect assumption) (well not entirely incorrect) (not a helpful assumption to make for anyone involved tho)

[sunsetzer]

Edosetzu feels like the kind of relationship that would start as a casual friends with benefits situation but they would accidentally develop genuine feelings for one another and both have their own crises about it, because they don't want to make things awkward and ruin what they have already.

[heich0e]

btw this is exactly what i look like when u reblog my fics and leave nice tags <3

[wooahaes]

Hiii!! I just wanted to check up on you. How are you feeling? Are you doing ok? I hope you are taking care of yourself and able to enjoy the holiday as much as you can. Thinking of you ❤️

hii lovely

life has kinda quieted down some? which is good and things are going okay when im not frustrated with the rest of my family (feels like im the only one whos rly... being a caretaker at all...) but im just kinda taking it one day at a time rn

ty for checking in <3 i hope u get to spend the holiday happily as well <3

[chocosvt]

hi choco! i'm so excited to see you back on my tl; i've missed you and your god-tier fics & i'm super duper excited to read your wonwoo fic as well (140k words? we will all be well fed fr 🤲)

i had a little rant? not exactly rant but something that's been itching my mind a bit haha, i hope you don't mind me sharing it with you! i genuinely want some advice over this.

as a long fic writer, how do you consistently come back to writing your fic without getting bored? i looooove writing long fics too (big lover of slowburn and angst lol) but i always get so impatient and bored of writing the story so quickly :(

i'd posted a teaser for a fic a while back and it got a good amount of traction (something i will always be grateful for) and someone asked me when i would release the full fic, to which i gave them a tentative date. fast forward to the day before the day i said i would post the fic and you have me typing out paragraphs upon paragraphs of stuff that i absolutely loathe in my writing. i ended up posting the fic anyway, but it's been only a day and i already want to take it down—not bc it's not getting any attention, because it is, but more so bc i hate that fic and would do anything to rewrite it.

iirc your joshua fic, 'best friend's brother' was a rewrite of a fic you'd written earlier, right? was your thought process similar to this? where did you start your rewriting process from? did you have any second thoughts when you took it down the first time?

i'm really sorry if this is too many questions 😅 please take your time if you do choose to answer this! much love and have a great day, choco!!! thank you so much :)

(is it alright if i use an emoji to sign off so i can find this ask later?)

— 🍫

first of all, THANK U SO MUCH <3

and i don't mind at all! these are rly insightful questions :o though i'll just chunk my answers a bit so i'm not all over the place.

not getting bored to be honest, i'm not sure if i ever "get bored" of writing out the plot. but i definitely get burnt out, and sometimes i get downright sick of reviewing my own writing, to the point where i just have to close my laptop and walk away. i think the most important & overarching piece of advice i can give--not just in terms of long fics but any fic for that matter--is to never force anything & take breaks!

when i'm busy at uni, there are like 5 month breaks where i don't bother writing at all. i always think that the second i have free time, i should theoretically want to write, but sometimes i just don't. and i make peace with it bc i know the second i force anything i will end up hating it (also takes the fun & enjoyment out of the process).

i think if you're getting bored, it's probably a sign that your body & mind just isn't interested in writing at the moment. so i would step away & take a break and attempt to get your mind off the plot. i think that taking a break also invigorates your mind a bit and gives you newer, better ideas (at least from my experience).

bfb rewrite the reason i rewrote best friend's brother was bc the og fic was from 2016, when my writing style was completely different. i still liked the concept but naturally, as my writing grew, i just detested the way the old ver was written, which spurred me to create the rewrite.

i wanted to give the characters a lot more depth & beef up the plot, so the new fic is actually a lot different in comparison to the old one. i wasn't attempting to do a scene-for-scene rewrite--it was simply just my approach to an old concept that i felt i could now execute better.

as to how i went abt rewriting it, i just picked out moments from the old fic that i liked and built around them. for instance, i rly liked the "skipping stones" scene that shows some intimacy & tenderness between joshua and reader. but it can't just happen out the gate. so i had to figure out the typical "why, when, and how is this moment happening right now?" from scratch.

the thing with long fics for me, it honestly is a test of patience & dedication!! bc it can truly be so frustrating :( a lot of times, you want to jump right into the good parts bc those are like the shiny glimmers that make the fic attractive. but depending on how impactful you want those moments to be, build-up is sooooo key! the thing is, build-up is just so critical in my opinion, but it can also be such a pain to write :p

i find when i review my writing, these are scenes i criticize or change the most--more than the big, hard-hitting scenes. bc to me, it's such a specific thing that you have to nail down justttt right. it's a lot of thinking and finagling and i think this process is what i dread the most? especially when it refuses to turn out how you want it--ugh, so discouraging!! but once you get it's like a silky flowy river!!

the big takeaways (i guess?) 1. taking breaks is so important! 2. don't force anything xxxx 3. take the big moments & build around them i totallyyyyy understand your frustration!! there have been so many moments where i'm like I NEED TO WRITE AHHHHH and then i promptly open the document only to sit there, blankly read a few sentences, and then get this rly big sinking feeling in my gut that is essentially telling me "never mind" and honestly i just listen to it bc if i'm gonna close & open the document 10 times in a row i obviously don't want to write. i'm just searching for something fulfilling and clearly not finding it in the task at hand so i should do smth else.

THIS IS EXTREMELY LENGTHY AND I''M BEYOND SORRY, but i hope somewhere amongst this mumbo jumbo there was something that stood out & may give you a bit of closure!

[spinoff-antithesis]

RATING: G RELATIONSHIP: Female Pokedex Holder Blue | Green & Silver (Pokemon) SUMMARY: green feels that she has a lot to apologize for. silver, on the other hand, doesn't know how to explain to his sister that he doesn't blame her for anything. EXTENDED SUMMARY:

“I’m proud of you. I don’t know what all happened on your journey,” she starts, looking back at the direction they’re taking, “and I wish you would’ve contacted me before you started working with Lance, but you made it out in one piece and better than I could’ve ever hoped for. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to be there more for you.”

Silver stares at the back of her head, walking on autopilot.

He wants to tell her that she’s done enough, that he’s sorry for never reaching out until they ran into each other by pure chance. That he’s thankful for her and keeping him together in one piece when they were no more than children and that he wants to get stronger to protect her and keep her from ever having to go through something like losing her family again.

Instead, what he says instead is, “Why did you leave me that night?”

[sickgraymeat]

It’s funny that I can only read/write AT fanfic that’s both (a) canon compliant and (b) not too sad by my (very sensitive baby) standards, bc ofc those things contradict each other a lot

[doveypink]

i was seriously cooking when i wrote tried and true blue because why haven’t we as a society explored more of the dynamic between reader, hot-blue-cavalry-captain-boyfriend, and stoic-red-bestie-who-is-also-boyfriend’s-strange-older-brother? why are there so few others in this establishment that see how silly and cute this is? where is your passion? what have you been doing this whole time?

[inhumanfuckingdogman]

If i had to pick (and lbr you do) between either roman or tomgreg being canonically gay and explored in the series id pick roman 100%. Tomgreg going canon would set gay rights back by like 40 years

[advestager]

I feel like saying Josuke doesn't have any daddy issues whatsoever isn't entirely fair (I've seen some fic and comics go further into how he and his mom might have been treated due to the circumstances of his birth that were pretty compelling) but people who act like he grew up without any father figure are definitely off base imo. Every single adaptation and extra material have always had a focus on his close relationship with his grandpa for a reason!

see, that's precisely the thing. it is literally impossible to be a grown up human without having internalised some sort of illogical Feeling about oneself or the world – but fandom as a whole tends to just assign arbitrary ones to characters based on stereotypes rather than what they actually are like.

i do think josuke feels some sort of way about his lack of a father growing up, but that's as inevitable as joseph himself (or giorno, or jolyne, or even jonathan) having feelings about his own dad, and yet somehow jorge's absence does not get brought up despite joseph and josuke's fairly similar upbringings. the fact is that most of western fandom tends to view the JJBA characters through a (white, usa-centric) lens that simply does not lend itself to a fair or accurate reading when most of the cast is either POC or from an entirely different cultural background. that's why i'm so resistant to label josuke as having 'daddy issues'; the term means something entirely different to me than it seems to do to most of the fandom, based on all the fic, comics, and discussions i've seen (and had) about the topic. it's not exactly like the organised crime aspect of VA, but it fills me with a similar kind of frustration. i don't think one needs a degree in cultural studies or history or whatnot to enjoy a silly series about people punching each other with slutty soul-ghosts, but it's exhausting to see the same thoughtless, very specifically westernised takes being regurgitated over and over as Absolute Truth until the characters are so flanderised they seem nothing as much as a caricature of their original versions. i love transformative works as much as any other fan creator, but i also happen to like the source material. it is infinitely more interesting to me to think about what kind of relationship josuke might have to his heritage as a mixed-race person, or his identity as the son of a single mother or the obviously cherished and spoilt child of a family such as his own (especially in a place and period like canon's late-90s/early 00's japan), than to hear yet another iteration of 'haha, josuke has daddy issues' where the person saying it has no intention of analysing that premise beyond the puddle-depth obvious.

at barely sixteen years old, even as interested in high-end fashion (and as very much part of a working class family who could definitely use the nest egg) as he is, josuke's immediate reaction to being told his missing father is incredibly rich and wants to take care of him is to say that it's not necessary, and he's fine as he is. sixteen. i worked as a teacher with kids as young as a year old and people as old as mid-seventies; that kind of ease of mind is one-in-a-million and not something you'll find on someone who fits fandom's definition of 'daddy issues'. he's not angry at joseph, he's not grasping for money, he hardly even wants to find out more about the missing part of his origins. his only thought is to wish he wouldn't be the reason other people were hurt, and to protect his mother once there is a risk she might find out and be distressed about it. his entire morality system is (from what i remember of canon) mostly based around the question What Would Grandpa Do?, with some leeway allowed for the temper he clearly got from tomoko and for the fact that he is, again, a big and slightly spoilt sixteen year old.

so yeah. it might not sound fair to say he doesn't have daddy issues, but i don't think the terms fandom's operating under are fair to start with, so i'd rather recuse myself (and my interpretation of the character) from it all til we're playing the same game. the sandbox's wide and wild, and the block and mute buttons are there for a reason, so i'll just stay in my corner writing about higashikatas wielding their feelings like sledgehammers til my mum says it's time to go home.