#will keep reading fics to fuel my imagination in the meantime

[simplywintry]

to all of you out here writing amazing sam coe x dusty/reader fics, you're all collectively a gift from the cosmos

[pansy-picnics]

First off I need to just mention that your Uknighted dream art is top tier elite and i am in love. Like you have no idea.

Okay, now thats said, do you have any soft ot3 headcanons/scenes that you can imagine happening but can’t figure out how to write etc etc.? 💕

God is all of them an option bc the answer is all of them

I SWEAR I. HAVE SO MANY IDEAS AND THOUGHTS TAKING UP SPACE IN MY BRAIN (Both for ukd and for the entire family tbh) that i just CANNOT bring myself to draw or write or anything. If i had the time to be able to draw everything that popped in my head it would be OVER for yall i stg. And then theres my in progress fic i have up right now which i last updated in like (checks notes) January but i swear i’ve been THINKING about updating it again and that counts right

- Ummm. this is just something i find very funny but i absolutely love the idea that before they “Formally” announce their relationship, the public have just been spreading rumors left and right about the princess’s “affair”. cass and rapunzel somehow NEVER notice this but for a while it seems like eugene cant go ANYWHERE without someone either awkwardly being like “Soooo how are things going with the princess ^_^;;;” or just straight up asking “Hey is your wife cheating on you?” with no hesitation.

and eugene, being the attention whore he is obviously just Went with it and was like “Well yeah duh. Who do you think set them up”

EVERYONE GOES CRAZY.

before long literally EVERYONE has heard about it. rapunzel’s fucking Parents have heard about it. people in other KINGDOMS have heard about it. Meanwhile eugene’s having the time of his Life. He’s got disguises just to go in and listen in on the servants’ gossip. at this point he’s just started Making shit up and every day he’s spreading a proposition thats somehow even more absurd than the last. Most of them don’t even make sense. Like “Oh yeah no the reason rapunzel and cass are always sneaking off together isn’t because they’re having a steamy love affair it’s actually because they’ve been making blood sacrifices to the underworld to make sure zhan tiri never returns. Just girl things yk?”

“No see you’ve got it all wrong thats not cassandra at all. That’s shorty. He and rapunzel are having a book club together. It’s not going very well because shorty keeps eating all the books.” Or his personal favorite, “Wait you thought RAPUNZEL was the one having the affair?” gets them EVERY TIME.

Cass and rapunzel finally declare things officially only for everyone to become even MORE confused and they finally realize eugenes been fueling the fire for the past 3 months and he had just Assumed they were already aware of it

eugene: ….Wait you guys didnt know about that?

raps: i

raps: NO????

eugene:

eugene: um. Oops

cass: THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN “OOPS”?????

- this is kind of random but i PROMISE its going somewhere bear with me. In my head eugene is NOT the captain of the guard because a character becoming a cop is literally a fate worse than death. instead i like to imagine he does some kind of social work and is also an author…Eugene has a rlly strong connection to literature and is a great storyteller, hes got a flair for the dramatic and a strong imagination and seeing how much the flynn rider books meant to him in his childhood, i think he’d absolutely want to create something like that for other people 🥹

Anyways one of my favorite ideas w them is a modern au where rapunzel and eugene are both starving artists who are making a webcomic together…Eugene is still trying to publish his first novel and is writing for the comic in the meantime. theyre aspiring towards turning it into a graphic novel. Cass is literally just forcing everyone around her to read it. You’ve already read it? Read it again /J. She’s their number one hypeman but she’s trying to act sooo chill about it to keep up her Cool stone cold butch aesthetic. She’s like going to cons with them and hands out business cards and helps sell merch and she has a side account on twitter where she gets into heated arguments with anyone who hateposts about it.

Bonus points: it’s a fantasy comic about a lost princess, her knight girlfriend and her rogue boyfriend and is loosely a reference to the events of the canon show

- OH OH something that DEFINITELY fits this category has to be the girls taking eugene to the lagoon for the first time…….I think cass and rapunzel still spend a lot of dates there just the two of them, and no matter what it is very much Their Spot ™, but after things become official it just. Doesn’t really feel right to keep it exclusively between them anymore. i have a LOTTTT of thoughts on this…..rapunzel bouncing around and showing everything to him and cass just being dragged along for the ride…picnics together by the water while cass and raps are eagerly telling him all the stories of what he missed out on. it’s their quiet place i think they escape to whenever they don’t want to be bothered at the castle LOL. eugene officiates the cassunzel wedding there….. not to mention if/when they have kids 🥹 Augh. They make sooo many memories there i think🫶🫶🫶

- Not a specific scene so much as just a silly hc but rapunzel LOVES it when they “fight” over her. Usually it’s just a playful thing and rapunzel finds it so cute and endearing. They have the exact same banter every time and the same fake “duel” for her hand and raps will NEVER get tired of it

- oh and SPA DAYS. God cassandra’s self care routines by herself have always been SHIT. I love that girl but i think she absolutely reeks. Her hair looks like something died in it and whenever it gets too long she just grabs the nearest sharp object and cuts it off in one swoop. Eugene and rapunzel are UTTERLY horrified by this and they do not let that shit fly as soon as she’s living with them. They have little self care nights at least once a week, sometimes just with the three of them and sometimes the rest of the family gets into it too, it depends on the day. eugene helps do her hair for her and they pick out all sorts of fancy products for her skin and her curls and just absolutely SPOIL her. at first shes kinda whiny about it but once she realizes how much better she feels on a day to day basis she reluctantly apologizes for ever doubting them

[morvantmortuary]

i have some lovely things in my inbox from the past week or so that I’ve been writing for slowly, but I seem to have been stricken with my yearly cold, so that’s gonna take a minute more because I keep falling asleep and dropping my phone on my face :’D just know to the people who have been kind enough to send asks, I have read every single one multiple times and think of them daily since you did. I appreciate your patience in the meantime 🖤

I also realized today that I don’t think I’ve ever written sick fic for the Morvants from either side (you’re sick/they’re sick), so if I’m lucky, I might just get some good fuel out of this. I imagine necromancers don’t get sick often, but when they do, it’s Not Fun!!

but yeah, just wanted to acknowledge that I have been reading things and holding them very dear to my heart, please don’t think otherwise!! 🖤✨💀 more to come soon.

[dhufflebee]

damned thoughts, damning decisions  (a Glee fanfiction)

One-shot Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jesse St. James; Rachel Berry   Additional Tags: Missing Scene; Confrontations; trying to make sense of Jesse's face-heel turn in "Funk"; Slight blackmail; Shelby is terrible (sorry)

Also read on:  AO3  |  ff.net Summary: Jesse is summoned by Shelby and given an ultimatum. A change (a betrayal?) of that kind needs some sort of reason, though, even for a mess of a teenager like he is.

I know it’s been years, but I’m still pissed at the bad writing re: Jesse at the end of season 1. He did have his dickish moments throughout the episodes, sure, but such an abrupt change in behavior makes no sense – there was no context or explanation at all, and we deserved more, as did the characters. I don’t think the events in Funk were part of the plan from the start (because nothing that happens or is said beforehand supports it), and I’m convinced that it was a later development, and an unwelcome one at that.

Hence, this bridge-the-gap scene that’s been on my mind since the first time I watched the show. I’ve read some great fics about this plot point over the years; I guess it was time to write mine. it’s not elaborate nor particularly insightful – mostly Jesse being a conflicted teenager under pressure and (sadly) an all-around mess. I just wish they’d put something in the show so the whole situation would feel less out of the blue.

Lastly, sorry to Shelby fans, but I kind of hate her. Also, peer pressure is a bitch (and I’m sure it played a huge part in the whole debacle, even if I just hint at it in this fic).

“So, what happened to ‘I regret never getting to hold her’ and all that?” Jesse asked with a hard voice, and dropped his school bag unceremoniously on the ground. He was tired after the drive from Lima to Akron on a school-day afternoon, and annoyed about being rudely summoned like some sort of minion. (He guessed he was a bit angry at himself as well, because it was not like he’d protested all that much.) Mostly, though, he was pissed at Shelby for the way she’d treated Rachel, his anger fueled by the fresh memory of his girlfriend tearfully recounting how she’d been rejected by her mother. Again.

“I beg your pardon?” Shelby retorted, arching an eyebrow, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“That whole convoluted plan just so you could finally meet Rachel, and then that’s how you treat her?” Jesse tried to keep his voice steady, but the situation and Shelby’s blasé attitude were making his blood boil.

“Who do you think you are, our family counselor?” Shelby sneered, and Jesse barely suppressed the urge to up and leave right then and there. “What I decide to do with my life is none of your business.”

“It kinda is, though,” Jesse spat, bitterly. “Since, you know, Rachel is my girlfriend, and you are the one who forced me to take part in this charade!”

Shelby stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. “I seem to recall you being ok with it, mister ‘it’s going to be a good acting exercise’.”

“Well, I recall telling you I wasn’t all that comfortable with it anymore, and you ignoring me and even doubling down on it.”

“You seemed awfully comfortable with your spot amongst New Directions, though. And yet, you still went on spring break with Vocal Adrenaline,” Shelby mused, smirking unkindly.

Jesse inhaled sharply, clenched his fists and looked at his feet, the shame that had been in the back of his mind for the past months flaring up. “That’s not fair,” he whispered. “It was just Andy and a couple of others—they’re my friends…”

“Anyway,” Shelby interjected, matter-of-factly. “I don’t care about your holidays, and I don’t have any more time to waste. I told you to come here to say this—you’re coming back to Carmel by the end of the week.”

Jesse’s head shot up, and he stared at Shelby in utter bewilderment. “What? No!”

“Oh, I’m sorry—was there anything in our arrangement that made you believe I’d let you spend the rest of the year in that mediocre school?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from very word.

“But I thought—” Jesse frowned, and shook his head; he didn’t know how to finish the sentence (really, what had he been thinking?).

“You clearly didn’t,” Shelby said, raising her eyebrows. “I want you back in this auditorium by Friday. And I won’t be accepting excuses.”

“But I can’t!” Jesse pleaded. “What about Rachel?”

“Oh, Rachel understands that I’m not in the right headspace to be her mom at the moment,” Shelby answered, waiving her hand nonchalantly. “She was very sympathetic.”

Jesse’s anger came back in full force, burning at the pit of his stomach. “It was all a front, just so you know. She didn’t want you to feel like she was a burden, but honest to God, in hindsight she should have raged at you for being a —”

“Don’t you dare,” Shelby hissed, shutting him up. “You have no say in the matter.”

“I do, too! I’m owed the right to speak my mind,” Jesse exclaimed. “And whatever the circumstances, Rachel is still my girlfriend.”

“Yeah well, that has to end.”

Jesse deflated. “What?”

“I’m sure you realize that, if you come back to Vocal Adrenaline, you can’t keep dating the lead of New Directions,” Shelby said, with the tone one would reserve for an eight-year-old.

“But I don’t want to,” Jesse answered, his voice no more than a whisper.

“What was that?”

“I said, I don’t want to,” he repeated, standing a bit straighter.

“It was not a suggestion, Jesse.”

“I already told you, though! I like Rachel, for real. I know this all started as a ruse, but now I think I might even be—” Jesse couldn’t bring himself to finish his own thought. He was scared as hell to admit it to himself, let alone to Shelby.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like it’s ever stopped you before,” Shelby shrugged. “I gather your reputation as a callous, careless heartbreaker has to come from somewhere.”

Jesse didn’t know how to answer, because it was all true. And it stung like a bitch, especially because with Rachel everything had been different, was different, and he didn’t want to be that person anymore. He was starting to be ashamed of his old self—it was a weird sensation, but one he didn’t want to forego, and surely not in the way Shelby was ordering him to.

“Listen, I really don’t care about your imminent break-up with Rachel,” Shelby stated. “Just do it. And then come back here, ready to work.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to call the UCLA Admissions Office and have them revoke your scholarship,” she answered pointedly. “You know I have pull. Good luck asking your father for the money.”

Jesse was dumbfounded. No way in hell his father was going to give him a penny, let alone pay for his entire tuition. He wanted to say something, but the anger and dread he was feeling seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle for his voice.

This is practically blackmail, Jesse thought, annoyed. However, a part of his brain was more worried about disappointing yet another important adult in his life than about anything else. He hated Shelby for manipulating him and Rachel and the whole situation, but he was determined to not be looked at as ‘a failed project’ by anyone else. His family was already enough.

Lost in his thoughts, Jesse was beginning to hate himself as well, because he was actually considering going along with Shelby’s request. He couldn’t ask his family for money, and he couldn’t imagine not going to UCLA after boasting so much about it. In all honesty, he also couldn’t bear the thought of not winning his last national title as a senior; and God knows New Directions were not even close to being victory material, even with him as a member. Besides, no one liked him there or ever listened to him, even though they could really use his advice.

The thought of helming a great number and raising another national trophy was more and more appealing with every passing minute—and with that the certainty of actually being worth all the fuss, regardless of what his father always told him, and the confirmation his self-confidence (arrogance?) was not misplaced. The voice in his head (a voice that sounded painfully like Rachel’s) kept telling him he was reverting to his old dickish ways, but… well, he’d been suppressing that particular thought for a very long time.

After a while, Jesse lifted his head, his eyes meeting Shelby’s. He clenched his jaw, then nodded stiffly.

Shelby relaxed, and started gathering her things. “Good boy. Now, I want this break up with Rachel and with New Directions to be grand—there has to be no doubt that you have closed that door. Squash their morale, too, for good measure.” She shouldered her bag and started walking towards the exit. Then she turned around and added, almost as an afterthought: “I put Giselle in charge of the whole thing, by the way. Apparently, she already has some brilliant ideas or whatever. I don’t care what you do, just do it well. See you on Friday,” she said, before disappearing out the door.

Jesse sighed, and picked up his bag from the floor. Anger was still simmering somewhere in his guts, but it was being silenced by a wave of uneasiness and by a dull and persistent heartache. He grabbed his phone to check his notifications, and saw that Giselle had already written him a string of messages. He read them, purposefully ignoring the texts he’d received from Rachel in the meantime.

Jesse St. James, as I live and breathe. Ms Corcoran told me you’re coming back and let me tell you, fi.na.lly.  

Anyway, I’ve already started planning a couple of fun things to remind those losers who the superior show choir is

Tomorrow be here sharp and ready cause we start rehearsing

Also there’s gonna be something special just for your girlfriend – we’re not comfortable with you simply breaking up with her. It has to be hard and memorable,, you’ve already played mole before and we’re not willing to risk it

Stay tuned for that (and remember it’s a deal breaker if you want us to back you up as lead ever again)

Jesse groaned, already dreading whatever the hell was coming. He tried to suppress the shame he felt by imagining himself holding a fourth national trophy (which was easy) and trying not to think about Rachel (which was very, very hard).

He spent the drive home furiously wiping the tears off his cheeks.

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 25  (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 47,470

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 26, 

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else. 

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs. 

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 25:

(Words: 3,948)

“It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The thought of Peter making more of an effort, of him consciously choosing to pay me closer attention with the active intention of improving our friendship-- it isn’t the worst idea. If anything, it’s a rather attractive solution to a nonexistent problem. The suggestion alone is already prompting imaginary scenarios I refuse to acknowledge right now; though, inevitably, they’ll become daydream fuel within a couple days. Still, the whole plan is unnecessary, and I know it. I’m not angry with him anymore. I may have a few questions (some I plan on asking, some I’ll keep to myself), but if I do have any hidden resentment for his behavior stowed away in my subconscious, it’s as small and inconsequential as a handful of sand in the sea. Allowing him to carry this plan out would be using him. The pretenses would be false. 

Even apart from that, though, his texts gave off an odd, metallic aftertaste. The proposal reads mechanically-- it’s a scientific study with a simple hypothesis (and a reluctant dependent variable). It’s the idea of being a lab mouse, I think, that earns it the title the dumbest thing in my mind. It’s condescending. Even if tempting. 

Then again, I know Peter. I understand he doesn’t actually view me as a test subject to analyze and discard after the results come in. We’re friends. He feels bad and tossed out a poorly worded solution because he thinks I’m secretly pissed at him. It’s only an idea he offered, one I have full power to reject. 

Maybe I’m trying to dismiss it quickly because, if I’m being honest, I’m selfish. Selfishly, I want to say yes despite knowing the sort of negative message it would send to Peter. A small part of me is willing to let him feel worse so I can pretend his own guilty feelings are more significant than they really are. The possibility, the mirage just within reach, of balancing that tightrope between reality and fantasy with him is... alluring, to say the least.

And impossible. It would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would be.

Like blades slicing fruit in a blender, my brain whips through these thoughts within seconds. Across on her bed, Michelle’s expression can only be described as disapproving or faintly disgusted as she too digests Peter’s idea. It’s the male stupidity is endless look we share when near particularly annoying men in public. It’s not often one we have to exchange in reference to the boys; their moronic moments tend to be entertaining rather than obnoxious, ignorant, or misogynistic.

She meets my eyes, and I wonder if my face gives anything away. 

“That feels weird to me.” 

The sentence is a verbal tiptoe forward, an almost-question probe.

“It did sound weird saying it out loud,” I agree. 

“You know,” she says, her tone mildly serious as she sits up straighter. “You’re not obligated to say yes to everything because you don’t want to disappoint someone. Especially a boy. And especially if he’s trying to fix his dumb mistakes by pressuring you into something you’re not comfortable with.” She pauses, glancing at the ceiling and raising an eyebrow. “If you want, I can make him come to his senses.”

Michelle tightens her fists and mimes three exaggerated punches. I imagine it, amused: Before the bite, Peter wouldn’t have stood a chance against her if she really meant it; now, he’d probably put his arms up to block her blows, minimally annoyed, and wait for her to tire herself out. I roll my eyes and can’t help mirroring her smile. 

Nevertheless, her wording is…. 

The same question pops up for the millionth time. 

Do I want her to know?

“It’s Peter, it’s not, like, ‘a boy,’” I say first, air quoting the last words. Maybe later, depending. But for now, I’ll avoid it. “And I’ll pass, but I appreciate the offer. I’m not uncomfortable and he isn’t being pushy or anything. I only meant that the…” nearly impersonal approach to our personal relationship? “the hyperconscious wording is weird. I wouldn’t turn down free snacks if the offer wasn’t described as a….” situation in which he views us as mere associates or abstract friends--

Again, I remind myself he probably doesn’t see it that way. 

“Monitored social experiment with unequal power dynamics?” she offers.

That fits.

“Precisely.” 

She snorts. Shaking her head, Michelle pauses for a few more seconds. Mentally chewing it all over again, her expression bounces from annoyance to curiosity to neutrality to annoyance again to what looks surprisingly close to compromise or understanding. In the meantime, I focus on watching her facial journey and not thinking. 

In the tune of surrender, she sighs before she speaks.

“I’m sure he’s trying his best,” she says reluctantly, her hands opening outward like a shrug, “his best is just bad. If it were anyone else, I’d tell you to refuse and block them. But, as much as it pains me to admit, I think we both know him too well to think his motives are as stupid as his phrasing. If anything, he’s probably excited about his ‘new genius friendship plan.’”

Nodding, relief hums under my skin: I know she’s right. I mean, how many people would fight crime to protect countless strangers in their city, then turn around and have cold, detached views of their chosen, personal friends? 

“That’s true,” I say. “I should probably text him back, then.”

She holds up a finger as I reach for my phone.

“Still,” she adds with a tone of subtle authority, “it’s up to you. I’m not saying you should say yes -- no obligations, remember? -- I just don’t think you need to worry that he isn’t trying or isn’t being genuine. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Michelle’s stare lasts a moment longer, her sincerity as visible and certain as the brown of her eyes. After a second or two, she sits back onto her pillows and relaxes, turning to face the t.v. once again, leaving me to work out my final decision on my own. As I allow myself to reiterate my own arguments in my head, the Cullen family discusses the mythology of half human, half vampire fetuses with Jacob. 

It doesn’t take me long to reach a conclusion. Maybe it’s because I’m pretty tired, but the answer seems obvious, straightforward and simple in logic. I unlock my phone with the feeling Michelle knows exactly what I’m about to type. I begin to write the message I had settled on before: “I’ll think about it.” Simple and honest. And temporary.

But then something else pops into my brain, and, foolishly, I write that instead.

“What about you? Do you need new reasons to be around me?”

I send the text without a moment’s reflection. Rereading it, it sounds a little… coded, to say the least. Like a Freudian slip. Don’t overthink it. God, I hate Freud. But it does sound desperate. And awkward. Damn. It definitely does. It reminds me of the embarrassing things I used to post on social media in middle school, which I really shouldn’t think about either. 

I only wondered if the idea should go both ways. Instead, the message sounds insecure... which I am, I suppose, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Bubbles appear on his side. I resist the urge to send a series of backpedaling messages. They disappear. Again. My self control dissipates and I quickly send the original one: I’ll think about it.

Unthinking, I pull the small keychain out of my pocket as I wait for his reply and massage the edge. Sticking the pointed corner into my thumbpad, I accidentally dig it in harder than intended. And I realize something. 

The keychain was the first. The gifts or incentives or things. 

A flat click of a nearby door closing snaps my attention. The boys’ room? Glancing up, I see flash of Edward pleading with Jacob on the t.v. screen, and to my left, a shadow stepping up to the door. A gap in the golden line of outside light.

For half a minute, nothing happens. Aside from Rosalie shouldering past Jacob as he walks in to speak to Bella. After that, when it does come, the sound is soft.

Knock. Knock knock knock knock, knock knock.

It’s Peter. Ned’s knocking pattern is shorter.

The sound jolts my heart rate a smidge, like a phantom defibrillator.

Michelle’s head rolls to one side to stare at the hallway, her shoulders slumped in an I’m giving up posture. 

“That’s very obviously for you,” she says, pushing herself up and tossing the Twizzler bag on the nightstand, “so I’ll let you go deal with it. I think I’ll brush my teeth and get ready for bed.” She hops off the mattress, raises her arms, and stretches them from side to side. “You okay if we call it a night?”

“More than okay,” I say, standing up as well, the carpet cool under my toes. Once I speak to Peter, I’ll need to knock out. Otherwise my brain will spiral. And maybe, if all goes well, my dreams tonight will be better than staying up to snicker at this hilariously shitty movie. “But what if it is for you?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“Tell them I’m gone. Missing, dead, whatever.” Michelle clamps her eyes shut and sticks her tongue out to mimic cartoonish death. Then she pops back to life with a fake warning glare. “So long as no one bothers me.”

She hits the off button on the remote, Jacob and Bella dissolving into nothing, and as she trudges to the bathroom, I slip the keychain and a keycard back into my pocket before copying her arm stretch to calm my buzzing nerves. Michelle salutes me before turning and closing the bathroom door. I walk to the hallway’s. The handle is cold to the touch.

I swing it open. As expected: Peter. The empty space surrounding him is relatively quiet, only muffled laughter and television sounds coming from rooms at the opposite end. The air smells like linens, cleaning supplies, and artificial lavender. This too is as expected: the typical, sanitary comfort of staying in a nice hotel at night. I tell myself it’s a calming environment. 

Peter’s in his usual pajamas, an old beat up t-shirt and sweatpants, standing slightly to the left, hands clasped in front of him. His height drops a tiny bit at the sound of the door, like he was rocking from heel to toe a second ago, and as his eyes lift from the floor to meet mine, he smiles. A warm swooping sensation envelops my stomach. 

“Hey! You answered.” 

He almost sounds surprised. I make a face in response. 

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

I mean this as a joke, a reference to the couple late nights he’s shown up at my door (window, really) to clean or patch himself up before going home. As he knows, I’m not in the habit of shutting him out. 

Still, his head tilts and his eyebrows go up into an expression of, Well, you weren’t exactly answering me before. It isn’t a challenging or upset look. If anything, it’s almost flustered.

“Fair enough,” I concede, lukewarm guilt sticking in my throat. “I was thinking about it though, I promise, I just hadn’t decided for sure yet.”

He nods, fidgeting with his fingernails and momentarily glancing at the floor.

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, looking back up. His ears redden. “I, uh, phrased it pretty moronically. Or at least that’s what Ned said.” 

He takes a step or two back, closer to his door. It seems like an invitation to make the conversation more private, so I close mine and Michelle’s and step forward.

“All I meant,” he continues, his hands rolling over one another in gesture, “was that I thought it might be helpful if I did a few nice things for you when we get back. Not like I’m actually trying to condition you, like a, like a--”

“Dog?”

His hands halt and his face pinches into an expression that practically reads I am painfully aware of every mistake I have ever made and how the number continues to grow in marker across his forehead. His eyes retain a lightness though, the sort that suggests he’s able to laugh about it. He runs his right hand through his hair. Mine twinges.

“Exactly. I feel like that makes it seem kind of, um--”

“Bad?”

“Very bad,” he confirms, nodding. He takes a deeper breath, half smiling in an embarrassed, self pitying way. “I honestly forgot about that Pavlock stuff, I was just trying to use psych terms to make it sound more persuasive and, um, I don’t know, impressive?”

He shrugs and offers an I know I’m an idiot, but thank you for being patient smile. I bite my tongue against correcting Pavlov, which he seems incapable of pronouncing properly. Even when we studied for that exam, he only said it properly a handful of times, despite Michelle flicking bits of paper at him each time he said Pavlock.

I smile too, noting the irony. And I think of what she said: he’s trying his best, his best is just bad. It doesn’t seem so bad when he’s standing in front of me, though. If anything, it’s easy. 

“You mean,” I begin to ask, more to tease than to clarify, “as opposed to the highly offensive and disagreeable, ‘Hey, I want to make up for being a jerk, so I’m going to stash some snacks for you in my locker’?”

He bites his lip as if it’ll keep his grin pinned down, though it doesn’t really. A blush spreads across his cheekbones and for a split second, he looks away to the other end of the hall. When he looks back, his smile falters, just a little. The vulnerability reminds me of his apology last night, when he thought I was sleeping. 

“I was thinking maybe it’d be more than snacks?” he offers. “Like, I don’t know, I don’t really have it figured out yet, but hanging out a bit more? Movie nights or that sort of thing? Or if you have a lot of homework, we could study together and help each other stay focused?”

That last suggestion seems like an oxymoron. Study together to keep ourselves on track? It’s a laughable concept. Well, only if it’s--

“Just us?”

Peter freezes, his shoulders straightening slightly, his height rising a few millimeters. 

That is the central question, though. Whether it’s a positive or negative point toward my decision, I can’t tell. All the same, it’s been ages since we last tried studying together, just the two of us. It works best with Michelle and Ned there as well, seeing as we tend to get distracted. 

His eyes move quickly between mine as if he’s trying to read my thoughts before answering. He squints.

“Is that okay?” he asks, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I understand if not, if it’s uncomfortable or--”

I shake my head, putting my hand on his arm to stop him, only realizing it when his eyes flicker to that hand.

“Of course not,” I say, removing it. “I mean, of course it’s okay. We’ve hung out without Ned and MJ tons of times before. It’s been a while but it’s no big deal. That’d be fine.”

“Okay, good!” he says, the tension in his body evaporating. “That’s great!” 

His eyes have lit up. I imagine he’s relieved those two won’t be around the whole time to make fun of his movie choices or whatever he has planned. I try to hold a smile to reassure him and clear his doubts while internally pinching myself to remember to not think too much on this. There’s no need to dust off those old, useless daydreams of movie nights and falling asleep on his shoulder with his head atop mine and May lightly laying a blanket across us and all the rest. Absolutely no need. Shut it down.

He runs a hand through his hair, nodding in a way that’s usually accompanied by him saying cool, cool, cool, cool.

“Would Fridays be good for movie nights?”

I barely register the question before I answer it.

“Probably, sure. That should be alright.”

His smile widens and he shakes his head once and continues nodding. 

“Perfect! We can have it at my place.”

I nod back, chest tightening as I process. At the same time, I beg my brain not to process. Just for a minute. But then, since I refuse to let them move forward, the gears in my head turn backward, thoughts reeling like a bicycle chain. Judging by the look on Peter’s face, we’re realizing the same thing:

“Wait,” he says carefully. “So you’re saying yes? Like, you’re cool with it? You want to try?”

God help me.

“I suppose so,” I say. At hearing my own answer, a different type of swooping feeling runs from my feet up. The looking over a high balcony type.

“And we’ll figure the rest out later?” he asks.

“Peter, really, if you’re still planning on the locker snacks, that’s more than enough.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, that’s what you think because you’re being lame. And limiting. And--”

“Leaving?”

It’s time, definitely. I’d forgotten how blinding Peter’s excitement and positivity can be without interference. Today has been full enough, I should end this now. 

“That’s fair,” he says. “I think Ned rubbed off on me. All that obnoxious energy.”

He shakes his whole body as if ridding himself of said energy and I restrain myself from making a joke about his word choice. Instead, I nod and with an exasperated “Night, Peter,” and step back toward my room. He does the same, heading toward his. Just before he makes to use his keycard, he pivots back. 

“Wait! I almost forgot.”

I turn around and he’s closer than before. Peter suddenly looks particularly nervous, his head angled to the side like a question, his hands fumbling over themselves. His cheeks are reddening again too, spreading from his cheeks to his hairline.

“Yeah?”

He steps forward to place himself directly in front of me. His eyes flit a quick path which his hands follow-- they reach out to touch my elbows before jumping up to my shoulders, settling there almost steadily before shooting a little higher to suddenly but gently hold my head. And then he leans over and firmly kisses my forehead. As he pulls away, one hand disappears and the other musses up my hair.

What is he--? 

We both take a tiny step back. My pulse pounds as my thoughts blur into nothing but impressions of nonsensical, ridiculous questions my brain won’t dignify with clarity. Peter’s expression is halfway between an apology and.. a dare? His eyes are as wide as I know mine must be, but there’s something playing at his lips. For a second, it feels as though we’re balanced on a challenge neither of us is willing to answer. 

The bubble of the moment pops as he shakes his head and gestures vaguely to his and Ned’s room, his floundering arm movements returning him to the strong appearance of embarrassment.

“May,” he blurts, “Aunt May threatened to, uh, um, well, that part’s not really important, if I didn’t pass that along with ‘all her love.’” The red in his face deepens. “Apparently she’s not too happy I didn’t do that last night too.”

Of course. It makes immediate sense. The memory rushes back. She told him to do that to all of us when she dropped us off at the bus that morning. I might laugh at my own stupid shock and poor memory but I can’t seem to manage it. 

“Do you want me to get MJ too?” I ask, realizing May likely demanded that he make the rounds. Maybe this is what started that play fight between him and Ned tonight. Either Ned dodged it or made a joke about wishing May were there to do it herself. 

It clicks together.

“What?” He looks lost, his head tilted to the side, brow knotted up. “What do you mean?”

“Unless, do you want me to pass it along from May?”

The realization hits across his face. He shakes his head rapidly.

“No, no, no, she’d probably kill me if I tried to do that to her. But, I mean, if you want to pass it along-- or just tell her to lie if May asks. She probably won’t, honestly, but, you know, just in case.”

His shrug and half smile are practically helpless. May ought to have more mercy on him. And me. 

“Alright.” A grin breaks over my face in a way I don’t quite understand and can’t stop. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Right. Goodnight, then. See you in the morning.”

“Night, Peter.”

Rather than stepping back, as intended though, I rush forward. Involuntarily, or at least I’ll pretend, since it’s just as surprising to me as it is to him, I lean forward and kiss his cheek. Or try to. It happens too quickly to register fully, but I’m almost positive I knick the corner of his mouth? That would definitely be unintentional.

“ThatwasforMay,” I explain, stumbling backward. Seeming to sense it, Peter grabs my arm to steady me before I trip outright. He releases his grip and stares, stunned. 

If I thought his eyes were wide earlier, it turns out they can open much wider. His pupils are comically blown open. 

“What?” he asks, seeming concerned. “What was that? I, uh, I didn’t catch what you said.”

“That was, um, that was for May. You know, in exchange.”

That’s perfect. For the first time in a while, my brain saves me.

His face, though still flushed red, relaxes.

“You’ll see her tomorrow,” he points out. “Like, we’ll all see her at the same time. It’d be kind of pointless to pass that on, wouldn’t it?”

Shit. My brain is useless.

“Then, uh… keep it?”

His facial muscles twitch as if he’s glitching between a smile and bewilderment. Then a flint of mischief.

“Unless,” he says slowly, “you want me to pass it along to Ned?”

“And it’s official,” I say, resisting the urge to smack him. “Goodnight!”

He grins as near as he ever gets to a smirk (a term I associate too closely to ass-hattery to assign to him) and I turn to my room as he repeats it back.

We both step to our doors and open them. I glance back just in time to see him practically jump into his room with a speed that reminds me he’s a superhero, even if he’s an idiot. Filled with tangled emotions, I pause, listening or waiting or catching my breath. I only need a moment.

Behind his and Ned’s door, there’s a sudden crash, a sound like leaping bedsprings and something smashing, immediately followed by Peter groaning and Ned’s mocking laughter. Right before I go to my own room, I hear Peter’s exasperated voice: Shit! Dude, can you help me fix it? 

The room is dark when I slip back inside but the alarm clock shines enough red to see vague outlines of the walls and dressers and beds. Legs slightly numb, I stumble my way to the small bathroom to get ready for bed. It only takes a couple minutes, distracted as I am. 

I slip into the blankets of my bed. The warm body heat next to me can only mean one thing: Michelle.

It’s just one of those unspoken things. 

Next update: God only knows.

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, send me a(n) ask/message or reply* to this post!

*Notice: If you reply, I may not respond back; if you need/want confirmation, send me an ask/message instead :) Also, there are a few blogs whose tags aren’t working and I haven’t been able to contact them. For the time being, I removed most of the dead tags.  If you weren’t tagged and should have been, or if you’ve changed your url, send me a quick message and I’ll put you on my message list!

Tagged: (If I’m missing anyone, send me a message!) @spideymood @solarspidey @tiffanypooh @carrotsunshine  @breebree1198 @idontlooklikereginageorge @stumb1ing @bit-bot0711  @justthatshortlittlenerd  @avzuzu   @melonmochi   @happysynonym @the-redthread  @i-love-superhero @ohgloryyy-blog @nicunty @pxrrished @shugr12110629 @realitykilledtheteen @thehanneloner @lionfart   @tryn25 @slythergirlimagines @twentyjuanpancakes @hollandorks  @littlekay15  @hi-mishamigos  @eversweet-imagines  @thisisthetragicstoryofme @augurydemon @daisy-john @siriuspadfoot14 @debiwolf-t @casual-vaporwave @swimmeranxiety @dangerousluv1   @ghosthiam @homecomjng  @deep-thoughts-in-the-shower @bughead-isendgame @qu3en-of-letters @brightcolorsoffendme @cutehollands @enoumen-t  @dottirose @justthatshortlittlenerd  @thatgirlthatlikesmarvel @moonofmy-life @royal1958  @ashleyhearto   @pinkleopardss @cutie1365  @spideyschmood @dragoste-lunes @peterparkley  @gold-masks @stonesandskeletonbones @myhealingstar  @a-typical-antisocial-fangirl   @love-and-protect-bucky-barnes @fangirldreamsandstuff  @fandom-stuff  @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @jellzu  @aussie-mantle @stevieboyharrington  @septicquill @thingfromlove  @dude-whatawave   @me-a-hopeless-romantic @condy-wants-a-cookie  @susurrantsoul  @kawaii-girl-101  @lxstneverfound  @ukulele-tea-and-ocean @tepidtrash @emilymarie0422 @styles-bucks @shortstack-ofpancakes @lilbeatlebear @imyourdadssideblog  @the-introverted-loner-art @marvelcuties @lesdragly @atomic-chickenwings  @reanne @schwankyblock @nedthegay @kateelyse96 @outsider-underwater @omg-lexiloveyou @le-yona  @desteweirdo @thingfromlove @madasameg @bookish-and-shy @lowkeyfriggason @aelinashryv 

[avenger-hawk]

I know you've said before that you liked sasukarin based on their moments in canon, have you ever considered Itachi/Karin?

(actual Sasuke face when he finds out lol)

Not much actually, mostly because while I am intrigued by Sasuke’s interactions, based on existing or even just possible interactions with many characters, I’m less interested in Itachi’s, so I haven’t given much thought about themeven though he has many possibilities as well.

Itakarin is one of those possibilities and even though I wouldn’t search for fics about them lol, I think it could be a cute pairing, where they balance and compliment each other fine. Itachi is silent, mysterious, composed, stoic, very strong both mentally (his resolve and determination) and physically (not stamina but ability), and he’s very assertive although in a silent, manipulative way, not always acting in-your-face directly, while Karin is direct, loud when she’s comfortable, but also very serious, well organized and veery empathic although it’s something she keeps inside, just like Itachi keeps his sensitive side hidden. 

So I’m ok with it as long as Sasuke is portrayed as he is, and not as a jealous violent ass*ole like I’ve seen to often, while Itachi is meek and nice and bonds with Team Taka who end up preferring him to their bitchy leader. (I’ve seen things Anon, certain fics and certain authors really like to write this kind of shit)

I can already hear the gears of some blogs who are blocked along with their buddies so they shouldn’t read my posts,that are never tagged as #itachi, who are so against keeping Itachi’s threatening aura and his strength as part of his portrayal, but still, this is my blog and this is my opinion and it would be better for them not to lurk where they aren’t welcome (and they aren’t welcome because they bitch all the time about my opinion, not because I hate them. just to remind you guys some context before I get to the reply).

The first context that comes to my mind for them is either one where Itachi doesn’t die at the end of his fight against Sasuke. Maybe Sasuke, who sustained a lot of damage as well, collapses before he does in canon, like after Itachi frees him from Orochimaru’s curse mark. And Itachi collapses too but he doesn’t die, or maybe he stays awake but weakened and Team Taka arrive to the fighting place as Sasuke doesn’t come back and Karin feels his chakra weak and gets worried. And they find Itachi acting hostile and telling them to leave and let them fight…He’s obviously acting but he seems threatening and scary even if he’s wounded. BUT Karin can tell if one lies, it’s her ability, and even though she’s almost fooled by his as he’s the best liar, she senses something…a warm chakra flare, sort of, when he looks at Sasuke.

So while Suigetsu and Juugo are worried about Sasuke, Karin observes Itachi, uncharacteristically for her who’s always focused on Sasuke. 

“You…you’re lying” she blurts out, but no one pays attention to her, also because Kisame arrives as well…so while Suigetsu and Juugo defend an unconscious Sasuke from him, and Kisame taunts him, remembering the last time he beat up Sasuke, at the inn. Suigetsu resumes his fight against him and in the meantime Juugo has one of his moments, fueled by all those strong chakra…he turns into his beastly self and takes Sasuke in a way that looks more like manhandling…maybe he wants to take him away to protect him, maybe he wants to do bad things to him, no one really knows but Itachi jumps in front of Sasuke and faces Juugo, scaring him until he calms down.

“You lied…you are lying. You love Sasuke” she repeats, and this time Itachi loses his mask for a second…enough for Juugo to sense something as well, or maybe just to see a resemblance with Sasuke. It’s useless to say he wanted Sasuke’s eyes so he didn’t want Juugo to kill him before he did…Karin understands his lies now. So he tells a half truth…but she knows there is more. And also the others, Kisame is familiar with villages doing horrible things in secret, and the other are familiar with horrible things in general. 

They take Sasuke to a safe place and heal him, and Karin insist for healing Itachi too but he refuses. He tells her the truth about his health, she gets upset because she can only imagine how badly Sasuke will suffer if he loses him, Itachi isn’t sure, he thinks Sasuke will want to kill him when he wakes up, truth or not, and he’s ready for that, he wants to die by his hands. 

When Sasuke wakes up he’s told the truth by Karin and the others, so it’s traumatic but in a different way compared to canon Obito telling him. They are more supportive (and they don’t tie him up lol). Sasuke at first thinks they’re all crazy, that it’s a genjutsu, that they’ve been manipulated by his brother…then Itachi enters the room and you can see Sasuke’s eyes widen in fear, in anger, in surprise…Itachi shows him the truth as he did in his Edo Tensei form and the younger is shocked, so much that he has a panic attack. 

When he wakes up he seems his comrades and Itachi. Karin assures him that he’s not lying anymore…He has mangekyou for the shock of the truth, of reliving his parents’ deaths, and he wants revenge on Konoha, but he has another priority, now that he knows that his brother is dying. Saving him. 

Karin’s chakra can make him feel better so he regularly bites her in the meantime. Needless to say since we’re talking about Itakarin and I’ve made it more Sasukecentric (sorry!) they get closer and closer, as they’re travelling she always stays by his side (when he’s not with Sasuke ofc). And let’s say Kisame spends time with Suigetsu because senpai-kouhai, while Sasuke is with Juugo (I just love them ok).

And ofc when Sasuke finds out, or more like, when Karin tells him, he’s very happy for them as jealous Sasuke doesn’t exist, he just wants Itachi to be happy.

Anyway maybe Juugo’s chakra can save Itachi, or heal him and keep him alive if he takes it regularly. Or:

-they’re gonna look for Kabuto and make him heal him…Kabuto wants, and I quote the manga, ‘an alive Uchiha’ for his experiments so Sasuke offers himself ofc, Itachi is healed and then he finds out what his brother did (Karin tells him, she may be Itachi’s gf now but she loves Sasuke as a special friend, a brother even, the one who saved her) and they defeat Kabuto and take Sasuke back.

-Kabuto can’t do anything so Sasuke becomes angry and dark and decides to attack Konoha to get his revenge for what they did, now that his brother will die with no possibility to save himself…he doesn’t take Itachi who’s really sick and who wouldn’t want this, and Karin is with him. He and the rest of Team Taka (bonus Kisame) face Konoha shinobi and during the fight Tsunade actually listens to why he’s doing this, and she offers him a deal: she can’t go back in time to prevent the massacre but she can change Danzo with treason and sentence him to death, in a way that will make everyone understand his actions were wrong, thus restoring the Uchiha clan reputation. And she can cure Itachi, or try to.

Sasuke accepts, and she finds a way to use Karin and Juugo’s chakra to heal him forever, and his honor is restored as well.

So they can live in Konoha or keep travelling, it’s up to them.

And in all this Karin is beside him.

Wow, as you can tell this kinda grew on me as I was writing this :)

[dabblinginmarvel]

The Mechanic

Request: None.

Plot: Tony volunteers to fix your car after it breaks down.

Blog Tag: @princessleah129 (Because you expressed an interest in Tony last week.)

A/N: Totally and shamelessly based upon me. I needed it after having a tough day. I finished this before I found out the correct diagnosis of my car, but this was fun to imagine.

Warnings: None

Word Count Total: 896

Short Imagine #289

Title: The Mechanic

You grumbled, devastated. This was not how you wanted your day to go. You had been bound and determined to have a good day and end the week well before you started you weekend, but this was going to throw an absolute wrench in your plans.

You knew your car was old, but you hadn’t anticipated it needing this much help.

“Oh, my dear,” you muttered. “You are getting old. Please don’t make me replace you.”

You had stupidly done the human thing everyone does and assigned an emotional bond to your vehicle. It was your baby.

It didn’t help that it had come from a close family member.

You tried to start the engine, in hopes that it had just sputtered and you could get home after your shift, but it didn’t catch. It turned, but without catching, the car was not going anywhere.

Your pride was too great to ask for help, but you knew that you weren’t going to have much of a choice in the matter.

You texted Tony as a last resort. You had nothing you could do. On that note, you went off to your shift and tried to make it a good day despite the trouble. Every so often, you’d check in with Tony when you could between maintenance on system machines to describe your problem.

At least she went out when I was just about done parking, you messaged.

Mind if I come take a look?

You grimaced. Actually, a little, I’m trying to keep it quiet. I work on machines here, I don’t want people knowing I can’t take care of my own car.

Yeah, but if she’s not running, how are you going to get her out?

You were stumped. Tony had a point. Fine, I’ll take lunch around noon.

As it turned out, after a look under the hood, Tony had determined it was best to look at more in depth and had it towed to his personal garage. He also promised to come by later and pick you up. You had to watch them steer her on and chain her wheels before the tow truck drove away.

While you finished your shift, Tony read up on the potential problem, then picked you up.

You two rode in silence most of the way back, only talking about how your day with the animals went (slowly, as it turned out, there was little else to do besides the daily maintenance).

He dropped you off at your home, then promised to be by in the morning to take you to work again. He told you that you could stay at his place that night while he did work on your car. You agreed with a grateful smile.

He was there like he said and the day went well. You were, however, a bit confused when Happy picked you up instead.

“He’s been working on your car all day,” Happy explained.

“Oh. Then thank you, Happy.” You slide into the front with him.

“Always a pleasure.”

He let you chat animatedly about feeding creatures and how excited everyone was that you were staying on long-term. His smile was genuine and he seemed interested in what you had to say. Of course, Tony would be, too, but he was busy.

Happy took you down to the garage when you two arrived at Tony’s place, then he left you with Tony.

Tony slid out from under your car, a white tank top on and greasy gloves on his hands. He lifted his safety glasses. “Alright, so this may take longer than I anticipated.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s your fuel pump.”

You groaned. That meant your entire fuel tank had to come out to access it. “Noooooo….”

Tony stood up and took off his gloves. You handed him his water bottle and noticed a stain on his top. It looked fresh.

“Is she leaking something?” you asked tentatively.

He shook his head. “No, that was me. Nothing to do with your car.”

“Okay.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your hair slowly loosening in its elastic confines.

He reached out to grab your hand. “Hey. I’ll get this fixed. I promise.”

“Tony, I can’t ask you to worry about this.”

“You didn’t. I volunteered. Besides, it’s nice to be working on a car again. To fix things. It makes me feel like I’ve earned Harley’s nickname for me.”

You smiled. “Alright. Thank you, Mr. Mechanic.”

“Anytime.” He looked like he had a question for you, then quickly changed the subject. “In the meantime, Happy would be delighted to help you with whatever you need.”

“Did you just volunteer him for something again?”

Tony barked out a laugh. “Noooo….”

You crossed your arms and raised your eyebrow.”Oh, alright. Maybe I did.”

“Well, then maybe Happy should be thanked for all the crap you throw his way. He ought to have a medal, or something. ‘Able to dodge anything Tony Stark throws his way.’”

You both laughed, then realized your hands were still connected. You quickly dropped them, then looked away. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to take good care of my girl. I should go change out of my uniform into those extra clothes I brought.”

“Right,” he echoed softly, watching you back away, an awkward smile on your face, then hurry up the steps out of the garage.

- - -

Masterlist on blog!

Permanent Tag List (please alert me if you change your username, want to be tagged for only one character, or if you want to be untagged): @abbybills22​, @breezy1415​, @coffeebooksandfandom​, @cxptain-americaa, @deceivedeer, @dreamer821, @everything-but-the-not-natural, @elxrini, @fangirling-equestrian, @feelmyroarrrr, @hellomissmabel, @httpmcrvel, @iamwarrenspeace, @kudosia, @m4df4n, @marrvelle-fics, @mindlessnerd89, @ms-cellanies, @mylittlefandomfanfictions, @princessleah129, @space-helen, @susiejustsusie, @tea-with-loki, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @wired-girl @wkndfrvr, @wxnchestervevo (tag list is open!!)

Strikethroughs are blogs I can’t tag.

[ttomatoez]

Anata no Koe

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13125325/1/Anata-no-Koe

Summary:  "The one who filled his lonely existence with the emotion called love was Sakura." - Kishimoto. Post-war, SasuSaku fluff and bonding.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Rating: T

A/N: I’m super new to tumblr (as far as posting goes), but I’ve always gotten my ff recommendations from this site, so I thought I’d post some of my own work here to share it with you guys! One day I hope to live up to the same standard as all the wonderful ff I’ve read over the years, but in the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this fic. :)

-CH. 1: 白詰草 - White Clover

She looks happier; peaceful, even.

It's the first thing he notices as he watches her emerge from the shadows outside his holding cell, wordlessly following the brush of her pink hair against the curve of her neck with his mismatched eyes as she steps down the stairs into the light.

He can already tell she's calmed down a lot. There's a softness to her features that he hasn't seen on her before, but he thinks he likes it. He likes the grace in which she walks in her heeled sandals, diligently focused on the metal tray full of first-aid supplies nestled in her arms (as if somehow the pair of quivering glass bottles are what she's been chasing after for so many years and not him). His gaze lingers, calm and curious on the angle of her jaw as she bends to place the tray on one of the visitors stools. It must be the serene expression on her face that's making his chest tighten. The natural arch of her brow leading down to the curve of her lashes, blinking softly. Or the warm half-smile at her lips that could just as easily be a smirk if only he were able to reach into her mind and access her thoughts.

"Sasuke-kun," she says lightly. The shy smile at her lips is soothingly familiar, but it's contradicted by the concerned pinch of her brows as she lifts her head to meet his gaze.

The smile is fake. She's upset.

For the moment, all is still and silent in the hollow, underground caves that have contained him over the past day and a half as they stare at each other in silence. Foreign chakra flickers like static around the otherwise ordinary steel bars, likely sealed three or more times to keep him from escaping. It would take a lot more than that to lock him up for more than five minutes, but he hasn't said anything about it. The drive to fight is lost on him now, discarded right along with his left arm and whatever else remained of his inner demons back at the valley of the end. If he still has any negative feelings buried underneath the numbness in his heart, he hasn't noticed. All that's left of his former self now is an empty shell, a broken bird with the world at its throat.

He looks away discretely, jaw tightening in frustration and shame, absorbing all the unspoken feelings smoldering in her gaze from the other side of the bars. She doesn't have to say anything for him to see what's inside her heart. There's so many conflicting emotions there: disappointment, confusion, anger, hurt, fear, but most of all concern. Concern, not for herself but for him. He's seen the same gut-wrenching pain reflected in her jade eyes over the course of several years, always born from the consequences of his selfish actions, always so selflessly forgiving... It's hard not to recognize it on a surface level - it's Sakura, after all - but without the blind rage and adrenaline-fueled hatred there to cloud his perceptions, he feels it start to gently penetrate the walls of his heart in a way that he can only describe as uncomfortable. For the first time, he can't bring himself to look at her.

She looks off nervously as well, following suit, the smile on her lips settling into an even line. What he may not realize is that over the years, she's become an expert at interpreting all of his non-verbal gestures. If he knows what's in her heart, she knows what's festering in his equally as well (to some extent), but she knows him well enough not to bring it up. For him to simply acknowledge her feelings like this is enough of an apology for right now, so she doesn't mind returning the favor by not pressuring him for more. Maybe someday they'll both be comfortable with expressing themselves out loud, but that day isn't today.

"How's your arm?" she asks, attempting to steer the conversation along. The bandages around his stump are still fresh from when she first put them on a day or so ago while he and Naruto were still unconscious. She did her best to close the opening, cauterizing it with chakra before covering it in healing ointment and wrapping it in several layers of thin gauze, but she knew that the blood would begin to build up again at some point and she would need to come back and change it.

That's what the first-aid supplies are for.

"It stings," he mumbles, glancing at it as if it belonged to someone else.

"Ahh," A genuine smile curls at her lips that he doesn't see. "It'll do that."

Behind him she's already started shuffling the items around in the tray, ripping the gauze into sheets and wetting them with saline. At first it's little more than background noise but curiosity gets the better of him eventually, and he finds himself once again quietly following her movements as if he were a child drinking in new information.

At one time, it must have been around age thirteen, he remembered his distaste for the pinkette had been so strong that he swore he wouldn't touch her if she were the last woman on the planet. He used to find creative places to eat lunch and take shortcuts through the forest just to avoid talking to her, but that had been a different Sakura the whole time. This Sakura; the one with sparkling green studs in her ears who's taller and blinks slower when having a conversation. This Sakura who is not so helplessly clumsy, who measures liquids with her lips slightly parted and barely looks at him anymore, even if it's just long enough to see all the minor ways in which he's changed in such a short amount of time. What would his younger self say if he saw the woman she is now?

They make eye contact as she carefully gathers the tray back into her arms. It feels electric - almost as if nothing ever happened between them in the first place - and she finds herself melting under the smoldering intensity of his gaze. Part of her yearns to know what he's hiding from her; the interest is there, taunting her from the depths of his natural eye. Burning, unyielding. It's the same look she recognizes from the battlefield when he'd caught her delicately under his arm, drinking her in as she drifted in and out of consciousness. At the time she assumed it was love, or at least something like it, but she was wrong.

She looks away for the second time, severing the connection faster than the heat can finish rushing into her face.

"Your bandages need to be changed every two days to prevent infection," she says evenly. The door to his cell would be hell to open for him, but it opens easily enough for her, allowing her to slip through and close it back behind her without ever coming close to dropping the tray. "Right now I'm doing it, but you should be able to yourself after a few sessions - oh, you don't have to stand, Sasuke-kun!"

It's as if she'd anticipated the pain, because by the time the stabbing sensation reaches his chest through his back, she's already lightly dropped the items and rushed to his side to hold him up.

"Here," she says, guiding him back to the wooden bench he was sitting on before. "Sit."

He's sure he must look like an old man, but that's really the least of his worries as he clutches his shirt tightly with the only hand he has left. The pain is similar to what he imagines it feels like to be stabbed by a fistful of chidori; duller and more achey but similar. Is it even possible to feel internal bleeding? Sakura answers his questions with her eyes faster than he can ask them.

"Lean back and relax," she says - it's really more of an instruction - as the pain slowly starts to recede, decaying gradually under the green hue of her chakra pressed to his chest. "I knew there was going to be a little bit of pain from muscle exhaustion, but I healed every major issue I saw when we found you."

Her hands are soft in contrast to the hardened look on her face, slim pink brows drawn together in concentration. The chakra pouring into him is light like a caress, and as more of the pain starts to disappear, he even catches the sweet scent of flowers that's probably her shampoo.

"Sakura-" he grinds out.

"Hush."

He gives her hand a squeeze. At first she thinks it's for comfort, instantly taking her back to their struggles in the chunin exams, but she realizes too late that he's actually pulling it away.

"Just leave it," he says.

Her frown deepens as she slips her hand from his grip. On her face are the words I don't understand.

"Sasuke-" she responds, omitting the honorific. "You're in pain."

When he doesn't look at her she knows there's something else there, but it's not the normal, everyday 'tsk', or 'you're annoying'. It's something deeper; something he probably doesn't even fully comprehend himself. He has a terrible track record of suffering in silence, which is something that has always annoyed her about him, but she continues to try and help him regardless. Even when he doesn't want it.

Her jade eyes blink at him for a few seconds, grasping for the tools to understand but receiving nothing. He's panting lightly now, and there's even a faint tic forming at his brow indicative of frustration.

"At least let me-"

"Sakura."

Naturally, she doesn't make it any easier for him to forget she's there.

The next few seconds pass by wordlessly. He wishes he knew what to say to make her stop worrying, but worrying for Sakura is like breathing and there's probably nothing he can do that will make the medic in her disappear. It's annoying, genuinely, but in a way that's justified by the part of him that isn't quite so wrapped up in his own stubbornness. In other words, his inner self; the part of him that's sealed under strict lock and key and that's often overpowered by his outward persona. The real Sasuke is a lot more docile and caves easily whenever she appears upset or needy. He's calm and curious at the same time but still excitable, much like his older brother, with a rather long-standing, subconscious need to love and be loved by someone that won't eventually disappear. Sakura has the ability to give him that, but that's perhaps what scares him the most about her.

He feels her shoulder shuffle against him and hazards a glance, only to find her pouting like a schoolgirl, lips slightly pursed, eyes downcast and focused on something in the distance. He can't help but look at her skeptically, a small smirk forming on his lips; the last time he saw that face, it was on a much younger version of herself. A much more energetic and aggressive version that once loved him with the strength of her entire being. Always chasing after him, dying for reciprocation. It's funny how simply seeing him in pain is enough to make her forget about all of those conflicting emotions he saw in her earlier. Now she's back to being Sakura again; the same girl that held him in her arms through all of his recklessness, shedding countless tears over his well-being and selflessly shouldering his pain whenever he lacked the ability to express it. She was there even when it put herself in danger. Even when he was the one doing it to her...

He leans his head back and sighs, resting his neck on the padding. The pain in his chest has dulled; he's starting to acclimate to it.

"I deserve it, Sakura," he says finally. "For what I've done."

Her eyes are on him again as he studies the intricate patterns decorating the cave ceiling. Before she speaks, she takes a second to think.

A statement like that is hard to deny when she considers how much trouble he's caused; how many people have lost their lives, directly and indirectly, as a result of his actions. It wasn't even that long ago that he'd betrayed them all completely, punching her through the gut and into a genjutsu. And if that isn't enough of a reason, he then threatened to take control of all the shinobi villages at all of their expense.

As if they meant nothing to him... As if she meant nothing.

The question of whether to forgive him or not weighed heavily on her at some point several months ago - she grieved for a full year when he left the village - but she's past the point of hating him now she thinks. Hatred is like a very strong poison, silent and contagious; it's what drove him to do most of what he did in the first place, but like all poisons, there's an antidote by the name of love. She decided a long time ago not to follow in that cycle, if she were even able to at all. If Naruto doesn't hate him, then neither does she.

He flinches at the sudden warmth of her fingers sliding over his knuckles to grasp his hand. It's such a foreign feeling that he figures it has to be an accident and attempts to tug it back, but (surprise) she doesn't let him go.

"What about if I have mercy on you then?" she replies to his earlier comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He doesn't realize how deadly he looks right now as he flicks his gaze on her, pinning her there with the weapons that are his eyes as if to say what are you doing? Sakura thinks that in his confusion he looks somewhat like a caged animal preparing to pounce at the slightest wrong touch, but it's strikes her more as cute than frightening. Sasuke's panic response has always been defensive rage, but the circumstances are in her favor this time since he's stuck here with her for the immediate time-being. Unbeknownst to her though, he's long forgotten the question.

Before he realizes it he's tracing her movements again, watching her like a hawk as she grasps his hand in both of her palms, slowly bringing it up to rest on her cheek. To his surprise, she closes her eyes, nuzzling it gently as if it's something precious to her.

...

His eyes widen. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry.

"We missed you Sasuke-kun," she says as her eyelids carefully lift to reveal a pair of somber green eyes, glistening now from welled up tears, still clutching his hand to her cheek. It's not that he's afraid to move it - maybe he would if he could - but his body has locked up entirely against his will. He can't move it.

"We all missed you, and-" There's that same bashful look again. How is it possible that he's the only one making eye contact? "W-We forgive you...ya know..?"

Her hands form nervous fists at her sides, but he doesn't seem to notice. She takes a quick glance at his face; it looks like he's been punched in the gut.

"That message is from all of us," she mumbles, fully aware of the heat spreading over her cheeks. She wishes he would say something; she can't stand the silence as it compels her to keep talking. "Even though you're locked up right now, it's only because Tsunade-sama is still out of the village You're fully pardoned, it's just that the council—ha?"

She jumps slightly, green eyes widening at the feel of his hand sliding slowly down her jaw, taking its time over her neck, before coming to rest on her shoulder.

His grip tightens, clutching her as his head gently lowers, shading his face with his bangs. The urge to pull her into him is so strong he can hardly stand it, but there's still a barrier there that pushes her away with equal force. The walls around his heart are still so impenetrable that sometimes, not even he can override them. No matter how much he wants to feel her head on his shoulder, tears of joy staining his shirt as she clutches him with the intensity he knows she's been repressing under fake smiles and gestures of strength for at least the past few years, he can't seem to make himself move.

"Sasuke-kun?" Her brows furrow gently but part of her is still able to understand. She feels the invisible pull of his heart as if it were made of gravity.

She moves before he has the chance to, gently wrapping her arms around him as if she were a blanket, gathering him into a warm hug that gradually tightens as she tries to hold back the tears that have already started to leak out of the corners of her eyes.

‘We forgive you.’

Somehow he thinks it will take him longer than a few minutes, or even a few days, to soak in those words, but in this moment he's thankful (almost as much as he is overwhelmed) for her presence; her touch, her scent, her voice...

He blinks into her shoulder, arm hovering over her lower back as he moves his head to look at her face. Physically, it feels the same as when she hugged him back at the hospital when they were genin. She's still just as soft and warm and feminine as she was back then, eyes squeezed shut in happiness, latched to him with every ounce of love left in her being. It's always been a lot for him to process - it still is - but he feels more now that he's ever felt in the past. Even as his arm squeezes her closer, softly succumbing to her efforts as he buries his face in her neck, he still feels paralyzed by insecurity and the weight of exactly how much he doesn't know. It's always just been easier to sever the bonds, but he's past that now.

"Sakura," he mumbles into the fabric of her collar, eyes softened and glazed over in concentration.

The past several hours left alone with nothing but his thoughts have had a substantial effect on him, giving him the opportunity to ponder over a litany of things; things that bother him, things that he thinks shouldbother him, things that don't even concern him... Now that the war is over, his goals achieved, he can't help but wonder what to do next. Did he even have a choice in the matter? Sure he's been pardoned, but was he really that innocent in the eyes of the village?

Her cheek brushes the side of his head as she turns to look at him. "Mm?"

He hesitates, closing his eyes against the comfort of her shoulder. "What do you think I should do?" he says. "About the village?"

.

.

.

She tries hard to swallow the sting of uneasiness lingering in her gut as she packs the extra gauze back in its wrapper, tossing his old, bloody ones on the right side of the tray where she'll be able to throw them away later. If only she'd been more prepared for that question, maybe she could have given him a better response than what she did...

‘Don't worry about the village. Worry about being a better you.’

Back over on the bench he looks over his new bandages, gripping his fingers as she'd told him to do to better adjust to the stiff material. Whatever he's thinking in that head of his, somehow, she feels like she only made things worse.

"Thank you, Sakura," he says as she lifts the tray back into her hands, ready to leave. At first she thinks it's just for the bandage change, but it's overreaching and actually applies to multiple things. He has the world to thank her for, but all she can seem to picture right now is the night he left, his words to her, and how she'd woken up to a cold bench at her back and a huge hole in her heart.

"Sasuke-kun," she bites her lip, brows drawing together in concern as she looks at him, at the sudden distance between them.

‘Please be here when I get back.’

"I'll be back in two days," she says, and he watches quietly as she disappears into the shadows, the sweet scent of cherry blossoms lingering in the air.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (94/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[26 May 234 Before Age.   Interstellar Space.]

It was taking too long.

Aboard the Emerald Eye, Zatte stood in the engineering room and held her finger over a button on on of the consoles.  Next to the button was a time display, which counted down to zero.   When that moment arrived, she would press the button, which would disengage the ship's hyperspatial drive.  After that, she would take sensor readings and compare them to other readings she had taken several hours earlier.   After that, she would begin laboriously calculating the ship's position relative to her destination.  

Normally, all of this would have been done automatically by the ship's computer, but its navigational functions had been sabotaged by King Rehval's agent, Pozet.   Pozet's mission was to keep Zatte out of the way while the rest of Rehval's plan fell into place.   Zatte had destroyed her hours ago, but she had to admit that the miserable creature had probably succeeded anyway.   Pozet's original plan was to confuse the navigational computer by replacing its charts and tampering with its fundamental understanding of the universe.    The genius of this had been that the ship appeared to be working properly.    It set a course and followed it perfectly.  The only problem was that it now believed the shortest distance between two points was an elliptic curve, so the ship simply flew laps in space, unaware that it was getting nowhere.  Zatte had solved that problem by disconnecting the navigational system altogether.    Her plan was to fly the ship manually, and navigate by the stars, but this was no simple matter.    The longer it took, the more Zatte wondered if her efforts made any difference.

At last, the timer reached its end, and Zatte pressed the button just as the display read zero.   The engines made a low hum as they reduced power and the ship returned to normal space.  She sighed with relief, then activated the ship's sublight thruster.   With that, she turned on one heel and left the engine room to go to the observation deck.

Ideally, Zatte would have done all of this from the bridge, where engineering and sensor controls could all be accessed from a central location.   But the bridge had been badly damaged during the fight with Pozet, and it would take days of repairs before life support could be restored there.   In any event, the ship needed to move through space for a least a half hour so the sensors could get the necessary data for her to calculate her position.  There was nothing she could do in the meantime, so she preferred to spend her down time on the observation deck, where she could see the stars for herself from the transparent canopy that surrounded it.  She walked past a pair of tables where she had been working on her calculations, and sat down in a lounge chair to stare at the heavens.

The brightest star was the sun of the Pflaume system.   She had made that much progress, at least.   Her best guess was that it would take four or five more jumps at superluminous speed to bring the ship close enough that she could navigate with greater confidence.    Until then, she had to be careful.   A single, long trip at superluminous speed would cover more ground, but even a slight error in the math could put the ship far enough on course to delay her, even further.    Fuel was also a consideration.   Pozet's little "detour" hadn't consumed too much antimatter, but it was enough that Zatte couldn't risk running the engines without being certain they were going the right way.  

"I'm trying," Zatte said as she looked up at the star.    She wasn't sure if Luffa was even there.  Pozet claimed she was, but she might have been lying, or simply mistaken.   It was also possible that Luffa was dead by now, or that she had found some other means of escape.   Or maybe...

"Maybe you really did buy what King Rehval was trying to sell you," Zatte said to herself.    "Maybe the two of you left together.   Or you're waiting for me to show up, so you can laugh at me to my face."

She didn't really believe it, but she couldn't entirely dismiss the possibility either.    Saying it out loud forced her to confront it.  Luffa was too proud, too contemptuous of Saiyan royalty.   Even if Luffa had feelings for Rehval, there were too many incompatibilities there.  And Rehval had lied about a great many things since Zatte and Luffa had met him.  And yet... Zatte still couldn't convince herself that it was impossible.  

Luffa's telepathic powers had allowed Zatte to see into her mind.  They had tried to cut back on this, since the exchange of unvarnished truths about their innermost thoughts and feelings had caused a rift to form in their marriage.   Still, Zatte knew enough to know what her wife truly felt towards her.    They were in love, that much was unquestionable, but there were many things that left Luffa unsatisfied.   She would have never admitted it, but Luffa had a homesickness to her.   It wasn't a longing for any particular place, but she missed her family: not just her parents, but also the family that she might have had with her late husband and unborn son.   It frustrated Luffa to be apart from other Saiyans, and it frustrated her to be among them, only to find that they didn't share her lofty ideals.   Maybe Rehval had an answer to those issues.   In spite of his moral failings, maybe he had something to offer Luffa that Zatte simply couldn't provide.  

Perhaps that was what troubled Zatte now.   She couldn't truly believe that Luffa would join him, but she couldn't quite shake the possibility that Luffa should join him.   If Rehval had some happiness for Luffa, some way to cope with the unspoken longing Luffa felt, and if Luffa rejected this, then what?   Zatte also wondered how she herself would handle the same choice.  Rehval was trying to secure the future for the Saiyan race.   What if he was right?   If Luffa refused him, then was she condemning her own people to ruin?   No Dorlun could make that kind of choice, but then, Luffa was no Dorlun.   Luffa was willing to risk everything for what she thought was right.   She was even willing to jeopardize her own people.   That idea horrified Zatte, but maybe not as much as the alternative.

She imagined arriving on Pflaume to find Luffa dressed in royal blue, her short black hair framed by some elegant tiara, her arm in the arm of Rehval.    Her marriage to Zatte would be effectively over, but the Rehval Dynasty would be preserved for centuries.   The Saiyans would prosper and thrive for generations to come.    The next Super Saiyan would be born to the royal house, and he would lead his people to an even brighter tomorrow.  That made all the sense in the world, but not for Luffa.   It just didn't fit her.  

On the other hand, Zatte could imagine arriving at Pflaume, and finding Luffa standing over Rehval's broken body.   Regicide and interstellar incidents meant nothing to her.   The Saiyan Kingdom would declare war on the Federation, and there was no telling what would happen in the aftermath.    It might take decades for another Saiyan leader to arise, and their fate as a species would be uncertain at best.    Luffa would smile that savage grin of hers, and spit on the body of the Saiyan King.   "He had it coming, Zattie," she would say.  "And so does anyone who has a problem with that."

That Luffa seemed much more realistic to Zatte.  More importantly, that version was the one that excited her, the one that inflamed her passions.   No Dorlun could ever do that, but then, Luffa was no Dorlun.   Zatte was beginning to wonder if she was much of a Dorlun herself.   Her people would never dream of standing with someone so dangerous as a Super Saiyan.   If Luffa was willing and able to jeopardize her own species, then what could she do to others?   Zatte often wondered if she rationalized Luffa's behavior as a way to justify her own approval of it.  She also wondered if she was simply overthinking things.

By the time the ship's sensor scans were complete, Zatte was no closer to an answer than before.   She was grateful for the distraction the sensor data would offer, though she knew it would only make her more frustrated in the end.   The computer could help her calculate the coordinates, but only up to a certain accuracy.    Without the navigational computer to read data and adjust course automatically, the best she could manage would almost certainly be billions of miles off-course.   Persistence was her only hope.  Each try would bring her closer and closer to the target, and then she would finally reach the goal.  

She only hoped that there would be something to find when she got there.

*******

[26 May 234 Before Age.  Planet Pflaume.]

There was no trace of Xibuyas or King Rehval on Pflaume City.   By now, Luffa could only assume that they had either escaped or been killed in the attempt.  Alone, and with nothing better to do, she focused on keeping herself alive.  

The battle with her son had severely damaged the city's interior, though they had both been careful not to hit the outer hull.   That didn't seem to matter much, as the low groaning she heard suggested that the hull had been taxed to its limits anyway.   A city directory on one of the less broken levels showed her the way to the operations center, where a crew of engineers and technicians normally kept the city floating in the Pflaumian atmosphere.   This crew had abandoned their posts along with everyone else in the city when Rehval had it evacuated, but Luffa expected to find something she could use at their stations.   Information, equipment, supplies, any of these would improve her chances.

The ops center was located near the bottom of the city, requiring Luffa to dig through tons of debris to get at it.   Blasting her way through was too risky, so she burrowed down the old fashioned way.   To conserve her strength, she powered down to her normal form.    Her Super Saiyan power gave her the strength to clear the rubble faster, but speed would get her nowhere if she damaged the very facility she was trying to reach.    For an hour, she threw chunks of metal and plastic over her head, occasionally using her ki to cut through the more unwieldy pieces.   The hull continued to groan, and she was sorely tempted to transform again, though she could find no practical purpose for it.  

"I don't need you," she muttered, addressing her transformed self.   Over the years, she had gotten used to the idea that her transformation was a part of her, but never completely.   Early on, it had taken a great deal of concentration just to suppress it, and even then it seemed to claw at her from the inside of her skin, demanding to be released.    In a way, she was more comfortable in that form.   Her senses were sharper, and her body was stronger and faster.    

Instead, she curled her tail around her body, and looked at it while she dug.  This had been her source of strength throughout her life.   The tail was the weakest, most vulnerable point of the Saiyan anatomy.   It could be overcome, but the training needed to strengthen the tail was far more difficult than the work needed to build up an arm or a leg.  It was a rite of passage for a Saiyan warrior, or at least that was what her mother had taught her.    For most Saiyans, overcoming the tail's weakness was the most harrowing challenge of their lives.  Defeat that, her mother had promised, and you can defeat anything.    For Luffa, training her tail was probably the fifth or sixth greatest ordeal of her life at this point, but it still gave her comfort in times of trouble.  

Only, this time, it wasn't helping much.    Looking at her tail only reminded her that Rehval had cut his own tail off.   He was the king of the Saiyans, and he preferred to mutilate his own body rather than deal with a minor inconvenience.    Then he took her own son from her, raised him as his own, and cut off his tail.   There were plenty of Saiyans on Planet Saiya who still had their own tails, but it apparently didn't bother them at all to be ruled by a man who would willingly amputate his own.   He took children from their mothers, and his subjects meekly tolerated this.   It made her sick to her stomach, and as the rage welled up inside her, she wanted to release it in a storm of golden light--!

No.  She refused to give in to that.   This was a battle, as much of a battle as she had faced with any warrior.   Her opponents were time and despair and the environment.  She had to stay focused, or they would destroy her, and then King Rehval would be able to claim victory.   She refused to give him the satisfaction.   And so Luffa denied her Super Saiyan power, refusing to indulge the golden thing that howled from within her.  

When she reached the operations center, she was encouraged to find that it was well-reinforced, and had withstood the upper levels collapsing down onto it.  It also had very little in the way of security, and she was able to force open a door and reseal it with no difficulty.    Luffa found a command terminal and called up a status report.  The good news was that the hull had not been breached, and the ops center was designed to be able to function and sustain a crew even if the rest of the city were to be destroyed.     That meant this was the safest place to wait for help to arrive.  

The bad news was that the city was losing altitude.  Planet Pflaume was an ice giant, and while Luffa had a general understanding of its composition, the ops center computers gave her a precise display of her problem.   Unlike terrestrial planets, Pflaume had no solid surface.   Its core was composed of iron, nickel, and silicates, and this was surrounded by a mantle of "ice"-- a mixture of water, ammonia, and methane.   Despite the term "ice", these chemicals were actually hot and fluid because of the immense pressure at that depth  Without a solid crust to separate the mantle from the atmosphere, this boundary was arbitrarily defined by a certain pressure: about 1.5 million pounds per square inch.   Similarly, the "surface" of Pflaume was arbitrarily defined as the depth where the atmospheric pressure was equivalent to that of a terrestrial planet, about 15 pounds per square inch.   Pflaume City floated just below this altitude, and while it was designed to withstand higher pressures, the outer hull would buckle if it sank too far into the planet.  The city's propulsion systems were riddled with backups and failsafes to keep it aloft, but these had been damaged during the battle, or Rehval had sabotaged them to make certain she never escaped the city alive.   According to the computers, she had very little time left.    

She stood up from the command terminal and searched for any food the crew had left behind.  The situation was grim, but she saw no reason to die on an empty stomach.   There were several crates of emergency rations in a back room, and she devoured these as quickly as she could, using the time to consider her problem.  

It was conceivable that she could move the entire city with the power of her Super Saiyan form.  She had never tried anything like that before, but she couldn't rule out the possibility of simply carrying the entire city to a safe altitude.  The problem was that she would have to concentrate her force onto a single point somewhere along the city's superstructure, and she suspected that it wasn't designed for that.   It would be like trying to balance a large animal on the tip of a nail.   Even if the nail were impossibly durable, the animal would simply be punctured by the nail and fall.  

The ops center was smaller, and she considered trying to cut it apart from the rest of the city, but she wasn't sure if it was designed to support a crew without the rest of the city surrounding it.   The temperature outside was well below the freezing point of water, with gusts of wind moving at supersonic speeds.  There was no oxygen to breathe in the Pflaumian atmosphere either.  As strong as Luffa was, she would be killed almost instantly if she ventured outside the city.  

"I'm trying," Luffa said aloud as she drummed her fingers on a table in the ops center break room.    None of this would matter unless someone came along to find her.   Even if she found a way to keep the city floating, sooner or later something else would go wrong, or she would exhaust her supplies of food and water.   The only thing keeping her going was the fact that Zatte was headed for Pflaume City when they parted, and the only thing Rehval had done to stop her was to send that homunculus after her.   Pozet was nothing more than a cheap copy of Zatte, and Luffa was completely confident that the copy was no match for the original.  She was certain that Zatte had defeated it and was on her way.   All Luffa had to do was stay alive in the meantime.    She had let Zatte down before, but she could honor her in this respect at least.   She could find a way to survive, and then...

Before she could continue on that train of thought, an alarm sounded in the ops center.    Luffa leaped up from the table and raced back to the command terminal.  She couldn't imagine how things could get any worse, but the status report explained it all very simply.    

Two of the propulsion thrusters were gone.  For a moment, she thought that the computers were telling her that they no longer functioned, but then she realized that they were literally no longer connected to the hull.

Luffa had no idea how this had happened, but her best guess was that they had been shorn off of their mountings by the atmospheric currents.   By now, the city had fallen to an altitude where the pressure was several times more intense than normal.   While the hull could withstand that pressure, the weather patterns buffeting the city were now denser, and the winds hit with greater force.   Without those thrusters, the city would only sink even faster, and sustain even more damage.   There was no time to waste.   She had to do something quickly, before--

Suddenly the entire city shook, and she heard a very loud noise.  It was already too late.   She checked the readout at the command terminal, which confirmed her worst fears.    Methane levels had skyrocketed in the past few minutes.   The outside atmosphere was leaking into the city, and that could only mean the hull had begun to crack open.   The ops center was still safe for the moment, but she only had a few minutes left.    She had to do something, and quickly, before--

And then, at last, Pflaume City imploded.

NEXT: The Morning After.

[brimay]

31: “ I fucked up. ”

fic: i guess that’s love (i can’t pretend)

rating: teen and up audiences

tags: alternate universe - modern setting, high school, enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, first date.

They’re halfway through their English assignment and tall cups of to-go coffee when Bellamy smacks his laptop closed so suddenly that it manages to startle her. Eyebrows raised, she watches him silently for a minute, noticing the frustration that shines through his facial features.

“What’s wrong?”

Although he looks at her then, he carefully avoids her eyes. Instead, his gaze seems to be faced on her cheek, and she has no idea why until he notes, “You’ve got some sharpie right there.”

Having said that, Bellamy leaves Clarke to rub at her cheekbone and wonder why the hell he’s acting so weirdly all of a sudden. In all of the years she has known him, he’s always been weird about some things, like how he refuses to drink coffee from gas stations and color-coordinates his M&M’s before eating them, but he’s never been weird like this.

Clarke, being stubborn as always, joins him by the window and places a hand on his shoulder. She feels him tense under her touch before he murmurs, “I fucked up.”

“How much?”

“Big time.”

In effort to cheer him up, Clarke doesn’t interrogate any further. She just steals his glasses like she has a million times before, expecting him to grin in response, but he only frowns. When she takes a step forward, Bellamy does something even more unexpected: He wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer to reclaim the glasses. It might not seem like much, and yet it still manages to make her breath hitch a little.

“I let you distract me. When I first met you, and we bickered all the time, Miller told me that you’d get under my skin eventually. I didn’t think it would ever happen, but here we are.”

They met as freshmen as members of the debate club, so for a while their entire relationship was built on irrelevant disagreements. Eventually, however, they went to the women’s march and the pride parade together, which caused them to discover that they have more in common than what meets the eye.

Unable to say anything in response, Clarke simply stares at him, waiting for a continuation. Bellamy’s eyes search hers before he admits, “I don’t actually need help with the assignment. I just wanted to spend some time with you, because… Because I think you’re cute and intelligent and funny… I’m sorry I lied. I just—“

To silence him, she presses a finger to his full lips, trying not to focus on the fact that his hand is still placed against her spine, keeping the distance between them breathtakingly small. “Seriously, Bellamy. Is it really that difficult to ask me out? Am I that intimidating?”

“A little bit,” he replies as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Look, I was afraid you were gonna say no and then roast my ass in the debate club or something.”

At that, Clarke cocks her eyebrows, now smiling a little despite herself. “That scenario doesn’t sound impossible. If I was going to turn you down, of course.”

She lets herself enjoy the sight of his surprised expression before she leans in to press her lips to his freckled cheek. When she pulls back, there’s a confident grin on his face that nearly knocks all of the air from his lungs, but as if that isn’t enough, she asks, “Where are you taking me?”

“The rooftop.”

“Classic!” Clarke muses, placing a hand on his chest without really knowing why. Obviously, having your first date with someone on a rooftop isn’t actually classic, but it’s classical Bellamy. In freshman year, the only thing she ever noticed about him was the rough, cocky exterior — However, once they became Sophomores and they became friends, she realized that he’s incredibly soft and more than a little dorky on the inside.

And she knows more about it than he thinks she does. She knows that he has a collection of hand-me-down books that he’d love to turn into a private library one day; that he sings in the shower and pours melted chocolate over popcorn when his sister wants to watch a movie. He’s undoubtedly what her father would call ‘a respectable young man’.

“I’ve read on the weather app that it isn’t going to be very cloudy tonight. Hopefully, we’ll be able to see the stars.”

“Romantic,” Clarke notes, watching the brown skin of his cheek flush a little. The dab of color makes him more attractive, if that’s even possible. If he thinks that he’s the only one who has kept things hidden, then he’s wrong. Often, she catches herself staring at him across the hall as if they’re protagonists in a cheesy music video, and her friends have frequently enjoyed pointing it out.

Inside her chest, her heart is leaping excitedly. “Well, there are still a few hours left ‘til sundown. How about we go shopping for some snacks and cook dinner in the meantime?”

Obviously, Bellamy thinks it’s a great idea….

Even though they return to harmless banter when they try to decide which ice cream flavor to pick, Clarke lets him win, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Instead of placing his original pick, wild cherry, in the basket, however, he goes for a flavor that’s a nice compromise considering what they both want: Cherry with brownie chunks.

“Nice.”

“If we’re gonna date, we’ll have to get used to this.”

Well, he’s right, even if the things they disagree on are mostly harmless. Years ago, those harmless things all seemed like a big deal, but once they started to genuinely like each other, understanding their differences and dealing with them in a simple way became much easier.

Beside the ice cream, they agree on the rest of the snacks: Skittles, cookies and cream toffee, barbecue chips, root beer and Bellamy’s chocolate-covered popcorn, of course. When Clarke suggests that they have mac and cheese for dinner, because it’s simple, Bellamy huffs.

“Mac and cheese? How am I going to impress you by making that? Nope, it’s not happening.”

Clarke chuckles. “What are you gonna make then? Lobster?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he jokes, winking at her. “Fine, let’s say mac and cheese. But I’ll bet my ass that it’s going to be the best mac and cheese this world has ever seen.”

Teasingly, she nudges him. It’s great that she finds his confidence endearing now. “We’ll see.”

Oh lord. As much as she doesn’t want to fuel his ego by admitting that he managed it, Bellamy has cooked the best mac and cheese the world has ever seen — or, she hasn’t tasted one better, at least. She doesn’t know what he’s put in it, because he won’t tell her, but her taste buds dance in euphoria every time she takes another bite.

Suddenly, she understands why people need to use the word ‘mouthgasm’ sometimes, even though the cheesiness of it makes her cringe.

If he can satisfy her taste buds this much with his cooking, imagine if… No, she’s not going there. Not tonight, that would be too soon. Feeling a blush creep into her cheeks at the thoughts that are suddenly streaming through her mind without permission, Clarke tries not to pay attention to the sensation of Bellamy looking at her.

It’s not possible for him to know, right? To read minds? To turn the attention away from herself, Clarke decides to finally say something. “This is really good.”

When she looks at him then, he’s smiling in the way that makes her heart melt every time she sees it: This smile creates crinkles at the corners of his dark brown eyes, but it’s still soft and seems effortless. Running a hand through his hair, he replies, “I’m glad you think so.”

“Do you have other hidden talents?” Suddenly, that question emerges from her lips, and she immediately curses herself for allowing it. She spends the next second praying that he didn’t catch its sexual undertones, but it looks as if he chokes on nothing, and therefore she can only conclude that he did.

In spite of this, Bellamy seems to gather himself pretty quickly. “Some, I guess. You haven’t seen them yet, though.”

And with that, he leaves her to gape at him while he does the dishes.

Their date is at least as cozy as she’d imagined it would be: Above them, thousands of stars beam and he tells her some of their stories. While he shows her Cassiopeia, and her tragic story falls off his lips as if he’s told it countless times, Clarke thinks the sweetness of the chocolate-covered popcorn has risen to her head…

… Because she can’t stop thinking of kissing him.

“I turned sixteen and started to drive my mother’s car, and Octavia would beg me to go camping with her. That’s when I learned to turn the stars into a map and to make different kinds of snacks that she loved, even if they kept her up all night.”

“You’re a great brother,” Clarke says, mesmerized by the sight of his bronze skin flooded by starlight.

He mutters a thank you, then stays silent for a minute, and she wonders what he’s thinking of until he reveals it. “… Clarke, I’m really sorry I lied to you.”

Without caring, she inches closer, leaving no space between them. As soon as he feels her against his side, Bellamy puts his arm around her. Because of this, she has to take a second before she replies, “Nevermind. I mean, just think about it: We swapped our boring English assignments for this. Instead of correcting each other’s grammar, we went on a date. I think that’s pretty damn cool.”

“It’s very us, isn’t it?”

The question manages to knock every ounce of air from Clarke’s lungs.

Us. They are an ‘us’, a unit.

Well, maybe they have been since they became co-presidents of the debate club, but this feels very different somehow, like rose petals and love songs are lingering at the edges of the word. That’s what takes her breath away.

“It is,” she says, managing to speak in spite of the fact that her heart is beating against the cage of her chest. In the moment that passes afterwards, their eyes lock. She’s not sure for how long, as it could’ve been seconds, minutes, days even. Maybe the sun rises and sets on the sky above them several times, but they just don’t notice.

When they finally kiss, Clarke isn’t sure of much. She doesn’t know who moves first or why — the only thing she is completely certain of is that it feels like a moment of simple bliss — like walking barefoot through a field of wildflowers, like watching raindrops gather in the palm of your hand, like running your fingertips across the spine of your favorite book.

They break apart to catch their breath, but the intense eye contact remains for a couple of minutes, as if their gazes have become jealous of their lips, and they want to kiss as well.

“For all of our screw ups,” Clarke starts, her voice low. “It’s nice to know that we finally did something right.”

Once she’s said that, they throw their heads back in laughter, sending true happiness towards the starry sky.

you can send me a prompt here :) ❤

[dontcallmecarrie]

Fic Idea: Welcome To The Family

[In Which Natasha Is A Better Friend]

Warnings: Natasha Romanov’s background and POV [which…yeah, be careful because child soldiers are the least of it; plus a different take on what Graduation consists of], canon-typical violence, mental health issues [hi, Tony’s PTSD and Co.], loss of trust, probably OOC in some places, gradual canon divergence [wow isn’t that familiar], not Steve friendly, not Wanda friendly, closer-to-Skynet-than-is-comfortable!JARVIS, dubious morality, some pretty unhealthy things in general [childhoods, coping mechanisms, etc], mercy-killing [mentioned as a past thing, rather brief but in the context of Natasha’s Graduation]

Main changes here from canon: Natasha’s characterization [as in, it doesn’t change on the turn of a dime]. Her relationship with Bruce isn’t something I’ll delve into, because guess who can’t write romance to save my life? 

Also, JARVIS lives, because the day I acknowledge his death is pencilled in for never. And in this AU, Zola implied something a bit less specific than he did in canon.

Full thing’s under the cut because you guys know how I roll when it comes to fic ideas [read: very, very, very long outlines]. I’ll get to writing the fic on this sometime in the future, but in the meantime here you go. 

Natasha Romanov was a very dangerous person. In more ways than one.

It came with the ‘was raised as a living weapon during one of the most politically terse times in history’ package, after all, only a complete and utter fool would claim otherwise. And with it, came an appreciation for some things other people might take for granted, like the various applications of duct tape, the lifespan of granola bars, and even more fundamental things. Like trust. 

No, make that especially trust, and faith in humanity in general; just what kind of  childhood did these people have, to just believe someone’s word? To take a known assassin and just…extend their hand like that? [Weird. But strangely adorable, too, there was that.]

…Yeah, years later, and Clint Barton is still very baffling.

Point is, Natasha’s…unique background meant she had a perspective very few people ever got. The Stark Industries/Natalie Rushman mess meant she got a front-row seat as to the show Tony Stark put up. And that was what it was; a front, she knew. [Like knew like, after all.]

The entire fiasco had also been a case of “I know” and “you know I know” and “you know I know you know”, because Stark Industries apparently had a very unique stance on corporate espionage, and SHIELD hadn’t been very subtle in their attempts to get her in. 

The “Iron Man yes, Tony Stark not recommended” bit was a convoluted snarl of politics and dynamics and if Natasha hadn’t been born and raised in this, and if Tony hadn’t been a genius with Maria Stark and Peggy Carter as role models, he might’ve missed some of the nuances in what went unsaid. As it was, neither Fury nor Natasha missed the laughter in his voice, when he’d gotten to that bit.

 Natasha didn’t blame him; years in, and she still didn’t get why SHIELD loved melodrama so much.

But it wasn’t until the Avengers assembled, that her observations started paying off. Clint’s being compromised had been jarring, to be sure, and none of her training had ever covered huge green monsters, but Natasha had done her best to roll with it. 

If anything, Tony’s presence had been a comfort; yes, he was a pain in the ass, but he was familiar, an ally, and tended to come with a side of explosions and breakthroughs. The man was a force of nature, and Natasha sometimes wondered how things might’ve gone if he’d been born to anyone else, or anywhere else…then again, that sounded like nightmare fuel, never mind. [Don’t imagine him as a trainer in the Red Room, don’t imagine him as an enemy operative—no.]

Steve Rogers might have been an icon, might have been a bastion of principles and what it meant to be American—but Natasha was Russian, and she’d known to see past the propaganda to see the dazed and confused man who was still learning how to pick up the pieces when his world turned to ash.

He looked like he needed a friend. [Which…huh. There’s an idea.]

New York had been…interesting, to say the least. But it wasn’t until later, until Tony set about with cleanup after the invasion was over, that their friendship really kicked off. 

It helped, that they were very similar to each other; Clint might have noticed, if he wasn’t busy trying to piece himself back together, but as it was Tony tossed her a business card and sauntered away with Dr. Banner in tow, with a faux-careless “keep in touch if you want, Pepper wanted to talk to you about going out for drinks sometime” over his shoulder.

But Natasha had noticed the guarded look in his eyes, even if nobody else did, and she knew, without a word being said, that, despite all his trust issues [which she’d only glimpsed during her stint at SI, but had seen enough of to know it was a beast], this was Tony making an attempt to reach out.

Well…it’d be rude not to, after that, right?

And…Tony looked like he could use a friend, too. Not to knock Happy or Pepper, but this was something few could relate to, trying to atone for past sins [and failing miserably], plus the ‘hey we fought aliens together that one time, now what?’ thing. 

So, Natasha did what she could, to keep in touch. It was very off-again-on-again, because of missions and general work-related issues, but she managed. Things were rather rocky and awkward at first, but enough late-night phone calls thanks to time differences and downtime and boring stakeouts meant a very convoluted friendship soon bloomed. 

Which…Natasha couldn’t quite wrap her head around it, actually. The man had trust issues and one of the most full-blown cases of PTSD she’d ever seen, and yet he somehow mustered up the strength and kindness to reach out and befriend the person who literally stabbed him in the neck?! 

What even.

Tony Stark was added to Natasha’s “Weirdest Humans Ever Met But Would Gladly Murder For” list, because of that. It wasn’t very long, there were only three names, now, because Clint’s wife was just as baffling as he was.

Time passed, and while work at SHIELD meant that Natasha’s social life was 85% work-related [counting Clint and Steve], the other 15% had Natasha glued to her phone while keeping tabs on Tony and Pepper and JARVIS. [Which…she hadn’t known the AI was so sophisticated, before. Actually, she’d be surprised if anyone outside Tony’s inner circle knew, and treasured the show of trust like the rare thing it was.] 

Time passed, and Natasha was feeling pretty good about everything; work was going well, Steve seemed to be settling in and making good progress in moving on [now if only he’d let her help him get a date], Clint and his wife were expecting their first baby and had asked her to be a godmother, and though Tony was having a hard time, he looked like he had things well in hand [and she couldn’t exactly visit him while in the middle of an op in Vanuatu]. 

So, of course, Murphy’s Law struck with a vengeance. 

HYDRA hit with all the force of a sledgehammer, and the Winter Soldier had rattled Natasha badly. If she’d trusted her [SHIELD-issued, when’d she gotten so complacent, dammit?!] phone, she would’ve called Tony for help, but as it was she didn’t doubt someone was monitoring his communications, since doubtlessly someone up the chain had noticed his friendship with the Level 7 Special Agent. 

The reveal that the Nazis weren’t as gone as the world had hoped, that she’d been working for them, that her efforts to atone for all the red in her ledger had been for nothing, tasted like ash. It was a cold, bitter realization, and Natasha couldn’t imagine how Steve must be feeling. She, at least, had practice with this, after all: with realizing that everything and everyone she’d been surrounded with was an enemy agent, with the feeling of nothing was safe, not when empires crumbled and regimes turned to ash. 

Steve really hadn’t taken it well. 

In retrospect, she should’ve seen it coming, really. 

But Natasha carried on. Though…Zola had mentioned something, back at the bunker, and what he’d implied had left her feeling cold.

And…Tony needed to know. 

Natasha had heard him talking about his parents, once, when he’d been running on two carafes of coffee and not much else, mid-way through his 27-hour-long engineering binge, and the mention of how much of an ass Howard had been had stuck with her, nearly as much as how much he’d clearly cared for his mother. 

Natasha might not have have the kindest of childhoods [ha-understatement of the decade], but she did her best to be as supportive as possible, even if she went ‘that sounds fake but okay’ to what others claimed were normal childhoods [jury was still out in regards to Tony’s mentions of having built a bomb before puberty, though, no matter how relatable that experience was].

Steve must’ve told him, though, right? Because he might have been understandably hyperfocused on Bucky, there was no way he’d missed HYDRA’s hand in the death of Howard Stark. And though Steve and Tony might’ve had their differences, there was absolutely no way the man Natasha knew would keep something this huge from her other friend. 

Not when Steve’s searching for the Winter Soldier, not when Tony’s moving heaven and earth to clean up after them in DC. Not when the team started to regroup, and work together to take down every last vestige of HYDRA once and for all. Time passes, and things continue in this vein. 

Sokovia’s where the rose-tinted lenses came off.

Ultron caught everyone off-guard, really. Natasha had talked to Tony often enough to know he hadn’t been remotely close to interface, and while the Iron Legion was intimidating, she approved of its various applications. 

And yet the team tried to blame Tony. 

No, strike that, they did blame Tony, and that she hadn’t seen the cracks in the team before Thor nearly snapped his neck [because she’d seen that technique before, in the Red Room, and it had never been in a nonlethal application], she tasted bile in the back of her throat because how had she missed this?!

The Red Witch’s recruitment didn’t exactly help, either. Ignoring the dredging up of memories best left forgotten [Graduation and the mercy-killing of the only childhood friend she’d ever had because she wouldn’t stop screaming and wouldn’t have survived the Serum and remained sane], Natasha recognized the look in Wanda’s eyes. She saw it in the mirror, after all, and was intimately aware of her capabilities, of what it felt like to have nothing left to lose. 

Of how to use people. 

She didn’t get why Steve had recruited her, really; he already had a hard time just adjusting to life in general, why the hell did he invite a viper into the fold?

…again, it was one of those things that were embarrassingly obvious in retrospect.

It was no surprise Tony’d retired, really. Not when the only other friend besides her had flown the coop, not when everyone else had seen him being choked by an ally and hadn’t batted an eye, not when nobody else seemed to care that JARVIS had nearly died. 

But at least they were still friends. 

Even if Wanda threw a contemptuous look her way whenever Natasha’s phone started to play AC/DC [because Tony’s sense of humor knew no bounds and Natasha didn’t have the heart to say no when he’d offered to program in a few ringtones], or Steve frowned when she laughed at a Snapchat from Tony showcasing DUM-E’s latest attempt at a smoothie. [Sure, it was when she should’ve been sparring, but he’d been running late and she’d been bored.]

It’s not until after he retired, that it came up. 

In her defense, Natasha had been busy with cleanup, since depressingly few STRIKE teams had actually been SHIELD rather than HYDRA and she’d been one of the only agents with enough clearance to access the more sensitive areas. 

In one life, Natasha never told Tony, had trusted in Steve’s judgement and called it a day. 

In this life, however, Natasha was a far better friend.

She’d referred to it in passing, because it’d been months since HYDRA’s fall and weeks since Sokovia and cleanup was still being a bitch for both, when she’d caught the look of confusion on his face.

“What?” He’d asked, and Natasha felt ice at the pit of her stomach. 

“Steve didn’t tell you?” She asked, and abruptly realized she didn’t know Captain America nearly as well as she’d though, and that—oh shit. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?” But there was a look of growing suspicion, and…

“You might want to sit down for this, Tony. And call Pepper and James, too. Hey, JARVIS? Gear up, too.” 

Natasha didn’t know how to do this. [Why couldn’t she have had to fight a death squad with her bare hands instead? It was so much easier!] 

But Tony was her friend. He trusted her, and she refused to betray that trust again. 

“Tell me what.”

In this life, Natasha told Tony, of HYDRA’s involvement in murdering his parents.

Tony didn’t take it well, of course. 

[Perfectly understandable, what with having nearly made his peace with Howard’s alcoholism having been what killed his mother.]

Natasha ended up being used as a impromptu teddy bear, while JARVIS immediately made arrangement for Pepper and James’ arrival, because Tony’d need all the support he could get. Even though this was way, way out of her comfort zone, and she didn’t know what the hell one did when a friend started crying, she did what she could to support him, and quietly cursed Steve Rogers and Zola to hell and back for putting her in this situation.

And Tony…Tony lost all respect for Captain America, that day. 

“You know, he said something about teammates not telling him things?” He managed to get out, after the initial shock wore off. [Pepper and Natasha shared a dark look, at that.] “Looks like he didn’t have much room to talk, after all.”

It was no coincidence, that the Compound’s funding got cut, after that. Or that Natasha’s gear was top-of-the-line while everyone else’s barely got the basics of maintenance, afterwards. Or that team dynamics weren’t so much frayed at the seams so much as ‘even existing in the first place’, because Vision had the same sense of humor as JARVIS and Steve seemed to find that off-putting for some reason, and Natasha never let Wanda at her back.

There’s a few different ways this could go from here, of course. 

Maybe Civil War doesn’t even happen, because Tony’s not on the back foot when it comes to all the hurdles life’s throwing at him, not with his friends at his side and JARVIS in his ear. 

Maybe Civil War does happen, except Natasha never lets the super soldier duo go, takes them down instead, and Siberia never happens, and reality and consequences ensue.

If, somehow, someway, Siberia were to happen, however, it wouldn’t go down like it did in canon.

Instead, Tony, having been able to wrap his mind around the ‘HYDRA killed my parents’ reveal with enough time and support to be able to cry about something that happened half a lifetime ago and ever-so-slowly start to heal from the still-raw wounds, would take it differently. 

Here, Tony would still be horrified and shocked by the video of what happened. But here, Tony’s not on the verge of breaking down, isn’t scrambling for a moment of peace, isn’t desperate for a peaceful resolution. Tony’s doing this in memoriam of the man his father had spent decades and millions on, and…

Here, Tony’s furious.

But, having had the warning from Natasha, he takes it differently. The video’s still shocking, of course, and he’s fighting down nausea as he’s hearing his mother’s screams and his father’s desperation, but…here, Tony’s not on the verge of losing it when he turns to Steve.

“You knew.” But here, it’s not tinged with shock, isn’t colored by the hurt of fresh betrayal. Instead, it’s accusatory, it’s wrathful and Tony knew Steve was an ass but this was beyond the pale. 

In one life, Tony might’ve snapped, and lunged after the man who he’d just seen kill his mother. In this life, however, it’s the other supersoldier who gets decked with all the force of a pissed-off Iron Man.

“Son of a bitch, you knew it was him.”

Here, there’s no hurt “He was my friend/So was I”; instead, this might’ve been how it went down:

“He was my friend.”

“And she was my mother.”

But either way, Tony’s not losing it, here. Or, at least, not the way he did in canon. Because, here, JARVIS is a comforting voice in his ear, but he’s also support, and the Iron Legion is at hand to help apprehend these criminals with minimal fuss, so even if he’s repulsed by just how much of a hypocrite Steve turned out to be, he’s not alone in the bunker.

And afterwards, Tony’s not alone either. 

Here, it’s a new future, a new day, and with Pepper, James, Natasha, and JARVIS at his side, Tony’s helping forge a new tomorrow.

Here, Thanos arrives to an Earth with a team of Avengers who have been preparing for his arrival for years, and with all the efficiency that bone-deep trust engenders. 

…there’s so much more I could do with it, of course. 

I haven’t even touched on the shenanigans and puns that ensue when Natasha hears about their newest recruit, meanwhile Spiderman’s leaning back wide-eyed as Natasha takes down a room in less than a minute and tosses a casual “I’ll teach you how, spiders need to stick together” over her shoulder. 

Stephen Strange’s low-key terrified by the women Tony’s surrounded himself with [and resolves to either keep Christine and Pepper as far away as possible, or simply lay low for when they inevitably take over the world through sheer competence], and Hope Pym’s very happy to have someone capable of keeping up with her on the sparring mats. 

James Rhodes, meanwhile, is  sitting back with Vision and watching these dorks and wondering what the hell went wrong with his life choices to lead to movie nights with assassins and sorcerers and teenagers who thought “the new Star Trek movies were awesome” [and thus sparking the movie marathon to teach him otherwise].

Tony, of course, is very relieved to have people he can trust to have his back, and so proceeds along with his plans to take over safeguard the Earth. [Then again, the Accidental World Domination fic’s already in the works, so maybe not.]

Another thing I changed: the Red Room’s Graduation process. 

Not sure what canon’s involves, but here it features their version of the Super Soldier Serum. It’s not graceful, it’s not elegant, it’s pure brute force and painful and only the strongest survive the first 12 hours [and renders the person sterile, because of the drastic changes]. 

The low survival rate is only part of why it’s considered graduation; the other part’s killing the other girls who got dosed with the Red Room Serum, because most of them are halfway out of their minds with agony [and also because the Red Room’s Serum’s effect on sanity is really hit-and-miss, too].

There’s more to this, but cutting it short for now because this is supposed to be the outline only and at this rate the fic’s only going to be a repost of this.

Hammered this out because I’ve got a lot of fix-it/break-it-differently ideas on the brain, and got sick of Natasha’s fluctuating characterization. It also led to my different take on Graduation, because wanting to have kids isn’t exactly every female’s life goals, [hated that scene…I could go on for hours, I s2g] and to consider oneself a monster implies something that goes a lot deeper than that.

[kuriquinn]

Fic Prompt/Request: SSS Family Time

Anonymous asked:

Okay, so this last semester sucked. University has definitely taken a toll on me. Thankfully it's almost over. Still, I still have to go trough my exams to call it off completely. Please tell me you have something cute of Sarada ou SasuSaku romantic/funny moment planned out for this week.

AN: Here you go, Anon. I hope this qualifies as cute, Sarada and some SasuSaku. Someone else asked me for a first steps or first words moment, but I wanted to do both, so I’ll give you the first steps and I’ll give that anon the first words (at a later date :P). I feel your pain on the whole end of semester woes. Hang in there, you’ll make it through!

Sasuke maneuvers the hoover around the living room, thinking vaguely about whether it’s possible to get an apparatus that handles better around the corners.

It’s not a topic he ever would have considered worth contemplation, but these days his problems are more of a domestic nature than vengeance fueled ambition.

He’s okay with that.

Especially given the fact his nine-month-old daughter is sitting on a blanket nearby, propped in a bean chair and playing with several wooden shuriken (dulled and rounded until they pass childproof muster, of course). She chats to herself in the usual smattering of actual words and toddler pidgin, all of which is neigh incomprehensible around the dummy in her mouth.

As he ambles past the low cabinet in the hall, absently picking up a few of Sarada’s toys – blocks, a squishy book and a well-loved green dinosaur – he notices a piece of paper on top of the mail pile. It is covered with Sakura’s neat writing and Naruto’s almost illegible scrawl (honestly, he almost needs to use the Sharingan to decipher it).

Upon further inspection Sasuke sees it’s the minutes of the last meeting of the clan elders, which Sakura attended for the Uchiha while he was out of town. There is a post-it attached, with a request from Kakashi to add anything he believes needs to be brought up.

With a sigh, Sasuke turns off the hoover and sits down heavily on the couch, frowning at the information. He is vaguely aware of Sarada moving about in his peripheral vision, but she’s quiet and the room is babyproofed, so he focusses most of his attention on the current conundrum.

Naruto keeps inviting him to attend these conferences, even though it’s clear no one in the village really wants to hear from him. And when they do, it’s usually to prompt an answer about the ruins of the Uchiha district, which Sasuke honestly has no idea what to do about yet.

Naruto and Kakashi understand this, of course, as does Sakura. But not everyone in the village is quite so forgiving.

He hates the attention of the other clan leaders, and can’t decide which is worse – the expectant looks on the faces of the younger ones, like Shikamaru or Ino, or the pitying gazes of those older leaders who actually knew members of his family.

It could be worse. The Elders could still be a factor…

He has Sakura to thank for that, at least.

Still, he lets his head fall back on the couch for a second, contemplating just how important it is for him to sit through another one of those stupid meetings –

When he realises that Sarada’s mumbling is coming from the complete opposite direction from where she is sitting.

Peeking one eye open, he experiences a tiny heart-attack at the sight of her blanket utterly empty of the tiny pink body that should be sitting on it. Head whipping to where he heard her voice, he freezes when he sees her sitting in the entrance of the living-room, happily clutching at the dinosaur plushie.

Sasuke blinks, confused, wondering if he fell asleep at some point, because the distance from her blanket to the hall cabinet should have taken her longer to crawl toward, not to mention the dinosaur was higher up than she should be able to reach. Then again, Sarada has been pulling herself up on all the furniture lately…

He revisits the last few minutes, deciding he must be tired, because he can’t remember the specifics of it. He can sort of recall the familiar sight of her dark head bobbing past his line of vision.

Which shouldn’t be possible, because I wasn’t looking down at the floor, which means she was just below eye-level.

She could only have done that if she walked across the room. Sasuke immediately dismisses that because she’s barely ten months old, it’s too early.

Itachi walked at nine months, he reminds himself with only a slight wince. He dimly remembers his mother telling him that once. And didn’t Sakura’s mother say she walked early as well?

Sasuke shakes his head. He is likely just jumping to conclusions.

Still, there’s nothing stopping him from testing out the theory to be sure.

Quietly, he stands and goes to scoop Sarada into his arms. She giggles around the dummy, dropping the plush toy to pat at his face with pudgy hands (he narrowly misses taking a tiny nail to the Rinnegan and a thumb up his nose) as he brings her back to her spot on the blanket. After setting her down and handing her one of the toy shuriken to keep busy, he goes to pick up the fallen dinosaur, places it back on the cabinet, and then returns to the couch to sit.

But this time he intends to observe.

Not directly, of course, because there’s truth in that old adage about watched pots. But he pretends to reread the memo again, only occasionally glancing at Sarada from the corner of his eyes.

At first, it seems as if she is perfectly content to just sit their banging her baby shuriken against the floor.

A few minutes later, however, her eyes flit across the room to the green dinosaur. A tiny wrinkle appears in her nose – a trait from Sakura – and she drops the shuriken. Then, to Sasuke’s utter amazement, she rolls to one side and grabs at the nearby ottoman, using it to pull herself to her feet.

Still completely focused on the plush toy, she makes a beeline for the cabinet, absently grabbing on to the coffee table and easy chair as she goes. The last couple of steps from the couch to the entranceway, there is nothing to hold her up, and he watches with baited breath as she wobbles exactly three paces until reaching the cabinet. Now supported once more, she stretches up on tiptoes, worrying at the toy until her fingers close around one of its paws.

Then she falls backward with a satisfied grunt, the toy clutched in her fist.

Sasuke’s brain is still trying to register what he just saw.

Because his daughter really did just take her first steps.

No. Her second steps.

He missed the first because he was reading a damned memo.

But he can’t find the energy to chastise himself for this, because he is too buoyed up by the overwhelming feeling of pride.

Sarada just walked.

His daughter, the child he never thought he would deserve, is growing up so fast. Every time he turns around, she is doing something new and amazing and he sort of wants her to slow down –

But she just walked!

She’s only nine months old, and clearly a genius. Like her mother, like him, like Itachi –

Boruto didn’t start walking until he was a year old. Naruto is going to be pissed when he finds out.

He snorts in smug amusement at this, wandering back over to pick up his daughter once more, nudging her nose with his own and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“That’s my girl,” he tells her proudly, while she squeals in pleasure.

Although…

Naruto can’t know about this until Sakura does. And when she finds out she missed Sarada’s first steps, she’ll be upset.

He wonders for a moment if he should pretend like nothing happened. It would be a simple thing, to say nothing and just wait for Sarada to decide to start toddling around while both he and Sakura are in the room. Then she wouldn’t feel like she missed this milestone.

He frowns and shakes his head.

No, he doesn’t like the idea of hiding the truth from his wife, even for something like this.

Especially for something like this.

Before he can think too much about a possible solution, fate decides to intervene.

He senses Sakura’s chakra approaching their front door and imagines the clack of her heels on the walkway as she rummages in her bag for the housekeys.

Quick as he can, he puts Sarada back on her blanket and leaves the room, placing the dinosaur back on the cabinet for a third time. Glancing back into the room to ensure his daughter hasn’t moved – and she hasn’t yet, instead sitting on the blanket with a frown on her face like she can’t figure out how or why she is back where she started – Sasuke lingers in the entranceway to greet his wife.  

The front door opens and there’s Sakura – all smiles and tired yet sparkling eyes – about to open her mouth in greeting.

Sasuke raises a finger to his lips and motions her forward, knowing if Sarada hears her mother she’ll probably get distracted.

Puzzled, and perhaps a little wary, Sakura toes off her shoes and slips into the house to stand beside Sasuke. Gently, he manoeuvres her to stand so that while she can see around the doorway, Sarada remains blind to her.

Their daughter, in the meantime, lets out a frustrated sound that’s halfway between a mewl and a scoff, and glares at the plushie.

Sakura makes a strangled noise in her throat that Sasuke thinks might be a hastily suppressed squeal of appreciation. He can’t even fault her for it because his own mouth is drawn into a smile at the way Sarada puffs out her cheeks and draws her eyebrows together.

That smile widens a little as before their eyes, Sarada clambers up on chubby, wobbly legs and crosses the room. This time she barely uses the furniture as she stalks forward with purpose, before once again reaching the cabinet, grabbing her plush toy, and clutching at it defiantly.

There’s a beat of silence, and then to Sasuke’s great shock, Sakura bursts into tears.

As soon as they register, he knows they are tears of joy, but he always finds himself at a loss when he sees Sakura cry.  

“Oh, sweetheart, look at you!” Sakura cries, bounding across the room to scoop up their daughter and cover her with kisses. Sarada is so surprised and bemused to see her mother, that she instantly forgets about her long-sought-after toy and shrieks with joy. “You’re such a good girl! You walked, baby, look at that! You figured it out by yourself, right? Or did Papa help you?”

She turns a questioning, still-tearstained look on Sasuke, who shakes his head. “She did it herself. I missed it the first time.”

He gives her a brief explanation of how events transpired.

“Well that won’t do, we can’t both have missed it,” Sakura declares, lowering the toddler to the floor. She doesn’t let her sit, however, instead holding her by both hands in a way that forces Sarada to stand. “Come here, take her hand.”

Sasuke does so, leaning over to take Sarada’s tiny left hand in his right. She beams up at him in response, tugging at him impatiently.

“Let’s walk with her,” Sakura continues. “Maybe we can get her to do it without furniture if we help.”

Which is how the two of them end up spending the next hour crouched over, guiding their child throughout the house and in the garden. Occasionally Sarada’s enthusiasm will lead her to trip over her feet, but Sakura and Sasuke easily catch her at these times, swinging her between them until she is shrieking with giggles.

終わり

Thank you for reading! Reviews and concrit are much appreciated - and if you’re feeling generous, I also accept tips (just scroll to the top and click the button!)

クリ