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lexacoolfox · 3 years

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Hi can i request headcanons for the upper moons +enmu and muzan for a gn reader who acts like Junko enoshima

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Submission by: midoriya1mia

A/n: I’m so happy to do a upper moons, Muzan and for the first time ever enmu. Also I’ve been working on other writing and trying to balance that with school. I’ve also got to do things with friends and family. But I won’t forget to try and write stories on my tumblr! Ok onto the headcanons

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He found you delightful. You enjoyed the pain and suffering of others. Just like him.

You even enjoyed it when it happened to you.

When he first put you into a dream he put you in a nightmare. When you awoke you thanked him for giving such good despair.

You also had a good fashion sense, he admired how beautiful you looked. You just soaked up the praise. You were very narcissistic

“Like yeah! You should feel lucky to even be in my presence!”

You wished to cause despair to everyone. Even to enmu.

You tried to think of ways to cause him despair.

He was fine with you cause despair to others but he liked the idea of you causing him despair

Cause the only to do that was to probably do something That would cause extreme pain.

But besides that.

He loved your quirky nature

You praise him when he turns people dreams to nightmares then eats them

“Enmu babe! That was so hot! You should do that to me! Come on! Give a despair inducing nightmare!”

You didn’t like demon slayers, always coming in and giving people hope. It was so irritating to you.

“These demon slayers are so boring. Hope isn’t nearly as fun as despair. They don’t give up hope and keep pushing on. Especially those hashira. Ugh it’s like so annoying.”

You often switch personalities. One minute your loud and confident another your collected and smart or quite and remorseful. You also act cute while making a weird voice.

He admired how smart you were. You were practically the mastermind in some scenarios.

You were a great actor and where manipulative. Tricking people easily.

When enmu told you what happen at an lower moon meeting. You got so jealous.

“All that despair and I didn’t even get to see it!”

Enmu made it better when he put you into a nightmare of it happening all over again.

When you awoke you were ecstatic.

“Wow that was so exciting! I can only imagine what it felt like in person!”

To him you were a strange, but incredibly smart individual. Also very persistent, not backing down until a certain goal of yours is complete. Which is normally despair.

He found it weird how much you enjoyed despair even when it was you who was enduring the despair.

Compared to him (in his personal opinion) you were absolutely gorgeous. He would wonder how he got with some one like you.

You loved to watch him work and eat humans and the terror on their face! Made you blush and have electric feeling going thru you body making you shudder.

You and his sister Daki got along very well, you both were often doing fashion stuff with each other.

Gyutaro has favorites on the personalities you switch too. He likes the smart and collected one.

He gets slightly annoyed by the cute one with a weird voice.

He finds the quite and remorseful one oddly cute.

Most of the time your very loud and confident, which he doesn’t mind too much.

He did like how smart you were. You helped him and his sister Daki come up with ways to eat more humans, without drawing too much attention from the demon slayers.

You were also manipulative and were good a leading humans to them without any trouble.

Demons slayers annoyed, because they brought hope to people. Which is the opposite of what your trying to do.

And when gyutaro is feeling a bit down on himself thinking he ugly. You come in and knock some sense into him

“You realize all these people you eat look way worse. Your dangerous in more ways than one. One them being dangerously handsome.”

He found your reason for acting the way you do stupid. You just cared about causing despair.

He was impressed by how smart you are. But not like he ever tell you that.

He often doesn’t go along with your little plans to cause despair. He only does it, if it benefits him.

It annoyed him when you switch to your personality with a weird voice.

You remind him of a certain someone when you turn quite and remorseful. Which he hates

He thinks your sexy when you switch to acting collected and smart.

Most the time your loud and confident. Which doesn’t annoy him too much.

Though when he does cause despair, you can’t help but praise him.

Which causes him to act smug.

He didn’t care how you looked, but he’d be a liar if he didn’t think you were beautiful.

He found it a little bit weird and disturbing by the face you made when he was eating someone, the despair that was left on their face just sent a electric feeling through your body.

He found it a bit weird. How you enjoyed causing despair but then he himself caused plenty of despair, so he didn’t care to much.

He didn’t mind that you tagged along just to see him kill, causing despair. Sometimes he would watch you in towns cause despair to other people, it entertained him, but when it came to women,he would shut that down real quick.

When asked why he says

“cause unlike a certain uppermoon. I actually respects women.”

Though sometimes you help him get food in big cities without being caught. Akaza can’t get human so easily cause of the way he looks.

So you use your manipulative skills and acting to lure them into alleyways. Where Akaza ambushes them and eats them.

But he specifically tells you to go for men and not women. He threatened to punch if you do or would say

“I won’t let you tag along with me anymore.”

You respect his wishes, not because you were scared of him. The thought of him punching you was a temptation to you more than a threat. But you didn’t want hear his nagging to complaining. you also didn’t want Akaza to not take you with him. He caused such good despair!

Now Akaza doesn’t judge or care about someone looks but he did admit to himself that you had really good sense of fashion.

When he found out you can just switch personalities it was weird to him. But not like he really cared but the new sides of you were interesting

There was a side of you the was quite and remorseful. Which showed that maybe you weren’t completely evil

A side of you with a silly voice. He thinks it kinda childish but he thought it was fun.

One that the was smart and collected. He thinks that the mature side of you.

Most of the time your loud, confident, and kinda narcissistic. Which he doesn’t mind.

Akaza likes to show off how strong he is. After defeating his enemies, you praise him for the despair and how strong you think he is.

He found your company delightful. He liked that you like to cause despair

And like him you were very beautiful. You both would praise each other and act all high and mighty. Soaking in each other’s praise.

He liked to see you scheme for your next plan to spread despair. All of them were really genius and which he would tell you.

He even accepted every time you asked if he could help cause despair. Cause sometimes he just bored and he gets to eat people.

When you do it by yourself, it entertaining to watch for him. Something to do in his free time.

You were also were a great actor like him. But you use it to get people to do things for you, or lure them into a trap.

Douma was even more entertained by you when you would switch personalities

His favorite was the one with the silly voice.

He liked the smart and collected on, you sounded so mature. Which was hilarious cause most of the time your the opposite

You also became quite and remorseful. Which is one that Douma didn’t expect you to have.

Most of the time you were loud and confident, also a little quirky. Which vibes with Douma’s personality fine.

One time Douma asked if he can cause you despair and you said yes.

Long story short you were pretty bloody and beaten. But you couldn’t stop laughing.

“All the pain and misery, it’s amazing. Despair! It’s amazing!”

You actually payed him back, when you stole a poison from a demons slayer estate, and poured in a women mouth that was already dead. He started eating her and halfway they he stopped and started getting terrible stomach pain.

You didn’t pour enough to kill him. just enough to cause him pain.

He didn’t get your reason for causing despair.

When he asked, the answer wasn’t really the one he expected.

“Don’t you think the worlds a little bit too boring? Despair. Even for a short time saves me from the boredom. That why I like to cause despair it anything but boring.”

Your reason for being the way you are is because of boredom? He didn’t really get it but didn’t care to much about it either.

Though he be a liar if he didn’t find your plans weren’t genius. They were even a little bit entertaining to watch them unfold.

If you beg enough, he’ll sometimes give in and help with your plans. They only really convinces him if he gets to eat somebody.

He didn’t mind when you would watch him work. Seeing all that despair was always so inviting to you.

When you change personalities did intrigue him.

Smart and collected: was definitely his favorite and didn’t even think you could act that calm and calculated

Quite and remorseful: where is that one when you cause despair. Why do you even have it?

A childish one with a silly voice: your already hard enough to deal with it as it is. He could do without that one.

Most of the time your loud, confident, and a little crazy. But he deals with it anyway.

He only ask you a favor when he’s in a giant area with a lot of people. You help sneak them away and have kokushibo ambush them.

You and Muzan got along swimmingly. You both cause despair. But you did because you were bored. He did because he has a god complex, and likes to feel stronger than others

When he would look at your plans, he was impressed by how thought out they were. You even had backup plans. He just loved to watch them unfold and seeing terror on people faces.

You wouldn’t ask Muzan to help you. But you would suggest that he might have fun doing them. He knew what you were doing. But seeing how most of your plans go, he would go along with it especially if he’s bored and has nothing better to do. He doesn’t care if he gets to eat or not.

You liked to watch him work. He doesn’t just cause despair to humans but to his fellow demons. You liked seeing and hearing a demon or humans screams or the terror on their face. It makes you giggle. Also causing your eyes to swirl. When a demons is obvious killed by muzan because they failed him or made him angry. You often like to say

“It’s punishment time!”

He liked having you around, he believed that he was the most perfect being there was. You were a pretty close second, in looks anyway. You believed he was perfect and you often compliment him. Making his ego bigger.

He had different opinions of your switch personality

Quite and remorseful one, made him feel stronger than you but also made him question do you actually enjoy what you do.

Your smart and collected one, was Definitely one of his favorites. You sounded so serious and it would remind him of himself a little bit. That’s when you were most smart which proved to be useful at times

Your childish one with the silly voice, he hated that one, he doesn’t need to deal with your child antics, he already had enough on his plate. The voice is super annoying too.

Most of the time your basically a diva, but you aren’t rude to him. You knew you would be killed the second you disrespected him.

Muzan doesn’t need your help in big areas luring people away. He looks normally human and can do things faster in a blink of an eye.

Let’s be honest. He a sadist and you are also a sadist but also a masochist. you enjoyed experiencing it almost as much as you like inflicting it.

So if your getting on his nerves he will sometimes shut you up and give you despair. To which you thank him.

He found it weird but entertaining, it was better to hear your manic giggles and hearing thanks. Instead of hearing loud annoying screams and pleads for forgiveness from lowly demons.

I really hope this was to your satisfaction. I’ve never really done this kind of things before, and I really tried to get junko’s character right.

#submission #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny headcanons #muzan kibutsuji #kokushibou #douma #doma #Akaza #kokushibo #gyutaro #enmu #kaigaku #kny kokushibou #kny douma #kimetsu no yaiba gyutaro #kny muzan #akaza kimetsu no yaiba #kny enmu

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goodieghosty · 3 years

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Me: Goddammit brain please you already have so many sanders sides aus you do not need to make another one just because of one audio-

Also me: owo modern gods au, all of the sides are gods

But uh ye

Please stop me but also don't because uh, 👀 I'm already imagining all the drama they all would have gone through and I love it.

Roman and Remus are both gods of the arts and are able to create anything so long as they can imagine it. Their creative differences are what split them apart until recent years, they're still in competition with each other, of course. Remus is absolutely responsible for every nightmare inducing creature on the planet

Patton is a fertility god, and is known as a protector of children. It's not easy to get on his bad side, unless, of course, that person is an abuser. Then he will make it his personal duty to make sure their crops suffer. But not many have crops nowadays, so their bad fortune will manifest in other ways. Impotence, for example. A demotion. Success will never come that person's way. He's very morals based, and back in the day if a farmer had bad crops if was often seen as them not being in Patton's favor. Basically if you had "good morals" you'd thrive, if you didn't, you'd suffer. He's a little lost now, as he's coming to terms with the fact that not everything is black and white.

Logan is a god of wisdom and innovation. Scholars would turn to him for insight and he would provide them through visions. He's always searching for bright minds to help further humanity, but often times they do not heed him, and that infuriates him to no end.

Janus is a god of deception and war. Do I really need to explain? Well I will anyways. He really, really liked playing both sides. Didn't matter which one paid him more tribute, he would only help whichever one would benefit himself in the long run. Many have tried to have his head for the betrayal, especially other gods, whose favorite cities were decimated by his actions. It's given him many a scar. Roman is the one who gave him the half snake appearance, after a particularly nasty war destroyed the city that revered him the most

Virgil is a god of darkness and nightmares. He thinks humanity never should have discovered fire, because they were better off being fearful of everything. He exists everywhere there is darkness. His proudest creation was the night sky. Nothing but pitch blackness as far as the eye could see-and then Roman created the stars as a gift for Logan and Yes he is still bitter about it.

I'm just saying as immortal beings they've all gotten around. Remus is the worst about it tho, he's like if Zeus and Loki became one being like-Remus is responsible for so many demigods and creatures. Bish literally once turned up with just a mass of tentacles all swaddled up and went "hey Roman come meet your nephew Cthulhu-" "idk what the hell that is but you can take it right tf back to the depths of the ocean" "aw ;n; "

They're gods and they're all gay and they can all shapeshift so having kids is just, p simple. Janus once tricked a king into marrying him by disguising himself as a beautiful woman, and then had a child who would later on betray the kingdom by killing said king. All because the king killed one of his snakes. Throughout the whole marriage and pregnancy Janus wore a veil-because he can't hide the snake part of his face-and warned the king that should he try to peer beneath it, terrible things would happen. Well the king did, and the rest was history

Roman falls in love too easily, especially with mortals. It's a tragedy really. He did once have something with Logan, but Logan didn't feel the same. Roman thinks if he keeps displaying these fantastic feats and giving these amazing gifts he'll get somewhere, but no. With mortals however-they eat that up.

Whenever Roman comes around with "I'm in love!" they're all over it-except Patton. Patton is just happy for him. Virgil however "you know, you throw that word around so much I don't think you understand what it means" and Roman is always so defensive "and what do you know about love?" "I know the difference between actually loving someone, and loving the attention. If you want attention so badly you should seek out your worshippers. A week from now you're going to get bored of them, just like all the others."

They just constantly butt heads. Until one day Patton has enough and puts them together for a task all "I am sick and tired of you two being at each other's throats, so you're going to work together and make something. Using both your abilities." And that's how storm clouds and thunderstorms came to be and Virgil finally saw how light and dark bring out the best in each other. And now he has a crush on Roman, but Roman is dense af and just keeps falling for mortals

Patton lost his cool one time. Once. And that was when his greatest patron turned out to be selling children into slavery. Logan helped plan it, Janus was the one who managed to get all those involved-patron included-all in one place. And then they just turned Patton loose like, yeah. He destroyed an entire villa and leveled it to the ground

Remus loves making oddball creatures and showing Logan because Logan always finds them interesting and he always gives him input

Now imagine all that, now imagine them all trying to fit in with modern society

#goodie talks #i just???#u g h #godsides au #sanders sides

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astro-rain · 3 years

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delicate; b.barnes

chapter one - “to wakanda”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: reader works for what used to be shield as a highly skilled neuropsychologist. after the events in vienna involving the sokovia accords and a bombing, she gets an interesting request from friend and coworker sharon carter...a request involving none other than steve rogers and james barnes.

warnings: brief and indirect mentions of abuse/trauma

pairings: bucky x fem!reader

"I don't know Sharon. Are you sure I'm really the right person for this? I'm not, like, an Avengers level tech. Are you sure they don't want a genius or someone like Stark to do it?"

"Well, Stark is pretty busy right now, and honestly, no one knows psych like you. Not who I've met anyway."

"That is so not true. I'm willing to bet there's tons of other people you guys got somewhere who are ten times what I am."

"Agent (Y/L/N), in case you missed it, SHIELD isn't what it used to be. Sure we have old agents who aren't formally 'SHIELD agents,' anymore, but we don't have the expendability we used to. You're our best bet at the moment."

"Damn. I'm your best bet. I'm sorry," she almost chuckled, but then she thought for a brief moment. "Are you sure this is completely necessary? I mean, I saw the photo on the news. The quality's poor at best, and..."

She leaned in, discretely, and whispered.

"...not to seem like a conspiracy theorist commie or anything, but it kinda seems like people are jumping to conclusions here. Are we even sure it was Barnes who set off the bomb?"

Sharon looked around them, cautiously. No one seemed to be listening, but she scanned the room like her life as she knew it was hanging in the balance. She weighed her words in her head, making sure she picked the right ones, then formulated a response appropriate.

"Regardless of if it was him or not, Barnes still escaped. and before that, Ste-we'd been looking for him for almost two years. This analysis is necessary," Sharon brought her voice down even lower. "At least that's what I keep being told. Of course I'd like there to be more solid proof, but I'm not in charge here. He's gone, and they want to be able to find him and 'sort things out.'"

"'Sort things out,'" (Y/N) repeated, questioning the genuineness of whomever told Sharon that. "Unless they have hard evidence that it was him who set off the bomb in Vienna, shouldn't they leave that to uh...Captain America?"

She wondered how Barnes was able to escape in the first place. She saw the containment module he was in; there's no way he could've gotten out without a fight. ...But maybe it wasn't a fight. Perhaps it was a trigger word induced rage. (Y/N) understood a basic layout of the "Winter Soldier." SHIELD would've kept any information they had classified. However, after the fiasco in Washington, d.c. with Hydra and the whole releasing of all files predicament, she was able, with Sharon's help, to put together a simple outline. With that being said, he couldn't have broken out without going Winter Soldier mode. But doesn't someone need the trigger words for that?

“That's what a reasonable person would think, but once again, I'm not in charge," Sharon shrugged. "Things would probably be going a lot smoother if I was, but you can't have everything."

(Y/N) cracked a smile. Sharon was a friend, and a good one too. They'd known each other since before SHIELD was shattered in 2014. In fact, Sharon helped train her.

The only thing was: Sharon was a higher ranking agent and often withheld certain information from (Y/N). It frustrated her. This was where their personal boundaries got in the way of their professional ones.

She could tell there was something Sharon wasn't telling her, but she wasn't about to compromise either of their positions by pushing for information she wasn't supposed to know. Hell, maybe even Sharon knows something she isn't supposed to. Or maybe she knows something that Everett Ross wouldn't like. What if she was keeping something from him? Defying him? What if she was working with Steve Rogers? Now that would be interesting.

(Y/N) was used to secrets around her all the time. She knew Sharon had her fair share, and trying to figure them out wouldn't really get her anywhere.

"Right. Okay. Well, I'll get on this then. Thanks, Agent Carter," she teased in late response to Sharon's 'Agent (Y/N).’

Sharon offered a quick smile before walking off to attend to other business.

- - -

Pain. That was all it was. In every sense of the word. As she strenously made her way through the densely packed file of one James Buchanan Barnes, pain was all she could see. All she could read. It leaked out of the page and seeped into her skin like poison.

It was horrific what they did to him. She knew he had his memory wiped, had someone pull him out and stick someone else in. But it was more than just that. They took his past, his memories, his thoughts; and they ripped them from his mind, leaving an empty space to mold into their own. It was after this when Hydra, in every way they could, dehumanized him, made him less than. He was striped of his freedom, his control, his choice, his humanity, of everything that made him him. They beat and bruised and broke it out this empty human shell until he was nothing but a shadow of faded morality and consciousness.

But hell, she couldn't look away. She was glued to the aftershock of this horrible wreckage. All the years of studying Psychology and Neuroscience couldn't have possibly prepared her for the absolute horror that was his past, his abuse, his torture. It was heinous. Frankly, she questioned how he was still alive. How he still had the will and the drive to be alive. How do you live after that?

"Fuck," she breathed after eons of silence.

She seemed to lose her sense of time whilst she was immersed in the harrowing nightmare of Hydra's cruelty. 'Cruelty' doesn't even come close to doing it justice. When she came to, her desk looked like a bomb went off. Papers were bursting out of manilla folders, littering the linoleum surface with classified files and secret information. She leaned back in her chair, and gave herself a minute to debrief.

(Y/N) almost felt guilty, like she things she looked at were so vile, so violating that she didn't have the right to see them. Sure, she had read and analyzed all sorts of trauma and psychological profiles. But he was different. Something about James Barnes was different. It tangled her mind the fact that a person could endure all that. She could only imagine the effect that would have on the human brain. The possibilities are endless. Suddenly bombing the UN didn't seem so far fetched.

- - -

"Jesus Christ," (Y/N) murmured, staring at her office floor as Sharon finished explaining to her what happened at the Leipzig Halle Airport.

She sat mostly in silence as she pondered over the information just fed to her. Apparently Tony Stark gathered a 'team' to try and intercept Captain America - sorry - Steve Rogers and his (supposed) fugitive friend. It was chaos.

"What is this? Fuckin' Avengers Fight Night?" she wondered aloud. "How many people did you say were there?"

"Twelve total," Sharon clarified. "Five with Stark and five with Steve."

The psychologist shook her head, dumbfounded. "How did it end?"

"Steve and Barnes got out, but everyone else with them were captured and sent to the Raft."

"The Raft?!" (Y/N) exclaimed. "That's for, like, super humans! Not people like Sam Wilson or Clint Barton!"

"You're telling me."

Sharon seemed in agreement with everything she was saying. However, there was something she couldn't quite place. Like she was holding back. But holding back what?

"So what of Rogers and Barnes?" (Y/N) pushed.

Sharon got up and closed the office door before returning to her seat, leaning in, and lowering her voice. This secretive woman, god damn it.

"Well... That's what I came to talk to you about."

Oh boy. She didn't have a semblance of a single idea of what to expect. Apparently Sharon noticed.

"We're the only ones that know this. They're fine..." the agent trailed off, "They're in Wakanda, but they need a little help."

"Are you leaving?!" (Y/N) all but yelled before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth and uncovering it only to whisper, "Do you and Rogers have a thing or something? Cause' I don't know how else you would know all of this when I'm sure that no one else does considering he's now an enemy of several governments!"

"My relations with Steve Rogers are not the focus here." She could've sworn Sharon flushed. "But we have been in contact; I'm one of the few people he can trust right now, and I don't plan on letting him down anytime soon."

They totally have a thing.

"Noted," said (Y/N) with a nod, "but why are you telling me this? Does he want the profile analysis or something? I don't see how he would need it if he's known Barnes for however long."

"Not exactly..." Sharon fidgeted with her hands. "We need you to go to Wakanda.”

[A/N:] this is a repost of chapter 1 because my masterlist is being fucky

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dameronology · 3 years

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asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’)

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it

enjoy

- jazz

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth.

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse.

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you.

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain.

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life.

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you.

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore

‘You look like shit.’

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before.

The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once.

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured.

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally.

‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way.

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead.

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you.

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured.

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing.

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony.

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be.

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably.

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it.

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it.

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day.

There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities.

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about.

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye.

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’

‘Mmm?’

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter.

That was the problem.

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be.

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever?

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find.

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you?

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing.

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked.

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him.

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked.

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later.

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now.

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either.

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed.

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around.

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human.

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost.

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

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

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

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

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

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #i said chapter 7 by the end of august and we cut it kind of close but we made it B)

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annonymouslyblonde · 3 years

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Where I Should Be

Fandom: PJO/HOO

Pairing: Percy x Annabeth

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: Set during Mark of Athena the night of the day they found Percy. What if the stable scene wasn't the first moment alone Percy and Annabeth had? While I love the stable scene, Annabeth just isn't patient enough to have waited that long to catch up with Percy. My take on an additional scene for MoA.

A/N: Everything follows canon for HOO other than the fact we don't have a consistent timeline on the amount of time Percy was missing. So bare with me. My headcannon is that for Percy, it was a few months (thanks to his Hera induced nap), but for Annabeth, he's been missing eight months now.

The slight creak of the door woke Percy. After four years of fighting monsters and Lupa's training, he had learned to sleep lightly. Before the door could close, Riptide was uncapped and at the intruder's throat.

A sharp gasp came shortly before the person hissed, "Percy, it's me!"

Annabeth. Of course, it was only Annabeth. Percy sheepishly lowered his sword. Nothing said "I've missed you the last eight months" like a sword to the throat. Then again, she had judo flipped him, hadn't she? Seemed fair enough.

"I thought you were a monster!" he whispered harshly in defense of his actions, but Annabeth leveled him with a signature glare.

"A monster quietly making it past Jason on guard and opening your bedroom door instead of exploding it?"

His cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Hearing it aloud especially from Annabeth did make it seem pretty ridiculous.

"I was half asleep, and stranger things have happened. Besides I wasn't exactly expecting anyone tonight."

Annabeth looked away from him distracted, half asleep herself. She was barefoot and clad in her favorite worn flannel pants and a camp half-blood sweatshirt of his that was definitely too big for her.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she admitted quietly. "I just- I shouldn't have come, it's stupid. Go back to bed, Percy." She started to turn for the door when he dropped his sword completely to reach for her.

"Hey, don't."

He turned her back to him. In the light of Riptide, tear tracts stood out on her cheeks, and her eyes were red, puffy, and glassy like she may cry again any second. He gently stroked her cheek.

"You've been crying," Percy noted. She wiped angrily at her eyes trying to remove the evidence.

"Nightmares again?" he asked gently. Percy was always gentle with her when nightmares plagued her. Being vulnerable didn't come easy to Annabeth, and he felt honored she would trust him enough to show her vulnerable side.

When she confirmed his suspicions with a nod, Percy collected her in his arms and felt her sigh with relief. He remembered how awful the nightmares had been before at camp and when she'd stay at the apartment, even taken a few elbows as she fought them when she fell asleep during their movie nights. And now? A shudder cut through him trying to imagine how awful they must have been when he vanished. For him, it had only been a few months, but Annabeth had been looking for him nearly a year now not knowing what she may find on the other end.

He pressed a long kiss to her hair and asked, "Which one this time?"

Percy was familiar with most of them by now. Her mother and father rejecting her, blankets turning into spiders, standing at his funeral shroud in hand with everyone telling her he was gone, him accepting the offer of immortality and leaving her alone. And now he had actually left her alone at camp for eight months. The thought made his stomach turn.

"Same one I've had the last few months," she mumbled into his chest. "Every worst-case scenario. You not remembering me, not wanting to leave Camp Jupiter. Or not finding you at Camp Jupiter at all, that you'd never been there and we were completely wrong. Or worse." He knew the "or worse". Her biggest fear used to be abandonment and rejection, but now it had become more than that. The worse was finding him already dead.

"When I woke up, I just- I didn't trust my own mind that we really had found you. That you were really here. I thought I'd finally snapped. Today was probably the best scenario I could have thought up, and you know how it is for half-bloods. Things never go right."

He tightened his hold and stroked her tangled curls, burying his face in her shoulder. "Today they did. Right enough at least. I'm here. I'm with you where I should be."

"I'm so sorry, Percy," she sobbed into his shirt. "I'm sorry it took me so long to find you. I failed you epically."

"No, you didn't." He gently extracted himself taking her face in his hands and made her look at him. "That was all Hera. You did everything you could. I know you did."

"I can't help but feel like that's my fault too. After all, it is Hera," she spat the name out with a much venom as gorgon's blood. Somehow her voice could do that. One side sweet and comforting, another as deadly as poison. "She had to take you. Part of me feels like she took you to get back at me."

Percy couldn't help the chuckle. "Oh, I've done my share of angering that psycho goddess."

The pair stood for a moment in an extended silence. It wasn't enough to alleviate her guilt and he knew it. So he continued.

"It had to be me I think. Any other half-blood getting to California and through the wolf House with no memories? Even if I didn't know about it, I had Achilles' curse protecting me until I got to camp Jupiter. It saved me more than a couple of times."

"Until? You mean-" Her voice trailed off as her fingers grazed the spot at his lower back that he'd confided in her was his only weak spot. His stomach flipped at the gentle touch of her fingers in a way that had nothing to do with the weak spot he previously had.

"I had to give it up to enter Camp Jupiter," he explained. The realization donned on her.

"So when I flipped you earlier-"

"Oh yeah felt every bit of that, thanks. Probably bruised my back along with my ego," he teased. A thunk sounded as she hit her head on the door.

"I'm an idiot," she groaned. "Of course you couldn't carry a Grecian curse into a Roman camp. I'm sorry, Percy. I never meant to hurt you." Her hands skimmed his back hoping she hadn't hurt him too badly.

"I know you didn't, babe." Her heart flipped at the affectionate term. He didn't use that one often, usually when they were alone, but it did strange things to her whenever he did call her babe. It still felt surreal occasionally that they were together in that way. The days of them arguing on the way to LA didn't seem so far in the past.

"You were angry and scared and had every right to be after I disappeared like that. Besides you've done more damage in sparing practice. I'm fine."

She didn't say anything, choosing instead to wrap her arms around him again assuring herself he was really there. Soon, he felt her breathing even out against his neck, and she slumped heavily into him starting to fall asleep again. When he shuffled them towards the bed, she stirred making the task more difficult.

"Come on," he whispered into her nest of golden curls, loving the way she burrowed into his arms. "Lay down with me."

"Can't," she mumbled sleepily. "I shouldn't even be here. I need to go before we get caught."

"I think we've earned this for one night at least. It's been too long since I could hold you." His arms tightened around her, adding to his point. "I'll even set an alarm so you can sneak back before anyone is up. Better yet, where's your hat?"

"Stopped working," she spat out bitterly. "Only gift mom ever gave me, and apparently she kept the receipts. I don't wanna talk about it."

That concerned him. If Athena was taking things from Annabeth, what did that mean for the rest of them with their parents? Percy made them promise to be better with their kids, and here they were a few months later going back on their promises. Typical.

"You and your mom aren't talking again?"

"No one is talking. Olympus has gone silent except for Hera apparently." Bitterness crept back into her voice as the hurt and worry of the last several months tightened in her chest again. Before her mind could go too dark, the ship pitched suddenly sending them tumbling into his bed and Percy into a fit of laughter.

"See even the ship is telling you to stay."

She snorted and settled against him as he pulled a blanket around them. If the Fates seemed to be telling her to stay, then who was she to argue. Curled into his side, she took a deep, comforting breath of the salty air that seemed to follow him. The smell of the ocean, the smell of him, always calmed her now. Automatically, Percy ran his fingers through her hair. Well as much as he could considering it was a knotted mess.

"Speaking of moms though, your mom and Paul are doing well. They've been worried about you, but they're good."

"You went to see them?"

Distractedly, she drew Greek letters across his chest needing to keep her hands busy. Curse half-blood ADHD. It was always worse when she didn't sleep well, but Percy didn't mind. The light touch of her fingers dancing across his chest focused him. All he could think of was her. The smell of her shampoo. Her warm breath as she spoke to him. The feel of her securely wrapped in his arms. He never wanted to forget this again.

"I wanted to keep them informed and see if they heard from you," she answered having finally ordered her thoughts enough. "I've been going at least once a week when I'm at camp. Your mom's kept me sane the last eight months."

"She's pretty great like that. I tried to call her. I don't know if it helped or made things worse. I didn't really explain too well."

"It helped," she assured him with a squeeze. "She managed to forward it to me, and we must have spent an hour on the phone together listening to it. It was good just to hear your voice. And speaking of, you should call her in the morning. The camouflage on the ship will make it safe for a phone call."

"She's going to kill me when I get home," he groaned. Annabeth laughed into his chest. It was the best feeling in the world to hear that laugh again.

"Probably so, then she's going to hug you for a month straight. She wanted me to tell you she loves you and misses you. She never doubted I'd find you."

When Annabeth first came to tell Mr. and Mrs. Jackson-Blofis about Percy's disappearance, she made sure Sally knew she would do whatever it took to bring him home. The older woman merely nodded and smiled at the younger girl.

"Of course you will, dear. I have every faith in you." And she hugged her. Sally never once doubted Annabeth's ability. And later as Annabeth worried over the quest from her mom, it was Sally that held her hand reassuringly and told her everything would be alright. In the past eight months, Sally Jackson had become a rock to Annabeth, and she would never be able to thank the woman enough for that. The woman never doubted that she'd find the most important thing in both their lives.

"And she shouldn't have." Percy interrupted her thoughts, answering both her words and internal musings. "Because you are amazing."

Looking down at the girl curled against him, Percy couldn't help but finally feel at home. Emotions overwhelmed him fighting for dominance. Pride in her. Anger for being snatched away. Fear that it would happen again. Happiness to have her in his arms again. But one feeling was more powerful than the rest, and he needed to make sure she knew before anything else could happen.

"And I love you, Annabeth Chase."

She propped up on her elbows, staring at him dumbfounded. A long quiet moment passed before Percy broke the silence with a nervous laugh.

"Oh that's so sweet," he mimicked in a high voice. "But you know I'm not sure I feel that-"

She shut him up with a kiss. By now, they had kissed lots of times. There was Mt. St. Helen when she had surprised him with a kiss. Or the time they came back to camp high on the victory of defeating Kronos when they had kissed by the lake. And of course, the best underwater kiss ever which had become every underwater kiss since. But every time she kissed him, it made his stomach flip just like it was the first time all over again. When they finally parted, she leaned her forehead against his with a satisfied smirk.

"Of course I love you, seaweed brain. Think I'd have gone searching for eight months if I didn't?"

"I'd do it for you," he vowed, wrapping a ringlet around his finger. "I'd do anything for you."

"You're proving my point for me."

She smirked at him, and he took the moment to truly study her face. She was beautiful as always, but the deep, puffy rings under her eyes had definitely not been there before. Her cheekbones stood out sharper and he realized when he held her, she was thinner, gaunt even. He could feel each of her vertebrae when he ran his hand down her back. Her face was noticeably paler as well, and her hair lacked its normal shiny, glow. Overall, she pretty much looked like death warmed over. He traced the purple skin under her eyes.

"Gods, Annabeth, when's the last time you slept?"

She rolled her eyes at him. The first time he told her he loved her followed up with how tired she looked. Leave it to Percy Jackson to ruin a beautiful moment.

"Always the charmer, aren't you?"

"I mean it." The laugh in her throat died with his serious tone. Percy was seldom serious. "When's the last time you actually slept a full eight hours? And you haven't been eating well, I can tell. I know how you get when you stress."

Annabeth settled against his shoulder again, not able to bear the concern on his face. No, she hadn't taken great care of herself lately, and she didn't need Percy to remind her of that. Sally did enough of that commenting on the increasingly dark circles under her eyes, always insisting she stay for dinner, that she was getting too thin.

"I couldn't," she finally admitted in a small voice. It seemed pathetic to her now that she hadn't been able to take care of herself, but she lacked the will to without Percy. All of her focus has been on finding him.

"I had to find you. When I did sleep, I snuck into your cabin or fell asleep in your bed at the apartment." She paused waiting for his reaction. Would he be angry she snuck in there? Would he not like her sleeping in his beds while he'd been missing? But Percy just tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her head. She released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. It amazed her sometimes how Percy always seemed to know exactly what she needed.

"Being in there where it smelled like you, it was the only way I could actually get some sleep. Chiron had to know, but no one ever said anything."

Tears collected in her eyes, and she turned her face into his chest trying to stop them. Percy was the only person she ever let see her like this, weak and emotional. The only time she let herself break was in the seclusion of the Posidon cabin curled around his pillow.

"I missed you," she whispered hoarsely.

"I missed you too. The whole time, all I could think about was getting back to you. You kept me going, kept me alive."

"You mean you remembered me the whole time?" she asked incredulously. How could she have been the one thing he remembered? When Jason showed up, he hadn't remembered anything. It didn't make sense to her that Percy would remember anything, much less her.

"Yeah. Whether she meant to or not, you were the only thing Hera didn't take from me. The second I woke up, I didn't know my name, but I knew yours and knew I had to get back to you no matter what. More things came. The quests and all. That kiss under the lake. But it always came back to you. You're ingrained into who I am now, Annabeth. You were the reason I kept going because I knew I had to get back to you."

She leaned up pressing her lips to his again, tracing every inch of his face trying to memorize it. The kiss spoke everything they had struggled to say to each other. Her euphoric relief seeing him alive and well. His hope for a future with her in New Rome. The deep connection that had tied them together since they were twelve. Everything.

"I love you, Percy Jackson," she breathed against his lips, pouring every emotion she felt for him into the words. He grinned that lopsided smile she adored so much.

"I love you too, wise girl."

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #percabeth #pjo fandom #pjo fanfic #percy x annabeth #pjo hoo toa #mark of athena #fanfic #writing #hoo fanfic #oneshot #percabeth fluff

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yandere-sins · 3 years

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The Fox Wedding - Embrace the marriage (Kita)

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Kita Shinsuke x afab!Reader

Rating: Explicit Warnings for this chapter: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced/Unhealthy Relationship, Rough Handling, Mention of bite marks, Mention of Non-Con, Pregnancy, Mention of (not human) blood, Monsters, Mention of burns, Verbal threats

“Don’t you remember?”

He asked you this again on that one gloomy night as you rearranged your kimono. You had gotten good at putting it on, not because you wanted to learn how to do it, but because it was the only thing that made you feel better about yourself. The way Shinsuke owned you was painful, stinging, and tear-inducing, and you felt better not having to see the countless bite marks of possession he put on you. Thus, you learned how to do it. Better you than a maid, or worse, Shinsuke himself.

“I don’t.”

Your answer was always the same. How long had it been that you two were wed on that sun-filled, rainy day? A month? Three? Half a year? Yet, he never stopped with his riddles, and this question was the only one that arose every once in a while. Your heart ached with the desire to go home, leave this godforsaken country to be where you belonged - where you never should have left. But of course, it wasn’t that easy.

“I see,” he whispered, and from the moon shining in through the open windows in your shared bedroom, you could see him nod his head thoughtfully while his eyes focused on your stomach. “You were still so small back then. The smallest human I had ever met.”

His soft smile was lost on you as you shook your head, unbelieving of his words. Shinsuke didn’t like unnecessary talks. He’d rather have a quiet morning than one filled with small talk you learned. And when he spoke, it was hard to accept what he said. Nothing good ever came from him saying your name. No affectionate string of words sounded like he meant it when he said it in the usual indifferent tone. An ‘I love you’ was quick to change into ‘Mind your manners’, and often he ignored your wishes in favor of fulfilling some kind of clan duties.

Perhaps, the only moment you managed to catch him off-guard was when a doctor - or something close to that just less human than you liked - announced your pregnancy, but you had been too shocked to be able to react to the sincere smile on his face and the tight hug he gave you despite the news being more of a tragedy to you. It wasn’t the child’s fault, even you knew that, but from day one, you felt responsible for it yet devoid of the feeling that you could love the kid like a normal mother would.

With your hand falling to the little bump on your stomach, you were glad it was still decent enough to not be immediately visible. Yet, as long as you were aware of the growing life inside you, the more you felt the dread of having to take care of yourself for its sake. There were worse wounds that Shinsuke could inflict on you, and unfortunately, you wouldn’t even put it past the clan to follow his lead rather than step in and stop him. It still made your blood freeze to think back to when you saw the real him for the first time. No, not him. The monster he was.

It was hard to forget the ashen creature that brought fresh meat for the village. You always thought foxes were small, playful yet wild animals, but that didn’t seem to apply to fox spirits. These images kept flashing before your eyes as you stroked your belly reassuringly, the baby inside of you not yet in need of comfort, but you sure were.

Fox spirits were tall as bears, and every one of them deadlier than a pack of wolves. It was bewildering to learn that Shinsuke wasn’t even fully grown yet, only six of nine possible tails emerging from his back once he turned into that beast. You could have sworn with his fox form being as tall as you were, he’d be at least grown out, and it unnerved you to imagine what he’d look like once he was.

Even if he allowed you to pat his fur, nudged you into the affection despite smearing deer blood all over you, it was no less reassuring to know what he really looked like even if he acted like that. You had seen him snap a deer’s neck in two cleanly with his maw. You had heard him growl. And none of this made you any less afraid of your own husband, the father of your child.

Involuntarily, Shinsuke had made you become what previously had been your worst nightmare. You were a healthy woman, so it was only a question of time until his forced intimacy would produce the child everyone around you was looking forward to. Except you, but how could you possibly be when this wasn’t what you wanted at all?

Even so, you realized the child was just another innocent soul in a much more complicated scheme of his ‘love’. One you still not understood even though he was so insistent that it existed. Nevertheless, you couldn’t let yourself be punished and endanger the little one, always seeing these huge, beastly creatures in your inner eye whenever you thought about running or misbehaving. However, you also couldn’t stop yourself from flinching when he reached over to caress your stomach, unable to forgive and, even more so, forget what all he had done to you.

Tearing you out of your life, your world even, force you into this relationship and himself on you, was small compared to the ‘lessons’ and ‘training’ he made you go through to become more fitting for your role as his wife. Your maltreated body was only one evidence of his ‘care’ and ‘love’ that he so generously had sworn to you before your wedding. There was no ‘happiness’ in sight even after being married for so long. If he thought that child made you happy, he had been wrong.

Answers. Answers would have made you happy - or at least, made this more endurable.

“Back then, you were scared too.”

His palm clasped around your hand tightly as he began to circle it over the baby bump. He acknowledged your flinching, your fear. Though even if he noticed, he only ever did so in his favor, dismissing it to do whatever he pleased or continuing to force you into obeying his will. Shinsuke always looked serious and talked with logic, you wouldn’t have believed the slyness in all of his doings even though it dawned on you that it was one of the foxes’ main traits.

“Back when?” you mumbled, wanting to pull out your hand but getting stuck in his grasp, sighing inwardly as you gave up on fighting him. Not when he was so close to the child. You didn’t want to risk upsetting him.

“Twenty years? Thirty? Time--” Interrupting himself, Shinsuke let out a thoughtful hum, clearing his throat before he resumed speaking.” Time is tough to calculate when you live for so long. Day is day, night is night. Sometimes it snows, and sometimes it rains, and all the other days are mostly the same. Only now, you are here with me, and that makes me happier than anything else.”

This time, it was on you to ponder, wondering about the time frame. There was no reason to get upset about the fact Shinsuke didn’t seem to know your current age, nor how long it really had been. The message ’a long time ago’ was received by you either way. What you couldn’t rack your brain around was that there wasn’t an instance you could remember meeting Shinsuke before, especially since you hadn’t been to Japan when you were as young as he made it seem-

“Oh,” you whispered. Oh, you had been to Japan before as a child, with your family to visit friends that resided in this beautiful country. But you had forgotten all about it, how old had you been? Four? Maybe five? Now you remembered that the reason for your first trip as a teenager had been to see the country you had been to before but could barely remember since you were just a toddler back then.

Finally sitting up from his futon, Shinsuke moved over to sit next to you, his right arm snaking around your waist while his left hand remained on your belly. “Do you remember it now?” he cooed softly, leaving a kiss on your cheek as he waited for an answer patiently.

“There was a fox…” you mumbled, straining yourself to remember what happened so long in the past. “I think it was wounded.”

“Continue,” Shinsuke instructed gently, bringing his lips to your temple before brushing back your hair to continue down your neck, leaving pecks of affection behind wherever they wandered.

“It was wounded, and I… I--”

“You gave me your rice ball,” he finished for you as you struggled with your words.

“That was… you?” you slowly but surely pieced it together, and he nodded, pulling you closer to him and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His embrace was tight but less formal than any other touch he laid on you so far. A wave of honest emotions seemed to overcome him as you remembered, a voice of relief leaving him as your shared past revealed itself to you.

“But… But--”

So many questions rushed into your head before you could even utter one of them. How much of what happened was coincidental? Was everything planned? Staged? Arranged? Your thoughts must have shown in your gaze, and though he only looked up for a split second, you were sure he noticed it as he chuckled a few times.

“The truth is, back then, I wanted to kill you. I came back for you every day, and you were always playing in the garden, but your parents were always around watching you.”

Shinsuke sat up straight, instead now pulling you to lean on him and petting your hair. Your instinct detected hostility in his words, yet, your body told you to stay put and not allure him of the fear that crept up in you. You now remembered the silver fox you had met as a little kid, and though the memories were spare and rare, to think you could have died by his maw back then made a cold shudder run down your spine.

“I didn’t want the humans to find out my clan was in that forest - now, this forest - I knew it would mean that I caused them to have to leave or hunters would come. However, when you did tell--”

“No one believed me…” This time you finished his sentence instead, and Shinsuke nodded.

“I couldn’t rest, so I came back day after day, until suddenly… you were gone.”

“Yeah, we flew back home after two weeks,” you mumbled, explaining it to him despite realizing you wished you had kept it a secret. He simply didn’t deserve knowing even a little bit more than necessary.

“Exactly.”

Gently rubbing your back, Shinsuke kissed your hair, his grip on you unbudging, but there was no notion and no feeling of yours that stayed hidden long from him. “Later I found out that the owner of that house - your family’s friends, I reckon? - were aware of us, and their ancestors were granted land from us to build their house in exchange for keeping this village and residents hidden. It’s passed down as a family secret.”

“And then…” For the first time, you sat up, and Shinsuke let you go without a moment of hesitation. Slowly, but surely everything made sense, even if those answers were less relieving than you had hoped. “I bought their house when they became too old to live there. Was that- Was that all planned?”

With your brows furrowing, you looked at his face, and Shinsuke closed his eyes for a moment thoughtfully, humming in contemplation. “Was it? Who knows. Once I learned the truth, I decided you shall be my bride.”

What a dissatisfying answer, you thought, and your expression faltered, body turning away in displeasure. For the first time since you were married, you heard him make a deep sigh, the shuffling of fabric behind you as Shinsuke inched closer, having recognized your defensive stance as telling him you weren’t all too happy with his story.

“If we say fate brought us together, then destiny arranged everything. But I rather think that it was meant to be. You coming back to me is because we are meant for each other, [Name].”

“I don’t agree,” you muttered, feeling defeated. All this time, you had wondered how and why this all happened to you, but in the end, it really had just been Shinsuke’s doing. Part of you felt more betrayed, but the other half wasn’t actually feeling impressed by the knowledge. Disappointed, but not surprised, as a friend of yours always liked to say. “Then why the contract? Why set me up like this?”

“What do you think? Do you think you would have married me otherwise? Do you not despise me? Think that I am a monster? I think that’s what you called me before.”

The level of self-awareness was nothing you would have expected from him. Instinctively you would have liked to argue against him, but at the same time, his words depicted your feelings quite well. “Maybe I wouldn’t have thought that if you had--”

“[Name], please.” There it was again, the patronizing tone in his voice that had been the end to many of your conversations before. His arms wrapped around you from behind, lips landing at the back of your head as he mumbled into your hair. “I waited for you all this time, and know my feelings. There was simply no need for a year-long courtship and proving what I felt.”

“I could have needed it. Are my feelings that unimportant to you?”

Gripping his arms tightly, you dug your fingers in as best as you could. You had enough. Enough of his will being absolute and everything centering around him. All this misery just because he decided on marrying you long, long ago on his own. For the first time, you managed to pull out of his hold by your own strength, twirling around quicker than him being able to capture you again and complain.

“You are a monster! I don’t care about your feelings either since you can’t seem to respect mine! I never wanted any of this!”

Gesturing loosely to him and your stomach, you made room for your anger, even getting up to stand your ground properly. You half expected him to follow, but Shinsuke kept sitting comfortable, merely lowering his eyes and shaking his head. “Calm down, [Name]. You’ll wake the whole village with your voice.”

“What if?! As if they didn’t know how I truly feel! As if they didn’t just turn a blind eye on this situation for your sake!”

“Arranged marriages are very common here--”

“But not arranged by the groom himself! And even so, you still forced me into this, I couldn’t even refuse! You… You beast! You monster! You’re the absolute worst being I ever met, and I hate you! I hate you so much!”

Finally, Shinsuke looked up again, his gaze calm and collected as always. It was the last straw that even now, he did not budge from his views, and you decided to do something you had tried to avoid ever since becoming pregnant. Turning on your heel, you marched towards the door, gripping into the depression of the sliding door to open it. As luck would have it, these kinds of doors didn’t have locks. Thus someone usually watched over you, never leaving you alone, but weirdly enough, it didn’t budge no matter how hard you pulled and tore on it, demanding quietly that it would move out of your way.

“[Name] stop. It’s not good for the baby to get so upset,” Shinsuke called after you, and you just knew he was standing up as he spoke, causing more pressure to fall onto your shoulders. You’d run away. No matter the cost, you wouldn’t stay here. Feeling the door heat up, you jumped away from it, shocked, looking at your fingers while eerie, small flames sparked up at the spot you just touched. By now, you were a little too familiar with foxfire and what it felt like, and yet, angry as you were, it only made you spin around to face him, not expecting to have his face right up in yours the moment you turned.

“I said, stop.”

“Then I won’t listen,” you hissed back at him, rubbing your fingers carefully as they trembled in fear. Never before had resisting him done you anything good, but you reached a point of no return.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Shinsuke instructed again, his patience wearing noticeably thin as you were unbudging. “You go to bed. I am going home.”

Taking a deep breath, he stared you down with those sharp, shining eyes of his, a glare that usually made your knees buckle in fear. You never had given him such a hard time before, normally yielding before it got this far. In some way, it was thrilling, in another, nerve-wracking.

“I’ll say it only once more,” Shinsuke warned, reaching for your wrist that you pulled away before he could reach it, slapping his hand away in the process.

“Or what?” you spat at him, as disgusted as you could. This would end here, you decided. All of it: The fake marriage, your submissiveness, the way you played along and embraced your role as his wife until now. The child too, if you got out of this house, this village, and his clutches.

“You saw the beast before.” Shinsuke spoke his words calm and slow, but his voice lowered dangerously as he kept up his glare unbudgingly. It was just his way of not losing his temper despite you being aware that he wasn’t going to be gentle from this point onwards. There was a never before heard tremble in his voice as he spoke again, the sentence making every inch of you freeze in fear.

Perhaps, you had needed that. One last attempt of being deviant. How else would you have learned that this place might not make you happy, but at least it was the only place that would keep you safe. Safe of Kita Shinsuke’s true nature, the one completely insane from his love for you. How else would you have known that calm waters were the deepest of them all? Deep enough to let you drown in them if you did anything to disturb them?

Maybe, being his wife wasn’t the worst there was.

“But you haven’t seen the monster yet.”

The worst was Shinsuke himself.

a/n: Thank you for reading Kita’s route of this story, I hope you enjoyed it! I noticed last chapter that it didn’t seem as enjoyable than the Prologues, I still hope that you will move forward to explore the other routes and enjoy this experience ^-^ Let me know what you thought, that would make me very happy ♥

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george-mackay-macfine · 3 years

Text

Lets Play A Game - CH.2

Chapter 2 of let's play a game. Imagine who you wish as Jude.

“Okay, well, if we’re going to do this, we need rules.”

“Rules?”

“Rules.” I pushed the heavy-bodied oaf off me and stood up, “You know, like the Geneva contract….”

“This isn’t a world war, Edwards.”

“Oh really?” I spun on my heel, “Because I’m treating it as war.” I motioned between the two of us, “If I’m going to be playing dirty with the enemy, then I need to make sure there are no casualties, apart from you, of course.” I dipped my head to the side, sending him a cheeky smirk.

“Fine,” He rolled his eyes. “We’ll make some rules then.”

“Okay, first rule.”

“No one but us get’s to know about the game,” He pointed at me. “No mothers, no friends, no one.”

“Like I’d want anyone to know I was doing anything with you.” I agreed. “PDA?”

“Obviously,” He rolled his eyes. “No one will believe we’re dating if we don’t show some PDA.”

“Right, sorry, I forgot I was dealing with a man whore.” I threw at him. “Handholding.”

“Scared you’ll get cooties.” I shot him a glare. “Kissing.”

“Ugh,” I shrivelled my nose in disgust. “If we must,”

“You liked it.”

“No, not really.” He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The feeling of his eyes on me began to make my chest feel warm.

“Then why are you still here, in my shirt, this close to falling back into my bed.”

“I’m not close to ‘falling back into your bed’, Hastings.”

“Oh really?” His hand grabbed at the bottom of his shirt, pulling me greedily towards him.

“I don’t have time for this again. I have to go.” The skin of his knuckles brushed the skin of my thighs as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“C’mon Edwards. Admit it, you like this.” His fingers pushed up the shirt again, causing a sharp intake of breath from me. “And that.” He looked up at me through his eyelashes. “Shows me just how much you want me.”

“For God’s sake, Hastings. You’re insane.” My hands gripped onto his wrists fruitlessly, trying to stop him. “I have to leave.” In an instant, his hands had reached around my thighs and pulled me down onto his lap. His right hand rested on the curve of my ass—his left hand wandering up underneath his shirt, running along the skin of my stomach.

And when he looked at me with his stupid lips twisting into that cunning smirk. Dear God. If only his personality matched how attractive he was.

“You really want to leave?” I looked up to the ceiling, averting my eyes, so I didn’t make any more mistakes. “Stop me touching you, in the same way I was touching you last night” His hands went to the button on my pants, fiddling with it. “Admit it, I already know exactly what you like, Darcy.” His hand returned to my shirt, pushing the material upwards. I felt his lips on my skin next. Kissing along the exposed flesh. “There’s still one rule we need to decide on.”

“Mhhm.” Oh god, his hands touching me felt like it left a trail of fire in its wake, and maybe if I just pretend it was someone else, maybe Chris Evans, I could let this happen again.

“Sex,”

“What.”

“Sex, Will we have it through this little game?”

“God no,”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you don’t want it,” He whispered against my skin. I shook my head, biting my lip, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “I need you to tell me.”

“I have to go,” I pulled my head down from the clouds and pushed him away. He fell back onto the bed with an exasperated huff. “I have brunch with my parents, and thanks to some cocky asshole, I’m going to have to sit through it without underwear.”

“Well, I’m going to have to get through today without my favourite shirt, So we’ll call it even.”

“You poor baby,” I straightened the jacket. “I hope you don’t die without it.” I walked towards the door, stopping just shy of it turning back to look at him. “Or, ya know… you can… do whatever suits you best, really.” I stepped through the threshold out into the unfamiliar hallway. “Shit,”

“Lost?” His ever so irritating voice whispered in my ear after I stood a moment, deciding what way to go.

“Of course not,”

“Then lead the way to the door, Honey.” I turned to face him at the nickname. He was still shirtless, now a pair of tracksuit bottoms covering his lower half.

“Honey?” He grinned, both top and bottom teeth on display, leaning back casually on the doorframe as he watched me. “That’s the nickname your going with? Really?”

“What?” He laughed, and God, he’d always had the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh with him. “I’m trying it out.”

“Try another one.” I looked left then to the right, trying to recollect what way Hastings had pulled me from last night.

“Need help?”

“No.” I stepped forward, then spun to the left, taking a tentative step forward, stopping when he cleared his throat. I turned to face him. His head shook no. “Mother ducker.” I muttered, spinning on my heel and walking back past him.

“You could have just asked for directions,”

“Shut up.” I growled as I stormed down the hallway and out into the living room. Surprisingly it was cleaner than I’d ever expected from Jude Hastings. “Have you seen my purse?”

“Hanging on the doorknob.”

“Great,” I walked to the door, grabbing the black shoulder bag I’d spent my morning looking for all over his bedroom. “Well,” I turned to look at my own personal demon. “This has been a ride…” A dirty smile broke out on his face. “Stop it.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll call you,”

“You don’t have my number,”

“Are you sure about that?”

“If you do have it,” I took a deep breath, pulling the door open. “Lose it.”

“Backing out already?”

“Never!” I shut the door behind me, ending the conversation. “What is wrong with me.” I muttered to myself as I began the walk to the cafe.

I had just agreed to potentially - doubtfully - fall in love with Jude Hastings, my mortal enemy. It may be dramatic, but he was the absolute worst, at least whenever he opens his mouth. Maybe I can just put a bag over his personality and gag him… then I would happily reinstigate what happened last night. Can you bag someone’s personality?

Not important right now, Darcy.

I had to formulate a plan, a way to make Hastings fall in love with me so I could crush his heart in my hands. A quick google as I walked told me most of what I already knew.

THE EASY FAULT FREE SIX STEPS TO MAKE YOUR WORST

NIGHTMARE FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU!!

A dissertation by Darcy Alice Edwards

1. Maintain eye contact.

This was already a problem for me. Looking into Jude Hastings eyes for too long was known to induce nausea.

2. Be interested in who they are as a person and listen to everything they have to say.

Another problem for me, as I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say or anything he was interested in. Not only that, but the sound of his voice was often like the sound of nails on a chalkboard for me.

3. Make them feel appreciated and special.

Make Jude Hastings feel appreciated. How can I even manage to do this with a straight face?

4. Smile a lot.

This one maybe I could do. If I think of happy thoughts and pretend it was anyone but Hastings.

5. Embrace what the other person is most passionate about.

For Jude, this was beer pong and margaritas. I could embrace them.

6. Touch them more often.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“Darcy, sweetheart, there you are.” The high pitched tone of my moms’ voice broke me from my research. She and my father sat at a table by the front door. The pair of them had a half-drunk coffee in front of them. Crap, they’ve been waiting, and by the frown lines on my mom’s face, it was longer than five minutes. “We’re been waiting for you.” There it was, three seconds into brunch, and she was already chastising me.

“Sorry,” I pushed my phone into my back pocket and took a seat across from her and my father. “Hi Dad,”

“Hi kitten,” Out of my two parents, my dad had always been my favourite. When my mom was harsh, my dad was kind. When mom drilled into me about my life, my dad made sure I felt loved. He was always the one to parent me, not just order me around.

“You couldn’t have dressed nicer for Sunday brunch?” Mom looked over Hastings crinkled shirt with an upturned nose. “What will people think?”

“Can I please order a mimosa.” I grabbed the nearby waitress with a pleading smile. “I’m sure they’ll think there’s Darcy Edwards.”

“Drinking already?”

“Extra champagne.” I called after the waitress.

“Darcy…”

“So what are we thinking of getting.” I ignored my mothers’ warning tone, picking up the menu. “Egg’s sound good.”

“I had the eggs last time. They were good.” Dad added. “I think I’ll have sausage and eggs, maybe some bacon.”

“Bacon sounds good.”

“You need to watch your cholesterol.” I was vaguely paying attention as my parents began to argue about my father can and can’t eat, but mostly I was dying for the mimosa to hurry up and arrive,

“There you are.”

“I don’t know if I want eggs anymore, maybe pancakes.” I muttered, poking the page with my finger. Syrup soaked pancakes did sound amazing right now, or maybe waffles.

“Baby,”

“Jude?” My head snapped up at the mention of his name. Standing beside me was Hastings dressed in his police uniform. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” It was totally the man in uniform kink making my heart rate spike, not just Jude Hastings in a uniform.

“I just came to drop this off to Darcy.” He waved my wallet in the air. “She left it in my apartment when she rushed off this morning.”

“Oh, is that right?” Jude Hastings, you dirty dog. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Jude?” Mom smiled happily at him, she’d always loved him.

“He can’t-“

“I’d love to.” The seat was pulled out roughly, and his body flopped into the chair, his arm coming to rest on my shoulders. I turned to look at him. He was smirking. Of course, he was. “Hi.” He leaned in and kissed my lips.

“So.” I could hear the smile in my mom’s voice. “When did this all happen?”

“Two months ago.” I blurted, looking at Hastings’s eyes. “Right, Jude.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, turning to my parents. “We ran into each other one night at a bar, and we began talking, like civilised adults, finally, and it just started from there.” He shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“And you didn’t tell me, Darcy?” I heard the edge on my mothers’ voice, oh boy. I was in big trouble.

“Well, we wanted to see exactly where things were going before we announced it to the whole town.”

I honestly believed that half the town would roll over and die when they find out Jude Hastings and Darcy Edwards were ��dating’. Considering we’d nearly pulled the town apart with our pranks.

“Given our history,” Hastings added.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful.” My dad smiled at us. “You know I’ve always liked you, Jude.”

“Thank you, sir,”

“Kiss arse,” I let out under my breath.

“What was that sweetheart,” Hastings looked down at me with that fucking shit-eating grin.

“I said how sweet.”

“Mimosa,” The waitress reappeared.

“Please.” I held up my hand partly, mouth practically salivating at the idea of my alcohol in my bloodstream helping me get through this brunch. “Thank you.” I smiled as she placed the champagne flute in front of me.

“Mimosa, huh.” Hastings’s voice sounded teasing, but I knew him well enough to know this was no innocent observation. “You’d think she’d had enough to drink last night.”

“You went out last night?” My mother’s eyebrows shot up before a look of displeasure replaced the shock. “Is that why you’re dressed so…” We reached this part of breakfast quicker than I thought we would. Sit back, ladies and gents, the shows about the start. Act one; My mother judging my life choices as if I hadn’t been of legal age for the last six years.

“So what? Mother?” I picked up the flute and sat back in my chair, waiting for my mother to go off about my appearance.

“Messily.”

“No.” I deadpanned. “I’m dressed so messily because I was up early grading papers for my fourth-grade class.”

“Darcy, you surely don’t believe that I would believe-“

“It’s true. Darcy was up around dawn and began working.” As soon as my mother heard Hastings testimony for my ragged appearance, she sat back in her seat, a sweet smile replacing the devil horns.

Classic mom, always willing to believe the perfect Jude Hastings.

Speaking of the demon man himself. I don’t know if Hastings saved me because he felt terrible for the verbal ass-whooping my mother was about to give me or because he wanted to hold it over my head at a later date.

Probably the second one.

“See,” I took a long swig of the mimosa and looked at dad. “What are you getting, dad?”

“Waffles,” He smiled widely. God, he was a good man to put up with both my mother and I’s fighting. “With a side of fruit salad.”

“Sounds delicious.” I felt Hastings fingers fiddle and tap on the back of the chair, occasionally brushing my skin as they moved. “Mrs. Edwards, what are you going to get?”

I ignored the polite conversation trying to fight the feeling of nausea in my stomach as I watched my parents interact with Hastings and him with them. He was good at this, a borderline professional, but then again, what could you expect from a man who’d had more girlfriends than Keeping up with the Kardashians had seasons. I swear, in high school, it was like he had a new girl every week. I thought it was going to end up a category in our yearbook.

Most Girlfriends in a single year: Jude Hastings.

“Babe, your mother asked you a question.” His shoulder nudged mine, breaking me from my daze.

“I’m sorry, I was reading.” I looked between the demon and my mother. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying, sweetheart, that perhaps we should go out to dinner with the Hastings soon, all of us together to celebrate you and Jude finally getting over that childhood tiff of yours.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” I mumbled, picking up the champagne flute.

“Wonderful,” My mother clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll call Francine.”

“She’ll be excited to hear from you.”

“How’s work, Jude?” My dad distracted Hastings, pulling him into a conversation, only this allowed Hastings to work his dark magic in seducing them into thinking he was a good person.

He wasn’t. No way.

As I listened to my parents both fawn over him, I had one goal in mind. Make him fall in love with me so hard I can watch him crash and burn in a flaming pit of fire, and I will go down in history as the one girl who broke Jude Hastings heart.

#george mackay #George Mackay imagine #Ben Hardy #ben hardy imagine #Dylan O'brien #dylan o'brian imagine #Dylan O'brien imagine #calahan skogman #Calahan Skogman Imagine #Harry Styles #Harry Styles imagine

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heyheydidjaknow · 3 years

Text

I finished it, finally! Yee fucking haw! It’s not perfect, but I’m not feeling terrible about it, and the next one is going to be fun. Unless something happens, the next chapter should come up on Sunday as planned. Knowing me, it won’t, but I wanna hope. As always, the table of contents and the previous chapter is at the bottom, and a full list of the shit I’ve published is at the bottom of the table of contents. I’ll do a proper proofread tomorrow. Right now, Grammarly and Kami are carrying the team, so if there’s a mistake, take it up with them.

Chapter 14

“I trust you won’t be creepy.”

“I’m thankful.” Yoshi runs his thumb along the rim of his cup slowly. “You have little faith in me, as I understand it.”

You try not to be disrespectful. “Well, things in your life could’ve gone better, right?”

He seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose so.” He takes a slow drink. “Mistakes from my youth have led to many hardships. Still, though the road has been a long and strenuous one, I would not want to change my past.”

Your untouched drink is cradled in your hands. “You don’t regret anything?”

“It is a foolish and maddening thing, longing for a life unobtainable to you.” He closes his eyes, your own scanning the walls for the photograph you know is in some nook or cranny. “Besides, if things hadn’t happened the way they did, I wouldn’t have my sons.”

You can understand, intellectually, he does not mean to be—and likely is not— as arrogant as you perceive him. Still, something about the way he sits, the way he speaks, even how he looks at you now makes you feel painfully inferior, as if you reacting the way you are makes you somehow beneath him in more than a literal sense.

You decide against arguing the point, eyes flickering from the shrine back to the man in front of you. “I guess that’s true.” You know you are not going to drink any of what he has offered until you have to. “And you’ve always thought like that?”

He nods. “It was what I was taught.”

Nodding, you look back down at your cup, a deafening stillness settling between you two. ‘He convinces me to come here,’ you grumble silently, ‘and all I get for it is a lecture and an awkward silence.’ You look back up at him, setting the clay vessel on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest. ‘I could be doing something else, like fixing my shirt or something.’

“Speaking of them,” he continues, “Donatello tells me you have been experiencing night terrors.”

‘Snitch. Did he tell me he told him?’ “You don’t?”

His eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“We have the same trauma,” you explain simply. “Both our families died in fires we caused. Think that counts.”

He does not even flinch. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He smiles softly. You want to punch him in the face. “I suppose so, yes.”

“You seem pretty calm about it.”

He chuckles at your expression. “I’ve had fifteen years to come to terms with my loss,” he takes another drink. “And,” he jokes, “I was often simply too exhausted to have nightmares back when the wound was fresh; caring for four young boys is tiring, you understand.”

“Right.” You crisscross your legs in front of you. “Yeah, the makes sense.”

“Having said that,” he continues, voice lowering, “I can’t imagine going through what I did at your age.” He sighs. “If something like that happened to one of my boys at this age, I can’t honestly say how they would cope.”

‘Poorly. I’d guess they’d cope poorly.’

“I understand that you and I have differences in ideals and morals.”

“You could say that.” Your mouth stretches into a wry smile. “I honestly only started hangin’ with and helpin’ y’all as a way to make up for my manslaughter. With this exception, I live by the adage, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”

“As I said,” he covers his mouth to hide his amusement, “we differ in that respect. I take it that’s why, when Donatello explained the situation—” you break eye contact—“he was unable to explain in any sort of detail what they were about.”

“Not his circus not his monkeys. ‘Sides,” you shrug, “he was already being really caring and understanding, and I was already sobbing my eyes out, which I’m sure he already told you, so.”

You stare down at your tea. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Not if I don’t have to, no.” Your face heats up.

“Do you want my help?”

‘I hate this,’ you squirm. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here if Donnie hadn’t asked me to.”

“For someone who believes in leaving people to their own devices,” he notes, “you seem to value the requests of my son a great deal.”

Your knees are back up to your chest. “He’s important to me. He’s been there for me. It’s the least I can do.”

He takes a beat to gather his thoughts. You brace yourself for a lecture.

“You care for him, then.”

You nod once, treading carefully.

“Romantically?”

You still do not look at him directly, staring instead at the gorgeous screen door. “I dunno.” Your fingernails scratch at the surface. “I’m not exactly in my right mind, you understand.”

“I can’t say I do.” A pause as he takes another drink. “Then again, I’ve only felt for one woman all my life.”

“Look at that,” you try to joke. “Another difference between us.”

“Do you mind letting me in, then?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I will since there isn’t really a point to being here if I don’t.”

“That’s the spirit.” You can hear his smile.

You set the cup down again, glancing up at him before fiddling with the laces on your shoe. “People under stress and without anywhere else to turn tend to latch onto the first people they relate to,” you explain, practicing your knot tying with fumbling fingers; there is no harm in practicing your dexterity. “He was the first guy I met after I died, got kidnapped, and almost got killed by a giant vine creature. I like him,” you clarify quickly, “I really do, but it’s hardly fair to pursue that sort of relationship, especially considering everything going on with the Kraang and Shredder.” Your eyes go out of focus. “We get along great,” you mumble. “He’s sweet, kind, generous, and empathetic. He deserves to make sense of his feeling properly without me muddying things up with my possibly trauma-induced attachment.”

“So,” he clarifies, “it is not that you aren’t in love with him, but, instead, you’re worried for his sake?”

Your face goes scarlet as you choke on your saliva. “T-that’s a bit—uh—extreme, isn’t it?” You rub the back of your burning neck. “I’m not even sixteen, Yoshi. You don’t understand love properly at sixteen!”

“I fell for my wife at thirteen,” he smiles. “It’s certainly not impossible.”

“That’s—look,” you protest, “that is entirely besides the point. The point,” you state, “is that is completely irresponsible for me to pursue a relationship with your son. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

“He cares for you. You know that. Who am I to decide who he does and does not pursue, especially when that person makes him happy?” He reaches for a worn kettle sitting between you two on a table, pouring its contents back into his teacup—you remember Leo telling you that it is technically called a yunomi. “I find love typically does no harm so long as it does not consume you. Moderation is key.”

You look up at him. “So, you don’t have any reservations about it?”

He takes another drink. “I wouldn’t say that. He is my son, after all. In truth,” he admits, “I was more concerned that my sons would never experience what I did than anything. Given the circumstances of our existence, I’m sure you can understand my wish to give them a relatively normal, happy life.”

You sigh. “I guess, yeah.” You adjust your blanket again. ‘Seems counterintuitive, teaching them the art of murder, but I guess that’s his normal.’ “That’s just a generally good parenting thing though, right? I’d hope you’d want that even if you weren’t a giant rat and they weren’t anthropomorphic turtles.”

A parent. He is talking to you like one might speak to their kid.

“I suppose so,” he nods. “It’s been difficult, but we’ve certainly come a long way over the years.”

The screeching of tires pierces the still air, the chattering of his four sons bouncing off the concrete walls.

You strain to hear what they are saying. “I never noticed that there was an echo in here. It’s less noticeable than in the tunnel.”

“That’s by design,” he explains. “I’ve made something of an effort to dampen it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You set the yunomi on the table. You sigh, holding your breath and downing your now gross, cool tea in three quick gulps. “I hate to cut this short,” you lie, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and tottering to your feet, “but I’ve gotta check to make sure everything went smoothly on their mission and adjust my timetable accordingly.”

He nods, deciding not to point your tell out. “I won’t keep you, then. Would you like to borrow my cane?”

This is not the first time he has offered. You, of course, refuse.

“Oh well. I thought I’d offer.” He sets his cup down, staying seated. “It has been pleasant talking with you, Y/N.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hamato.” You nod once in acknowledgment, hopping over to the door and slipping out into the hallway.

Your stomach churns at the stench coming from the lab—you can smell the gasoline. You lean against the wall, making a pointed effort not to eavesdrop and rapping your knuckles against the door. Their voices immediately lower to hisses and someone drags the door open.

“Hey,” Mikey beams. “We were just talking about you. Need somethin’?”

“Just is an over-exaggeration.” There is a considerable amount of protest as Donnie pulls him away from the door with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. “P-please, come in.”

A beaten DIY van sits pathetically on the subway track, looking not dissimilar to a burnt, crushed soda can from where you stand. The once hot pink graffiti has most certainly seen better days, and you squirm at the thought of the sound it must have made if you understand the situation properly. Raphael, who you glance at out of the corner of your eye, looks similarly beat up. Of course, you are not going to say anything because you value your life.

You whistle, smiling incredulously. “So,” you try not to laugh, “I take it you took on the cucaracha.”

“Made it my bitch is what I did,” boasts Raphael. “Shot it with a laser.”

“Cool, cool.” You chuckle at his excitement. “You take care of the egg?”

Is there a better sight than watching the light in someone’s soul die? You would hesitantly say no. “The what?”

“Right outside the building,” you elaborate. “On the side of the road. Looks like a horrifying imitation of an orbee?’

He takes a slow, deep breath, holds it, exhales. “I’ll be right back,” he says calmly, and sprints out of the lair.

Michelangelo laughs. “Were you being serious or are you messing with him?”

“Serious.” You readjust the blanket, trying to subtly figure out how to breathe without being assaulted by the mechanical smell. “I won’t joke about that sort of thing. It’s cruel.”

He hesitates. “… speaking of, are you alright? I didn’t get to ask before.”

The other two are quietly watching the interaction with an odd amount of intensity.

You shrug. “I guess. Probably.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Just lemme know if you need to talk, alright? Donnie’s no—ow!”

“Don’t talk bad about people in front of them,” Leonardo criticizes. “It’s rude.”

“You called him special, like, four hours ago!”

“The word of the day is hypocrisy.” Donatello puts his hand down.

“Hypocrisy’s right” You rub Mikey’s shell reassuringly. “To be fair, though, Leo could honestly probably just dodge it anyway.”

He leans into it. “I guess,” he grumbles, shooting a look at Donatello. “Favoritism.”

“It’s strategic favoritism,” the tallest brother corrects. “It’s to encourage parti pris.”

“Cronyism,” you tease, grinning. “You mean cronyism.”

“Hey, I’m plenty qualified!”.

You stifle a giggle as his face reddens, looking back over at the battered vehicle, raising an eyebrow.

“That was a team effort.”

“Yeah, okay, Hamato.” You blow a strand out of your face. “How long do you think it’ll take to fix?”

“Half a week? Maybe a bit less.” He looks back at it ruefully. “The spy roach completely jacked it.”

“Clearly.” You remove your hand, Mikey seemingly thoroughly comforted. “Then mind if I borrow a needle and thread so I can fix my jacket? I have school tomorrow.”

“Do you have the dexterity for that?” Leo crosses his arms across his chest absentmindedly.

“If I can hold a pencil,” you reason, “I can do basic stitching. ‘Sides, it’s only gotta hold until I get home.”

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking now.”

Donatello pipes up again. “I really don’t mind—”

“Dude,” you reason, “you have to fix a whole ass van. I’ll manage.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. You won’t finish before midnight.”

“Then sucks to be me.” You shrug. “I’ll fix it here and walk home.”

He looks at you with a surprising amount of incredulousness. “It’s New York City.”

“You go out at night all the time,” you protest.

“I can carry you—”

Immediate panic. “Nah, I’m good!” You try to sound confident. “I walk home all the time, remember?”

“Not at midnight.”

“What’s a couple hours difference?” You would rather get attacked or kidnapped than fly over buildings again.

“A hundred-twenty minutes,” he states. “You know that crime is statistically more likely to happen at night, right?”

“That tracks. What’s different?”

“Violent crime peaks at midnight.”

Mikey butts in. “Why can’t she just go in the blanket? It covers enough.”

Donatello rolls his eyes. “Mikey,” he sighs, “she’s a teenage girl walking around with her torso covered by a single conspicuous quilt. Let’s use our heads here.”

It takes him a minute. “So you’re worried about her getting, like, attacked?”

“… were you paying attention to any of the conversation? Or the lesson we just learned?”

“Dude,” he protests, “when do I ever?”

“What, you mean the one where y’all learned to face your fears or the one where talking about people in front of them is rude?”

The bitter edge to your words is not lost on him. “Look,” he reasons with you, “I-I’m not saying you’re incapable of taking care of yourself—”

“You are, but that’s not the point.”

“Shut up, Mikey.” You are surprised he did not punch him, though, admittedly, you can hardly argue the point. “What I mean is that if you put yourself in harm’s way, you’re going to get hurt.” He nods at Leo. “He’s a really experienced fighter and even he gets overwhelmed if he goes out of his way to do something reckless and dangerous like Karai.” He spits out her name like it is poisonous.

“Since when have you had a thing against Karai?”

The eldest brother sighs. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Unimportant, and nope. Point is,” he continues, fingers twitching at his sides, “it doesn’t make sense to tempt fate.”

You open your mouth to argue. You close it again. He has an extremely valid point all things considered, especially considering everything that has been happening, and although you are completely certain about your stance on him carrying you home, you would be lying if you said the idea of stumbling home without your walker or shirt sounds very appealing.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”

He looks off. “I’m suggesting she stays the night, Leo.”

Mikey blinks. “What, in your room or on the couch?”

“It would be up to her.”

That works for you. “Your home. You pick. Where do you keep your sewing supplies?” You slip out of the circle the four of you have formed.

“On top of the bookshelf,” he points. “Behind the cardboard box.”

You nod, hopping over.

Mikey offers his two cents. “It makes more sense for you two to share a room. It’s kinda cold in the front room, and you guys’ll probably end up going to bed at around the same time anyways. She also has your blanket.”

You stand on your toes, fingertips brushing against a plastic container.

“That’s a fair point.” You catch it before it cracks open on the ground. “Training starts pretty early, so she should have time to grab her things before school.”

“See? Foolproof plan.”

“Would Master Splinter approve?”

“Leo,” you call over your shoulder, “he’s slept over at my house twice already. I really doubt he cares.”

“But we don’t know.”

“Then you can go ask him.” You turn around. “Where’s the jacket?”

“In the cardboard box.” Donnie starts towards the train wreck on the tracks.

You pull it down, taking your shirt and jacket and sitting down, crossing your bad leg under the one you can use, despite the nausea. ‘Exposure therapy.’ “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You glance up at Mikey, who crouches down next to you as Leo waves to his brothers and leaves. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to hang out with you is all,” he shrugs. “You didn’t go after Donnie.”

“I didn’t,” you nod in agreement.

“Why?”

“Because car.” You unlatch the box, carefully digging around inside for some pins. “That, and the smell is bad enough from over here.”

He crosses his legs in front of him. “That’s fair.” He taps his foot absentmindedly. “You think he knows?”

“I thought I made it pretty damn clear,” you shrug, “but it’s Donnie, so I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He grins at that. “Then do you wanna hang out while you work on that out front? He isn’t exactly talkative when he gets in the zone.”

You shake your head. “If I do, I won’t get much done,” you admit. You unwind a long portion of the thread, snapping it apart. “Besides, the only way to get over a fear is to face it head-on.”

“Alright.” He hops to his feet. “Thought I’d ask. Have fun.”

”Bet,” you mumble through a bit tongue, shaky fingers making threading the needle almost impossible. “You too.”

“See ya.” He waves, running out of the lab.

You let out a breath, picking a piece of loose wire off of a table and creating a poor imitation of a threader. While you genuinely enjoy talking with Michelangelo, you have some things to think over.

Clumsy fingers start on a running stitch. If your timetable still holds true—which, surprisingly enough, it has thus far—the episode after next’s plot will take place in about three weeks. Your cast is coming off in two. You do not know where and when The Kraang are coming through their portal, or if there is any way for you guys to know, but seeing as you are skipping the episode where the turtles get stuck in a labyrinth under the assumption that, without Baxter being bullied by the Shredder and his goons, he has no reason to construct it, you would tentatively estimate the next episode will happen in about a week. You are still fairly sure that Stockman will not get involved with the Shredder without his input until Oroku finally opens his eyes to the dangers and powers of the Kraang, which should happen around the same time as the next episode.

Your eyes glaze over as you get into the groove of it. ‘The next episode is also when the guys get on Karai’s shit list because they betray her, and, if that happens, the episode where the Shredder starts getting involved with the Kraang and comes to appreciate their resources." You prick your finger. ‘It wouldn’t be long after that before Saki gets the idea to create a mutant army, and with Baxter already somewhat on the villainous map, our best chance to make sure he doesn’t end up under his employment is to…’

You wipe the sticky liquid on your jeans, careful of the bandages on your back. ‘It’s not a guarantee that he even knows Baxter exists.’ Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you try to keep the stitches separated at equal distances. ‘Hell, it’s not a guarantee he’s even alive. Still, it’s better to air on the side of caution and not think about how you’ll have to do it until the time comes.’

You let out a soft sigh. “I’ll buy a gun, when that happens,” you murmur to yourself. “Just want more time where bodily harm is all I have to deal with is all.”

You slide your poorly stitched jacket over your shoulders under the blanket, pulling your sleeves into place and zipping it up. After folding the blanket up and draping it over your arm, you pull yourself to your feet, hopping over to Donatello and his death trap as he sat down, looking over his work. “How’re the repairs comin’?”

The two of you have not spoken for the three hours it took you to repair the jacket, and significantly more progress has been made on his end than yours. At the very least, the generally rectangular frame was pounded back into submission.

He looks over at you, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and stifling a yawn. “Fine,” he sighs, looking back at the hulking mass of metal as you lower yourself down next to him. “It won’t blow up or anything if it’s driven, but it still needs another day’s worth of work to get it back to where it was before.” You nod along as he goes into more intimate detail, not understanding half of it, but happy to just listen to him talk resentfully about the whole process that you can tell he genuinely does not mind.

“Sounds like a time.” You rest your head on your good knee. “And you’re not gonna fix the graffiti?”

“It rubs off,” he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not exactly important to the design.”

Your head bends in a subtle nod, cheek numb from the pressure of your knee. “Are you going to sleep today?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? It wouldn’t be a bad idea.” His legs are almost crisscrossed in front of him, and he leans his weight back on his skinny, muscular arms. “I honestly don’t want to leave it alone, though. It would be weird to just leave it unfinished.

“Hardly, but alright.” You sit up for a moment, handing him back his quilt. “Thanks for giving me something to cover myself up with, and for not ditching me on a roof, and patching me up, and—I owe you, is what I’m getting at.”

He smiles tiredly. “Don’t worry about it, really,” he reassures you, his face flushing and muscles relaxing slightly. “You’ve made it up plenty.”

“I disagree. I’ve never saved your life.” You trace the fading lines on your cast his brother had left.

“I don’t think a ton of people would literally kill someone for me and my family,” he argues. “That’s pretty awesome, right?”

‘Not sure how I feel about framing murder as a positive thing.’ You do not say anything, looking back at his work.

He sighs. “You should go to bed,” he advises practically. “It’s getting late.”

“Never stopped you.” You straighten your legs. “I’ll go if you come with.”

“Tempting,” he teases with a sudden burst of confidence, hoping to his feet and outstretching his arm to help you up, “but what’s in it for me?”

Your face lights up as your face goes red at his borderline roguishness, taking his arm pulling yourself up. “For as much shit as you’re going to get for it,” you promise, pecking where his nose would be with an almost kittenish smile, “I’ll get up extra early, make everyone breakfast, and go topside for coffee.”

His face almost turns the shade of a human blush, forwardness gone in an instant. “C-can’t,” he stutters, clearly flustered. “When I was eleven, I got addicted to it and I’m not allowed to have any anymore.”

“Relatable,” you giggle. You blow the hair out of your face, comfortable as he helps you walk towards the door, the air between you two charged with electricity. “Is that for all caffeine or just coffee?”

He opens it for the two of you, ever the gentleman with the quilt over his shoulder. “Tea’s fine. Don’t bring tea down, though,” he quickly clarifies. “Leo’ll have a very inconspicuous fit.”

You blink curiously, looking up at him as he pulls you along. “Why?”

“It’s the one food thing he’s particular about,” he shrugs, not bothering to hide his gooey smile as you use his upper arm for support. “Couldn’t tell you why.”

“Are you particular about any foodstuff?”

“Not really?” He helps you up a few steps. “I’m not Mikey, but I don’t think I’m that picky about that sort of thing.”

“That’s fair.”

You do not let go of his arm to use the wall. You do not even think to if Donnie is reading your body language correctly. His smile widens as he opens the door for you.

You give a nod as thanks, lowering down onto the foot of his relatively narrow bed. “Alright,” you clap your hands together quietly as he sits next to you. “How do you wanna do this?”

You are sitting on his bed, willing, with no pretense other than sleeping getter. He is currently on cloud nine.

You look back at the frame. ”Too narrow for us to lay side by side,” you note. “You sleep on your front, meaning you will likely take up most of the room." You look between him and the bed, trying to imagine a position that would work. “You could lay on top of me, I guess, but then your legs would hang off the end.”

“I can sleep on my side,” he offers hurriedly. “If that makes things easier, I mean.”

“You sure?” Your fingers fumble with your shoelaces.

He nods eagerly. “S-so long as you still don’t mind being close to me, I mean. The bed’s still kinda narrow.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “We’ve slept together before,” you reason. “If you wanted to pull anything, you would’ve the other two times.”

He glances off, face still red. “Y-yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “That makes sense.”

You gesture to the bed. “Then,” you nod once, “so long as you’re comfortable, you lay down. I’ll work from there.”

He tentatively lays himself down, facing the wall, tensing ever so slightly as you lay behind him, legs curling up under his thighs.

You lay your arm under your head as a pillow, the other pulling the blanket over the two of you. “This work,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Mhm,” he hums, covering his face with his hands. “We closed the door, right?”

You look back over. “Yup.”

“Locked it?”

“Seems so.”

He relaxes a bit. “Alright,” he nods, quietly reveling in the way your fingers, again, traced the indentations in his shell like the first night.

‘When I wake up tomorrow,’ he realizes, ‘she’ll be right there. Right behind me, in my bed. By choice.’ He smiles behind his fingers. ‘When we get older, maybe we could have our own place. Or our own room, more accurately, where she just lives with us. Imagine her moving in. If—no, when,’ he corrects himself, ‘we defeat The Shredder, if I ever get the nerve, I’ll ask her.’ He reaches his leg back, entangling it with yours carefully. ‘Would we have to get married first? No, you move in before you get married, right? I should’ve paid more attention during those movie marathons.’ He closes his eyes as you drift off, focusing on this train of thought. ‘How long do you need to be in a relationship before you get married? How would we get married, even? Legally, that would be impossible, right? I can’t go to a courthouse. And if we had a child—practically speaking, of course—would they live with us or go to a public school? We could give them a good education, I’m sure, but—’

You shift in your sleep, absently laying your arm over his side and pulling him closer.

He exhales, allowing himself to relax back into you. ‘Not tonight.’ He rests his hand on top of yours. ‘It’s too late, too soon.’ His thumb runs along the back of your hand, letting himself drift off in your arms.

‘It’ll be okay. We’ll last long enough to take it slow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

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bondsmagii · 3 years

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anonymous submitted:

Let's talk about sleep paralysis! I have some wild theories, feel free to believe them or not, but this has been my gatherings after over 15 years of experiences. So - after years of Slffering from it, I've slowly learned how to control my sleep paralysis. I can morph them into cool/interesting incidences now, and have even begun using it as a jumpoff for lucid dreaming. (Disclaimer: Not reccomended if you can't control it yet, please don't try to induce SP unleash you're TOTALLY prepared for it. I don't want anybody to get hurt. And still, I cannot guarantee my own results. This took YEARS of practice.) Anyway, I've found that if you're able to force one small body part to move or jerk your head (repeatedly til it works), you can break out of patalysis at will. It takes some high focus, and becoming conscious of your physical body vs your sleeping self. You CAN move, it's just difficult. Jerk your head, snap your eyes open, or set an alarm if this planned. You'll feel intense heaviness upon waking and a strange desire to fall right back to sleep, but you'll need to sit up straight and fully wake yourself up to end it, otherwise you'll just resume it as soon as you fall asleep again. There's probably a reason for that, actually. What I may have learned through these trials is that sleep paralysis might just be the nightly beginning of the sleep cycle that we aren't meant to be conscious for. Let me run my theory by you. There was a point in my life where sleep paralysis would occur every single time I slept. Every night, it'd start with a buzzing hum that I'd kind of "melt" into, like tinnitus slowly washing over til it's all you can hear. And suddenly, I can't move. Horrific entities bearing down on me.I don't need to go into detail, you've been there. I didn't understand why, until I slowly realized I'd been conscious of the entire business of falling asleep - and that it was a several-step process. Body falls asleep first, mind follows. That's why most people don't remember the act of falling asleep and just seem to become conscious in dreams once they've already begun without you. You're paralyzed because your body is dreaming and you aren't supposed to be conscious yet. It's perhaps a REM stage that's supposed to be painless, nothing. I tested this theory by forcing myself to be calm through my nightly episodes. They would happen regardless, so I may as well try to make them less horrific, right? I would slow my heart rate using breathing exercises. I observed what was happening rather than panicking, and noticed that crushing weight on my chest slowly shift into this peaceful, almost pleasant sinking-down feeling. Like heavy water pulling you down, like a cool blanket of static coccooning around you. And sink down I did - right through this strange buzzing dark haze and directly into dreams. Most of them starting lucid. I was completely conscious of them, sometimed even seeing the dream world "load in" and fill in textures and buildings and skyline. It was surreal. I tested this over and over, and every time got the same result. If I "survived" the paralysis and just calmed, I'd drop into dreams. Sometimes I'd litrrally feel myself sink into my bed, going "below" consciousness. Soon I mapped out the enitirety of the process. Waking, pre-sleep imaginings, those imaginings getting surreal as my brain drifted, static hum overtaking, the ordeal of paralysis, and then I'd sink into what I began calling "The Platform". It was this shifting midpoint between dream-awake where it'd allow me to choose my own dreams. Sometimes I'd see dreams floating movie-like in bubbles at the edge of a void, sometimes I'd see a hall of doors, sometimes I'd literally land on a platform and build dreams from nothing, sometimes I'd fall straight through the void and start the dream flying. Now, as an aside, I am someone who experiences chronic nightmares. Almost all of my dreams have some "horror" element to them, to the point where I've learned to forcibly wake myself up by snapping my "real" physically eyes open. Now I'm overall

able to exert control over them, and overall more conscious of the state of dreaming. I can enjoy them like first-person horror movies and nope the hell out when shit gets too Sideways. The only ones that get me bad now are ones that feel real enough to hurt (real world fears like loved oned dying) ordered ones that deal with a specific phobia that makes me lose my shit. A lot of the method seems to do with "feeling" your real body outside of the dream and understanding that your dream/metaphysical(?) self is a separate entity. I wish I could describe how to do that better - its sort of how you center your body during grounding excersises. Forcing myself awake from nightmares and yanking myself out of sleep paralysis feel extremely similar. I've given myself a sort of Eject Button. Anyhow - I began talking to my SP entities and exerting some gentle control over the whole scene. Changing the power dynamic, de-escalating scary situations by joking with the entities, standing up for myself or catching them off guard. I still get terrifying incidents where I'm attacked or forced to view esoteric horrors, but, well.. I'm a horror movie fan. Sometimes creepy imagery is cool and enjoyable, and now I can cut it off if I want to. I'll even sass them if they get rude. I think I differ in beliefs with you in that I do believe that SP has a spiritual aspect (the same way that dreams do), but I recognize the psychological element as well. I think they go hand in hand, and in finding this I've been able to turn something that was deeply traumatizing into something pretty neat. Thanks for listening, friend. I'm sure this is long and rambling, but I felt like I needed to tell someone, and you seemed like the right person to tell. Be well, I hope you have pleasant dreams, or at least that your nightmares are very cool.

this is actually very impressive, because yeah. this is exactly how and why sleep paralysis happens! I always find it interesting when people arrive at a theory through their own investigation, and it adds up with official findings -- if the time and the place had been a little different, you would have been the person to pioneer the theory! but essentially yes, this is precisely why it happens and why it can be used as a platform for lucid dreaming. when you sleep, your body enters a natural state of paralysis to ensure that you don't injure yourself while sleeping. sometimes this goes wrong, but the usual failure is seen in sleepwalking -- the paralysis stops, the body wakes, the mind does not, and the person wanders around acting out their dreams or perhaps going about their usual morning routine on autopilot.

sometimes, though, it's the other way around. your brain is still awake, but your body is asleep. your dreams translate as vivid hallucinations, you can't move because of the natural paralysis (and this feeling translates itself as a heaviness, especially on the chest, resulting in the all-too-common description sleep paralysis has become known for: the feeling of something sitting or pressing on your chest) and the feeling of dread is likely because of the realisation somewhere deep down that something is very wrong; that you're not supposed to be experiencing this. some people theorise that's why sleep paralysis is overwhelmingly a terrifying event -- rarely do you hear stories of pleasant hallucinations, and this is likely because of the fact we're terrified on some level, aware that something is very unusual. combine this with the fact that sleep paralysis happens to most people only rarely -- once or twice in their lives -- and it's clear that many people don't have the opportunity to understand what happened and become familiar with it.

you're also correct in your observation that moving a small part of the body can snap you out of it. generally it's better to focus on a small part -- moving all of you is too much, but focusing on a small part like a finger or toe is much more effective. it takes a lot of effort, but the effect on the paralysis is instantaneous. the dread and the heavy feeling may take a while to pass, though. another trick to minimise how unpleasant sleep paralysis is is to keep your eyes closed. you can still sense things, and some people might hear things, but overwhelmingly the worst hallucinations are visual. keeping your eyes closed means you at least don't have to see what's crawling up your bed!

I'm like you in the way that I enjoy horror, and I also find sleep paralysis fascinating. now that I know what it is and how to get out of it, I very often just let it run its course -- at least until things get too repetitive or spooky, and then I snap myself out of it. it's absolutely incredible to see what tricks the human mind can play. the hallucinations are so incredibly real, and it's a brilliant opportunity to observe while being in no real danger. only a couple of times have I come across something genuinely paranormal during a sleep paralysis episode -- or what I thought was one, anyway. thankfully it doesn't mimic it exactly, so I can continue to enjoy watching the wild shit my brain comes up with in relative peace.

#sleep paralysis #anon #long post #submission

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

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The Last Night: Part XIX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XVIII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

.XIX.

Earlier that evening…

After seeing his mother to her room for her afternoon nap, Alastair retired for the remainder of the evening in the Institute library. It was the one room in the house, other than the unbearably small closet sized guest bedroom that the Herondales so graciously gave to him, where he could be alone.

After the past week of excruciating pain while the runes and Silent Brother’s magic repaired the bones in his leg, the damage to his head, waiting for Cordelia to wake up, and answering the barrage of questions from anyone with a tongue to speak, he craved the precious minutes he could find of peace. Charles, unfortunately, conducted most of the questioning, which often left Alastair with a headache worse than the one he’d woken up with after being thrown by the demon and cracking his head on stone. Even when it was just the two of them alone, Charles remained callous and professional, only bothering to ask how Alastair was fairing, but he directed most of the questions to the Brother Zachariah rather than Alastair himself. It felt as if their relationship had been nothing more than a figment of Alastair’s feverish imagination. Alastair began to question if it all had, in fact, all been a dream.

Most moments of quiet were spent beside Cordelia. When his mother retired for the night, Alastair would take up her position beside his sister and watch her chest rise and fall like he’d done when his parents brought her home as a baby. She was so tiny then. As delicate, round, and soft as a baby bird with tufts of red hair that already curled around her ears. Only a year and a few months older than his baby sister, he’d sit next to her crib and watch her sleep. He’d listen to the small shushing noise her breathing made, until he’d fall asleep. At some point in the night, he would be placed back in his bedroom, tucked under the blankets, and left under the glowing stars his bedside witchlight made across his ceiling. It wasn’t until Cordelia was a year old, and he was nearly three, that he stopped falling asleep on her floor, but only because his parents made him.

When Cordelia was awake, he wasn’t much different. The first few months weren’t terrible. She slept most of the time except when she was hungry or needed a change. It wasn’t until she was four months that Alastair thought he’d keel over from anxiety. His irresponsible mother would just place her on a blanket on the floor where anything and everything could fall or step on her. Not only that, but as time went on she’d begun to put everything in her mouth from leaves that had fallen off the giant fern in the corner, to splotches of mud from boots, and pieces off of the rug. Alastair was always there to fish out the foreign object from her gummy mouth before she could choke. He’d give her a proper scolding and she’d respond with a toothless laugh and gurgle that made Alastair’s insides feel like mush.

Cordelia was the first word out of his mouth when he woke up from his injuries. He wasn’t certain, but he felt he’d dreamed about her. The remnants of nightmares lingered underneath his skin like he’d been submerged in ice cold water for too long and couldn’t shake the chill. When he woke up and found Cordelia being held in an induced coma while her body healed from injuries inflicted while he’d been unconscious, unable to rescue her, made it difficult for him to breathe or to think. He’d felt like that little boy again sitting beside her crib afraid that the moment he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

When she’d finally woken up, he’d felt a rush of relief. He needed a moment to compose himself in the hallway before he went through her door to find her sitting up in bed, smiling at him with her own relief. But she’d forgotten everything that happened to her since the moment they left the institute, since she broke her engagement with James after he’d properly humiliated her.

He’d meant to warn James against ever speaking to his sister again, but the boy was like a shadow. He slipped in and out of the Institute before Alastair ever had the chance. He visited Cordelia when Alastair was asleep or bathing or being interrogated. And now, she was off galavanting with him and there was nothing Alastair could do to stop it. He wasn’t about to upset his mother by demanding that Cordelia not go with James.

On his way to the library, he practiced the speech he’d give James when they returned. He may be able to worm his way into the good graces of his sister, but not Alastair. It would take a lot more than his pathetic sallow looks and natural wind blown curls to win Alastair over. After everything James has done, he didn’t deserve Cordelia and Alastair made it his mission to make sure that James knew it.

By the time he reached the library, his leg throbbed under his weight. He’d been trying to use his crutch less despite Brother Zachariah’s advice to keep off of it. The sound of his grunt echoed mockingly through the library as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and stumbled inside with a curse.

A fire burned behind the elaborate grate and already had a decent bed of coals forming underneath it as though it had been burning for some time. A stack of books sat on the coffee table that stood in-between the fireplace and the two wingback chairs.

“Christopher,” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Alastair seized and turned for the door. He was nearly there when the library occupant emerged from the middle isle and stopped when Alastair came into his view.

“Oh,” said Thomas, closing the book in his hands. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I thought the room was empty,” said Alastair, adjusting his weight to his good leg. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“How is your leg?” asked Thomas and tucked the book under his arm.

Alastair patted it with his hand. “It’s still there.”

“And your head?”

“Also there,” said Alastair. “The bandages itch something awful and I fear I’ll always have a slight pain in my knee when it’s about to rain, but otherwise, I am nearly mended.”

Thomas slid his hand into his trouser pocket. “Good. That’s good.”

“I never did thank you properly for coming to our aid,” said Alastair, braving a small chance at having a conversation with Thomas after not speaking with him since…well, since the night Matthew revealed Alastair’s deepest regrets. “I’m afraid of what would have happened if you had not come.”

“We did it for Cordelia,” said Thomas, without a note of sympathy in his tone.

“Right.” Alastair nodded. “Of course. Still, I offer you my thanks—“

“I don’t want your thanks,” said Thomas, turning his back to Alastair to return the book to the empty spot on the shelf. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Thomas,” started Alastair as he braved a step closer. He felt as fragile as the thin ice that blooms on a lake at the start of winter. One wrong step and he’d break through. “I know what I’ve done to your family is unforgivable and if there is ever anything I can do to unravel the mess that I’ve created—“

“You can’t.”

“I understand but if there is—“

“My mother cried herself to sleep for months because of the lies you told,” said Thomas, calmly. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t let my father in no matter how desperately he begged or how strongly he claimed the rumors were false. She made herself sick to the point where father left only so that she would come out of her room or let someone in to bring her food and water.” Warmth bloomed across Alastair’s face. He wanted to hang his head in shame and fall to his knees, broken or otherwise, and beg for Thomas’s forgiveness, but he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted his chin and continued to listen to the consequences of his actions. “She looked so frail when she finally emerged. Barbara was the first one she spoke to; the only one she spoke to. It took several more weeks before she’d even acknowledge my father. I think she had to convince herself that it wasn’t true before she could believe anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit that even I questioned the validity of it.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes were rimmed with tears, and his mouth set in a hard line. “I just want to know why? Can you tell me at least that? Why attack me— my family?”

The truth dangled on Alastair’s tongue. The truth that would uncover every secret that Alastair buried deep inside and fought his whole life to remain unknown, to everyone, including his own beloved sister.

Because my father is a drunk.

Because I was afraid of anyone finding out the shame he’d caused my family for years.

Because the four of you: Matthew, James, Christopher, and you had something that I never had and would never have because I cannot allow people to get close enough to me in fear that they will be able to see the shame of my family; and they would see what I am. So I took the attention off of my family—off of me— and put it on yours and Matthew’s.

And I can never take it back.

“Tell me!” Alastair shuttered at the pain in Thomas’s voice. He’d never heard him shout, not once, even after Barbara died.

Maybe it was better if Thomas hated him. It meant his secrets were safe. In doing so, he’d keep Thomas from more ridicule and his family as well. Even if Thomas didn’t know it, he’d be doing him a favor. A small one that might cause more pain than redemption or forgiveness which they both seemed to be after.

So he’d let him hate him in hope that maybe one day the truth would be enough.

“I should go,” said Alastair, turning towards the door. “Cordelia should be arriving soon for supper.”

“You’re really going to walk away?” Thomas scoffed. “Are you such a coward that you can’t just tell me the truth?”

“What good would it do?” spat Alastair, the defense he’d carefully been building all of his life built up with even more strength. “You think there is some deep meaning behind my actions? Some explanation that will make me less of a monster. You were an easy target, the four of you. You were defenseless and weird and Matthew was the most irritating of you all. And I heard a rumor and I wanted to humiliate him, because I was bored, and because I could.”

Alastair’s chest ached as the tears spilled from Thomas’s eyes. He quickly wiped at them with his sleeve and when he looked at Alastair again, he recognized the hate that boiled behind his eyes. It was the same hate in his own eyes whenever he looked in a mirror.

“Get out,” whispered Thomas, his voice so low, Alastair almost didn’t hear him.

“Gladly,” said Alastair and pulled open the door. As he turned down the hall towards the staircase, he heard a loud bang hit the wall. He didn’t stop or hesitate, the tapping sound of his crutch hitting the wood flooring echoed through the hallway.

____

The door to the staff hall groaned open just as Alastair walked down the last step. Lucie Herondale, shaking the rain from her hands and muttering something to herself, looked up in surprise to find Alastair standing at the end of the staircase. Her elegant blue dress was stained black at the hem and discolored with rain. Droplets glistened on her skin as she came to a stop underneath a glowing witchlight orb hovering above her. He waited a moment for Cordelia to come in behind her, as she so often does, but when she didn’t his eyes narrowed on Lucie.

“Where is Cordelia?” he asked, subtly gone from his tone as he was far too tired to pretend any longer.

“She was just behind—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He had an idea that he already knew.

He moved around Lucie, still muttering her excuses, and pushed open the staff hall door. A few of the maids gossiping in the hallway quickly moved out of his way. Teeth clenched, Alastair followed the trail of rain droplets that Lucie brought in with her until they came to an end at the staff exit. Before he could stop to think for a moment, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

A blind rage consumed him at the vision standing on the little porch. James Herondale with his hands around Cordelia’s waist and mouth consuming hers while her own hands were tangled in his hair.

They broke apart like two dropped links at the sudden intrusion of light.

A high pitched whistle filled his ears. With hands trembling, he reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s arm, wrenching her inside. When James attempted to pursue, he pressed the end of his crutch into his chest and pushed. “Haven’t you done enough to ruin my sister’s reputation?”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, gripping the arm that kept her behind him.

After a few steps backward, James regained his balance, and smiled a malicious grin that was void of any kindness. “Haven’t you grown tired of causing other people pain?”

“Pain?” Alastair seized with disdain. “What do you know of it in your privileged little life? I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. Have you?” He took a limp step out onto the small brick laid porch. The witchlight lantern flickered with the energy crackling between the two of them. “You may have beguiled her into forgetting what you’ve done, but I certainly have not.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia as a crack of thunder rumbled through the sky. He heard the pain and desperation in her voice and he ignored it.

“You’re toxic and dangerous,” continued Alastair as he stepped out into the rain, advancing toward James. “Everything you touch becomes ruin. Trouble pursues you. You use people for your own selfish gain. I may have turned a blind eye before when I knew the engagement was a farce to repair my sister’s reputation, but I will not allow my sister to come into an honest romantic entanglement with the likes of a half-demon sycophant who is only using her for his own selfish gain.”

James’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Alastair as though at any moment he would hit Alastair square in the jaw. Alastair wondered how much farther he’d need to push. What other buttons he’d need to press. “Walk away, Alastair.” James growled so low it was difficult to hear him.

“Or what?” Alastair met his glare. “Are you going to hit me? Go on then, do it.”

“I’m not like you,” said James as rain dripped down his face. “I won’t let you drag me down to whatever miserable level of hell you currently reside. I care about your sister and I’m trying to right my wrongs; I’ve made a lot of them I’ll admit, but I am trying. Can you say the same?”

The question shook through Alastair. The rain dripped down James’s face reminding him of the tears that spilled from Thomas’s face only moments ago because of Alastair’s words. It seemed the people he cared about were evaporating from his life, he wasn’t about to lose his sister too.

“Stay away from my sister,” said Alastair. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Alastair,” Cordelia hissed as he pushed her back into the house and closed the door before James could stop him. He clicked the lock into place as James jiggled the knob. With his crutch securely tucked under his arm, he grabbed Cordelia’s hand with the other. But before he could drag her along, she ripped free from him and pressed her back against the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Cordelia,” hissed Alastair. “You have to be smarter than this. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get back at me for what I did to him at the academy by hurting you!”

“I’m not stupid,” she spat back. Her hair hung in limp curls around her face. Her cheeks had more color in them than he’s seen in months. It irritated him further. “And he’s not. Unlike you he’s trying to move past all of that. You’re not children at the academy anymore, grow up! He cares about me and I care about him and neither of those things have anything to do with you.”

Alastair felt his chest explode, but only laughter burst from his lips. “He doesn’t care about you, Cordelia. He doesn’t. You don’t matter to him. You have to see that.”

“I do matter to him!”

“You don’t,” demanded Alastair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at Grace Blackthorn and it’s not the same way he looks at you. Have you forgotten what he’s done?”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Cordelia, her eyes brimming. “He explained everything to me.”

“Did he?” asked Alastair. He pointed his finger at the door where James last stood. “How convenient that when he can’t have the girl that he’s actually in love with, he comes groveling back to the girl that gives her love so freely.” Cordelia’s cheeks bloomed red as she tore her eyes away from him. “He’s a liar and he’s trouble and you’re not to see him ever again, do you understand me?”

“You cannot forbid me to see him.”

“Yes, I can.” Alastair glared. “Because if I find out that you are seeing him, I will tell everyone that he was the one that burned down Blackthorn manor and the night we left it was he who was in Grace Blackthorn’s bedroom when you walked in.”

Cordelia looked at him as if he had struck her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way?”

Alastair shook. “I am trying to stop you from making a horrible decision.”

“Stop trying to protect me!” Cordelia demanded. “I don’t criticize you for your choices on who to involve yourself with and I do not appreciate being told who I can or cannot love anymore than you do.” She smoothed the wet hair away from her face. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say a word of those secrets. How dare you throw them in my face to accomplish your own vindications. I will not be your pawn in this long standing war you have with him. If you say a word of those secrets to anyone, I will never speak to you again. Then you will truly be alone.”

She shouldered around Alastair, her skirts dripped water as she passed him, and this time Alastair didn’t reach out to stop her.

A/N: Good evening! I hope your October is going splendidly so far. I am experiencing some moderate to extreme anxiety due to work related issues. My job before quarantine has not asked me to return yet, so I found and started a freelance writing job, which in theory should be really exciting, but I have ZERO self-confidence in myself or my writing. So, I’m working through that. This chapter was a fun escape for me. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please hit that cute little heart, drop a lovely comment, and reblog if you feel so inclined. As always, be safe, take care of yourself, and stay healthy out there. Next update will be in two weeks, Nov 1.

#chain of gold fanfic #chain of gold #james x cordelia #james and Cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #alastair carstairs #the last night fanfiction #cassandra clare #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #lucie herondale #thomas lightwood #thomas x alastair #thomastair #thomas and alastair

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solieldoux · 3 years

Text

when brush meets canvas; a collection of thoughts and happenings ( @wclfsun )

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, snu campus tour

he’s not listening. ethan liu has the attention span of a a goldfish when it comes to irrelevant things. there’s the center of the campus, there’s the café (there’s great coffee there!), dorms are that way, class buildings one and two over there ( “ they’re close together so you don’t miss classes!” ) … so on and so forth. he can keep pace with the group well enough on auto-pilot. the ‘highlights’ of the greater campus are irrelevant to a student who plans to spend four semesters holed up in a dorm room.

“ sorry! i’m so sorry!! “

he’s rather responsive for someone on auto-pilot. she crashes into him out of nowhere. his arms reach out to catch her and stabilize them both. it’s not until after he’s done it that ethan truly realizes that something happened, and he’s got his arms around a brunette who’s expression reads utterly horrified by her own actions.

he lets her go, waving it off, “it’s fine. you’re alright?”

yes she’s alright, and she’s very sorry, and she’s sometimes so clumsy, and she wants to make it up. ethan continues to wave her off, shaking his head because it really is fine. it takes some talking down, but she ultimately accepts it, and she shifts herself off to the side a bit so she’s not walking so closely to the man she’d just collapsed into.

ethan sighs. the walk continues. now they know of each other’s existence; any time they catch glances he gives a small nod and she alternates between mouthing ‘sorry!’ and giving him a gentle smile. he finds it funny. and it makes the rest of the tour considerably less grating.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, coffee shop

ahh. that’s why she asked what my coffee order is the other day.

leia is settled at a small café table – in front of her a tall glass of iced coffee and a slice of crumb cake. across from her in front of the opposite, empty chair is another cup – this one a large ceramic cappuccino mug with two slices of lime set on a separate dish to the side. it too is accompanied by a slice of cake.

“ did you wait long ?? “ he asks

she didn’t wait long at all, she just got there a little early and decided to order for them! she’s fine with paying for it, and ethan certainly shouldn’t worry. she hopes she ordered the right thing, she’d written down what he said a few days ago about liking to mix lime into his coffee. she thinks it’s very interesting, and she almost ordered it herself. and she’s talking and rambling to much and she’s sorry.

ethan is to used to her by now to be phased. he simply sits in front of her, lets her ramble a minute while he adds the lime to his drink and takes a fork to the cake. after a moment she’s quiet, shyly looking down at her own setting. ethan shakes his head.

“ you worry to much. “

she knows. she can’t help it.

“ i owe you for this. “

no he doesn’t! it’s completely fine. she doesn’t mind. and ethan doesn’t care, as he’s already reaching across the table to pocket the receipt. leia sighs a bit. she just wanted to be nice. ethan tells her she’s nice without trying, and it’s one of the many reasons he likes being around her.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, leia’s apartment

leia is rambling, as she always is. only this time she rambles while dumping new dishware into the sink and unpacking boxes of this and that and things from home into cabinets and into drawers. ethan is listening, as he always is.

if he doesn’t want to enroll in snu, then he shouldn’t! he should definitely join two star if that’s what feels right. and she’s supportive of his decision. and yes, it’ll be harder to start school without him if he chooses not to go, but she’ll be alright! and they can still text and hang out, and everything would be fine. and she’s seen some of the lyrics he wrote! and, oh, they’re so good no wonder two star entertainment extended him a contract!

she’s practically bouncing up in down, bubbling up with all the excitement one would expect ethan to have after receiving a personal invitation from the company’s ceo. but he’s just standing there with his arms crossed, watching her with one brow arced and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“ when was the last time you took a breath?”

leia pauses, her body going stiff for a moment as she manually takes in a breath, then lets it out again with an embarrassed smile. she’s just so happy for him. and she wants what’s best for him and wants what makes him happy. ethan moves towards her and puts his arms around her waist.

“ i have a lot to be happy about these days. “

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ four years ago, leia’s apartment

over the past year or so, ethan has come to learn how every aspect of leia is soft – lips, voice, demeanor. more recently, he’s learned that the rest of her body is no different. the discovery wasn’t by chance. it was planned and executed with comfort and assuredness in mind. the location, however, was a bit unplanned – the intent had been the bedroom, but the living ended up serving just as well. and that, ironically, turned out to be for the best as ethan discovered something else that very same afternoon.

leia’s back is a wonderful canvas. the better part of the next hour had been spent in quiet conversation as he brushed unplanned, but ornate designs onto her skin.

“ it washes off. “

she knows. she wouldn’t really have let him do it if it was permanent. or maybe she would have. maybe his art would’ve become a beautiful back tattoo. she wants a picture of it when it’s done, because she can’t see for herself what she’s doing and it’d be a shame to wash all his hard work away without remembering it.

why do i love you so much?

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ two and a half years ago, leia’s apartment

he’s debuting! she’s so excited, and she always knew it would happen. there’s no way ethan would’ve gotten two invitations to the company if they didn’t want him. imagine how different things would’ve been if he’d gone to snu instead! she misses him a bit when she’s alone on campus, and she does sometimes think it would’ve been fun to go together. no wait! oh, she didn’t mean to say that. she shouldn’t have said it, and she doesn’t want him to worry about her. because she’s fine! she’s doing great on her own! she’s only got a couple more years and then she’ll be graduating, and everything will be fine.

“ i’m moving into the dorm this week. “

she’ll help him pack!

“ you can’t come to the trainee dorms, leia, i’ll get in trouble.”

oh right.

her smile is still soft and gentle. their relationship had been quiet and incredibly comfortable til now. never something either of them spoke to openly about. not out of shame, but just out of natural inclination to not speak to often about personal matters to other people. but now it’s necessity.

“ …. no one knows about you except hyunsik. i think it needs to stay that way. it’s for your safety, ultimately.”

it’s okay! she completely understands. she doesn’t want to jeopardize his career and she loves him enough that she’s okay with keeping things quiet. really, she’s fine. she’s completely okay.

ethan wraps his arms around her tightly, presses his lips to her forehead. he’s never wanted to shout that he loves her more than right now. more than this moment where he’s realized that he can’t.

“ i love you. “ he settles for a soft whisper in her ear.

she loves him too.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ six months ago, d:fi dorm

“ ethan ?! yah – ethan !! “

the force of leaving the trance sends ethan tumbling off his chair and onto the ground where he catches himself on all fours.

“ you okay ?? you weren’t responding … can you hear me now??” hyunsik asks, kneeling by his side and putting an arm him.

ethan shuts his eyes, squeezing them so tight that he feels pressure in his forehead, “…yeah.” he says finally.

the past hour of his life is…. nothingness, as far as ethan can recall. but the state of the dorm room indicates otherwise. dropped brushes, a tipped over cup of mucky water. tubes of acrylic paint are scattered across the floor, some burst open from the force of being stepped on. paint had splattered onto the wall and floor, even onto some of the furniture. his easel is turned over on it’s side, and the canvas ethan had been working on lay on the floor, slightly smudged due to making contact with the bedframe before hitting the ground.

“ what were you doing ??”

“ i don’t know. my…i’ve been off recently. i don’t know.”

suddenly ethan pushes himself up and whirls around to look at the painting. he feels a pit form in his stomach as he examines it. it’s messy, it’s smeared with dark reds, browns, and auburns. but he knows exactly what he’s looking at. the creature hunting them all – the being known as aries – holding leia aloft.

his hand is around her neck. she’s bleeding profusely. her body is limp, but her eyes are wide open in horror. the sight breaks lose tears form ethan’s eyes, and hyunsik snatches the painting up and turns it around.

“ stop it. leia is fine. ethan – leia is fine. “

“ you don’t know that. ”

hyunsik puts himself between ethan and the painting, places both hands on his forearms and squeezes tightly, “ i do. two star is protected. and leia is right downstairs. there’s nowhere else she could be that’s safer. she’s fine. she’ll be fine. nothing’s going to hurt her.”

ethan uses all his force to push hyunsik aside. the elder doesn’t expect it, and so he tumbles to the side and into the bedframe. ethan snatches the painting back up and flips it over, trying to understand what part of his brain decided to concoct this monstrosity of an image.

what is this panic induced nightmare sitting at the forefront of his mind? why is his stomach sinking the more he looks at it? why does it feel so real? so possible? so…inevitable? he feels the tears begin to fall, and they plop onto the canvas, causing bits of it to run because of still wet paint.

hyunsik gets up again and tries to pull the painting from ethan’s vice grip. the elder ultimately wins the scuffle, and the painting is pushed off to the side of the room face down and smeared across the floor. ethan’s body racks with sobs as hyunsik pins him down. loud, anguished cries as realization sets in of the future he’s seen for leia.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ last night, d:fi dorm

leia’s asleep, curled up in a blanket while ethan sits beside her with one of his sketchpads. over the course of the evening, a series of elaborate mandala like designs have blossomed onto the page. it’s not until the very early hours of the morning where light is peeking into the window that ethan realizes he’s been awake since the moment leia arrived. with realization comes exhaustion. his vigilant watch over her was bound to come to an end eventually, but he remains uneased. like he can’t trust the locked doors and magical wards around the dorm to protect them.

considering how monsters had broken through them before, though, were his concerns truly misplaced?

he sets his sketchpad aside and slides down into the bed, wrapping an arm around her and leaning into her back. leia stirs and turns to face him. worry is written all over her face as, even through her glossy eyed half-asleep daze, she’s picked up on something troubling him. ethan smiles a bit, shakes his head.

“ i’m fine. just thinking. why do you always know when i’m thinking?”

she’s too tired to form a meaningful response. her words come out practically inaudible and a little bit slurred. exhaustion is evident, and so ethan just strokes her hair and her arm and tells her to go back to sleep. it doesn’t take long before she’s out again and he is left to his thoughts.

would you have ever spoken to me if you’d known this is what your life would be? constantly chasing down or running away from monsters…fighting against the threads of time and having to figure out what fate looks like for you…?

he knows what’d she say if she were conscious. she’d say yes, of course. she’d say it’s worth it and as long as they’re together, she knows she safe. she’d say she doesn’t want to be a burden, but she wouldn’t want it any other way. though if he wanted to leave her, she’d say she’d understand. it’d break her ��heart, but all she wants is for him to be happy –

ethan realizes that he’s rambling for her and lets out a small laugh. she’s so much a part of him. maybe to much now. ‘that’s what soulmates are’, he’s sure someone in the dorm would say. hyunsik or reese. and yeah, perhaps that’s what they are. no…that is definitely what they are. nothing else would explain why it feels as though leia has a cord around his soul and is constantly pulling at it. he welcomes every tug.

and god save whoever tries to sever that cord.

#* ♡ ╰ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ 「 ethan && leia 」

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hideawayintheimaginationworld · 4 years

Note

Um... is it okay if I ask for a short story on how Matt and Spring Jr met Lefty? :\/\/

Matt couldn’t tell what was and wasn’t real anymore. According to the doctor who took care of him at the hospital, he had some sort of severe mental breakdown, that led to the stupid idea that a parasite was living inside him and he had to get it out by cutting himself open.

He did wonder how the hell he got to the hospital, as he remembered that gross little thing looking at him, then everything went dark—

No. No. The doctor said it wasn’t real.

He did also recommend therapy.

Like anything was wrong with him.

The more and more he did think about it, the more and more it seemed to be a nightmare. A bizarre nightmare, one induced by a form of stress, maybe anger psychosis, that was what the hospital psychologist said.

The only reminder was the scar.

The scar was itchy again, Matt had to resist the urge to scratch it like a mad animal, as it was both still sensitive and healing.

He hated looking at it, it reminded him of the thing. It wasn't neat either, in some spots it was darker and more jagged. He wore anything to cover it, baggy shirts usually fixed not having to look at it too long, he tried not to touch it at all.

Another negative? His job put him on leave.

Without pay.

The nerve.

Matt completely erased Springtrap, not wanting to work on the game anymore, he hoped there was another game he could work on at some point but most people hadn’t hired him onboard.

It was just a bad dream, he reminded himself, he popped two pills of a pain reliever in his mouth, not caring that he already had two before, and went outside for the first time in two weeks.

The only thing he wanted was alcohol.

It was the only thing that let him sleep now.

He had to drink himself into a comatose state to get any sleep that wasn’t disturbed.

Meaning he often woke up feeling gross.

He hadn’t seen Jason in a few days, considering how he did help, getting some groceries then left in the beginning, saying he needed to take it easy.

Like he could.

Life wasn’t easy.

He was picking out exactly what he needed and went to the checkout to pay.

“Daddy!!”

That couldn’t be.

No. No. He reasoned, it has to be some other disgusting brat calling for their father.

He was just on edge for no good reason.

He left the store, walking back to his apartment, he kept drifting into flashbacks of everything, it seemed too painful and real to be a dream.

But it couldn’t have been real.

“Excuse me?”

He would just figure out what the hell to do next.

“Excuse me!!”

Matt realised he was being addressed, he turned and saw a red-haired man with very pale skin, something that was strange was the golden eyes he had, they were almost the colour of a setting sun, entrancing in a way. Standing next to him was a teenaged boy, with messy blonde hair and green eyes, the boy stared at him looking kind of annoyed almost. They had been in the same supermarket Matt was just in, as they had shopping bags, the guy even had a backpack strapped to his back.

“Did you drop your wallet?” The man asked him.

“No I didn’t,” Matt curtly answered, hating this guy was stopping from getting home.

“Are you sure you didn’t drop it? I found a black wallet and I think it's yours,” the man was showing him a wallet that looked like his.

Matt reached to his pocket.

Fuck.

It was his wallet.

“Turns out it is, I'll take that,” Matt took it from the man, immediately opening it to check for any lost money.

“Fucking rude.”

Matt was completely taken off guard by the comment.

“What??”

“You're fucking rude,” The man repeated, “Didn't even thank me, I could have stolen your wallet you ungrateful prick.”

“Let it go, walk away...” The teenager grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away. Matt guessed that teen was his son, but they didn’t seem to share any characteristics, aside from both of them being lanky.

“I feel sorry for the people in your life, I've only known you for two minutes and I already hate you, imagine being your mother or some shit, she'd be ashamed of you, asshole,” The guy turned and walked away, the teenager followed him.

Matt huffed, how dare he.

“Daddy!!”

Again? Seriously??

“What is it?”

“Daddy! Daddy!!”

He had the awful realisation that wasn’t his imagination.

He saw the guy and teenager running back to him, Matt suddenly felt like he needed to run, so he did.

Unfortunately, the guy caught up to him quickly, grabbing his shirt collar and stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Shit! Look, I'm sorry if you feel like I was rude.”

“Hey Alec, look it was fauxpology, sound familiar?” The guy asked.

“Yep.”

“Alright, let's see what the rabbit says... I might have found you.”

Found??

“Let me go!!”

“Daddy!”

“You need to come with me.”

“No I don’t,” Matt struggled to pull away.

“Oh yes, you do...” The guy spun him to face him and pressed his hand against his temple.

“Sleep.”

Matt suddenly felt heavy in his legs, drowsy like he was pulling from reality.

Then everything went dark.

“Jesus you didn’t have to put the guy to sleep...”

“I felt like I had no choice...”

“So what are you going to do?”

“The same thing as anyone, I will offer help.”

Matt finally could open his eyes, he was looking at a white ceiling, he wondered if he was in the hospital again and the thought disgusted him.

He looked to the side and saw a blurry black shape, he blinked and it cleared.

“But he talked to you rudely honestly.”

“Well if my theory is correct... he's been through a really awful experience...”

“Lefty, picking up the broken souls everywhere.”

“Hello, Matthew, back with the living are you?”

Matt froze, the black shape turned around and he saw a very familiar golden eye staring at him.

“We need to talk about your son.”

“I don’t have a kid.”

“Explain this,” Matt realised it was like a bear, but a robot, an animatronic, like Springtrap, but he wasn’t so decayed, like he was modern and more aimed at kids, the animatronic turned around and turned back with a familiar sight.

“Hello, Daddy!”

Matt screamed, wanting to get away. Lefty had the little bunny.

The bunny that crawled out of his body, the dirty green fur and the big silver eyes, was looking at him.

“Explain why I found little Spring wandering around the street ten days ago with no adult supervision, covered in dirt, blood and some other strange fluid I couldn’t figure out... But I figured it out!!” The animatronic nodded.

Matt looked horrified, the way it moved was so lifelike like it was a person in the suit.

“The fluid was mucus... disgusting... but I've figured it out, you somehow... got a parasite... and you share DNA in some way.”

“Nah, he was pregnant.”

Matt heard a chorus of laughter.

“That's why you wear protection.”

“Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die.”

“Don’t make fun of him kids,” Lefty placed down the little rabbit.

“Lefty don’t bullshit, the dude was pregnant.”

Matt grumbled, but they had appeared to stop laughing for the most part.

“That's impossible, he's a male, but this is Fazbear Entertainment... that pretty much explains everything and anything... the same brand range that offers getting your body hijacked, losing your body parts, death robots on demand, doll alarm clocks and a mention for the dolls that like crawling in your mouth.”

“You're laughing at me,” Matt sneered.

“Oh, um, no, I believe you, I've dealt with these things before!” The robot answered, “Spring Jr is the less hostile... but you... no one would probably believe you, you most likely believed this was a dream... Spring recognised you somehow...”

“You brought it in public??” Matt asked, he'd be ashamed to have that thing around, and this animatronic seem to adopt him, “Who are you anyway??”

“He was in my backpack, as was another robot called Helpy, they were helping me shop... now my name is Lefty, Matthew.”

“How... how do you know my name?”

“Your wallet. Drivers License,” Lefty answered.

“Where am I?”

“This is my house.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it is, the kids will tell you.”

Matt looked around, he was laying on a sofa, he then saw different kids, he could see the teenager with blonde hair, but he also saw a teenager with brown hair with a strange dog sitting next to him, another teen with dark skin and a thick black hair, and two teenaged girls, one with black straight hair and the other more chubby... and missing an arm by the looks of it.

“They look like their mother’s probably...”

Everyone soured immediately.

“You're filthy,” Lefty said, “Did adoption ever come into your stupid head?” He gave him a knock on his head, “Is anyone awake in there??”

Before he had any time to recover, Lefty grabbed his shirt collar and held him up easily, looking at him with disgust, “Don’t you dare imply I do that, ever,” He dropped him down.

“Now... I'm offering you this... a form of therapy... technically Spring Jr is your kid. This is my offer, we can talk, you tell me how this happened, but you must take a part in fixing this, you didn’t just.... magically get pregnant—”

The kids were laughing again, this time they were almost howling, Matt growled, and he was ready to scream at the horrible teenagers, having a bad enough day, when Lefty looked at him with a demented face, his eyes were black and a sharp white pupil was glaring into his soul, making him shrink back and feel weak.

“You leave my kids alone, or I will make sure you never talk again.”

Lefty turned to them, “Kids, stop laughing for a minute... I understand it's amusing to you like a bad fan-fiction or whatever you call them... but Matt cut himself open to pull that thing out... it's trauma... while I wouldn’t normally...”

He turned back to Matt, “Conditions: You live here, you get help, understand?”

#Ask #Five Nights at Freddy’s #Fazbear Frights #FNAF In The Flesh #FNAF Matt #Lefty #Spring Jr #Writing Drabble #ailingamnemonicxsoundscreecher

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notveryglittery · 4 years

Text

hope sweet hope (like a star burning bright)

summary: logan and virgil are stuck in a forest of pine trees. roman's gonna fix that. (patton's going to be proud of the pun i made in this summary.) ships: analogical (pining/romantic), royality (established/romantic) wc: 2.4k / warnings: overstimulation/panic attack (brief) notes: happiest of birthdays to @lovevirgil <3 (title from “hope” by remedy) (written in present tense!!)

read on ao3 | @fandersfic-analogical

—————————

Usually, overstimulation is the least of Virgil’s problems. During the day, it’s paranoia and anxiety; at night, it’s nightmares and thinking too much. Sometimes, he feels too little and he needs heavy reminders that he’s still solid and real. Feeling too much might happen in the middle of a panic attack but at that point, he’s already got so much going on, he barely notices.

He isn’t even doing anything particularly overwhelming when it hits. He’s just opening a jar of Crofter’s when something crashes above him. The noise is startlingly loud, he’s not sure what it is or where it comes from, and the sound of glass shattering on the floor at his feet doesn’t help. He grabs onto the counter, breaths coming suddenly in short gasps.

Before Virgil can even think of what to do next, Logan is standing in front of him. He’s taken one of Virgil’s hands in his own and the other is holding his elbow as he guides them towards the small dining table. He's talking, voice low and soothing, but Virgil can’t make any of the words out. Something heavy drops onto his shoulders and despite jolting in surprise at first, the sensation quickly chases away most of his nerves.

He isn't sure how much time passes before his hands are wrapped around something warm. By now, his surroundings have gone mercifully quiet. Even still, the sound of the faucet turning off makes him flinch; he hadn’t realized the white noise was the water running. Mechanically, he drinks from the mug he’s holding. By the time he’s fully settled back into himself, Logan is sitting at the table with him, going over his agenda.

“Sorry,” Virgil says automatically.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Logan reassures him.

Virgil looks to see that the jam and glass has been cleaned up, as if it never happened at all. He drinks again from his mug but the tea has gone cold. He glances up to the ceiling, trying to figure out what had set him off earlier.

“It’s the tenants above us,” Logan says, closing his planner.

Virgil realizes suddenly that Logan is sans scarf. No matter the season, Logan without fail wears his scarf in the dorms. He must be squinting, as if looking for the missing garment, because Logan just smiles.

“Rock paper scissors to see who has to go talk to them for being too loud?”

They tie on every match and it’s just more proof to Virgil that they’re meant to be, as stupid as that sounds. Yeah, might as well call Virgil a tree because boy is pining. They head out of their room, down the hall, and up the stairs. It’s not hard to find the culprits they’re looking for given that they’re still making quite a lot of noise.

Before Virgil can prepare himself for confrontation, Logan is knocking on the door.

The racket stops immediately. A few seconds later, they can hear voices going back and forth. If the students are trying to whisper, they’re failing miserably.

“What if it’s the RA?” one asks.

“Well then we’re in big trouble unless we can hide her somehow!” responds the other in far too hopeful a tone.

“Last time we did that, she knocked over my trophies shelf!”

“Yes, honey, I remember, it was barely an hour ago.”

Logan and Virgil share a look.

“We’re not the resident assistant,” Logan says loudly.

The voices quiet again.

“That sounds exactly like something a resident assistant would say!” the first one calls back.

There's the sound of footsteps approaching and Virgil can only assume they’re using the peephole to see who is at the door.

“Oh!”

Several things happen at once.

The door opens, revealing probably the softest looking individual Virgil has ever seen. Next, a blur of black darts out of the room, at Virgil’s legs, up his torso, and into the fabric wrapped around his shoulders. Finally, someone asks “isn’t that the scarf you wear all the time?”

“Aw,” coos the one who’d answered the knock. “Pixie likes you!”

“It is,” Logan replies, clearing his throat. “That is besides the point. Earlier, you made quite a commotion. We’re here to ask if you could refrain from doing so again.”

“That was not our fault!” exclaims the one wearing a thick maroon sweater that reminds Virgil of the Weasley’s.

As it is, he’s distracted plenty by the purring kitten curled up in Logan's scarf. That's a question for later, especially because if he starts thinking about how he’s wearing Logan's clothes, he’ll combust. The cat (Pixie?) is warm and soft. Virgil carefully scratches between her ears.

“Oh, I'm Patton!” says the pastel one. “They/them, please. We’re so sorry if we scared you!”

“Roman,” grumbles the redhead, “he/him. As I said already, it’s not our fault! Pixie is just… well—” He pauses to gesture at Virgil, who can hardly focus with the way it feels having the kitten rumbling against his chest like a mini-engine. “... Wily.”

“Gosh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cozy up to someone so fast.” Patton says. It looks like there are stars in their eyes.

If Virgil were paying any attention, he’d notice Logan's expression looking much the same. He's still pretty out of it, though, and he’s kind of confused right now with the mischievous grin on Roman’s face.

“Come in!” Roman suggests suddenly, wrapping an arm around Patton’s waist and pulling them close to his side. “The least we could do is offer some cocoa!”

“Roman makes the best hot chocolate,” Patton says, nodding. “Besides, I don't know how easy it’ll be trying to take Pixie from you…”

“Ah, where are my manners,” Logan mutters. “Logan and Virgil, he/him for the both of us. We live just below you.”

Patton grimaces. “Oh, that must have been so loud… please let us make it up to you?”

Virgil is stepping into the room before anyone else can speak. He's still pretty transfixed by Pixie, who has started to knead the scarf with her little paws.

“I suppose we accept, then,” Logan said, sighing in a way that is exasperated and fond all at once.

Virgil sinks into the love seat in the living area, careful not to jostle Pixie. Logan hesitates, not finding anywhere else to sit.

“Apologies,” Roman says, not sounding apologetic at all. He nudges Logan closer to the only available spot. “Patton and I aren't shy about personal space.”

Logan scowls at Roman, who is grinning cheekily as he joins Patton in the kitchen. Still, he sits down next to Virgil. “She seems quite fond of you.”

“I love her,” Virgil says, hushed. He's definitely starstruck.

Logan has no warning, no time to retreat to higher ground, and so the tsunami of affection washes over him without remorse. For a moment, he drowns in his unspoken feelings; the weight of it nearly pushes him under until he has no choice but to let it all spill out, regardless of the consequences.

“Do you like marshmallows?!” Patton’s voice asks from over his shoulder.

“Loves ‘em,” Virgil answers for him. “The big ones, if you have those.”

Logan hopes the blush doesn’t look as obvious as it feels.

“Do you wanna hold her?” Virgil asks suddenly, turning finally to look at Logan. He reels back, apparently not having realized how close they were sitting.

“Sure,” Logan says, awkwardly holding his hands out.

Virgil huffs in that quiet-laugh sort of way Logan likes so much. He takes Logan's wrists and rearranges his position so that his arms are cradled against his chest. Slowly, Virgil removes Pixie from the scarf-nest and into Logan's hold. She snuffles a little before settling in the crook of his elbow.

“Oh,” Logan whispers.

“Seriously?!” They hear Roman exclaim from the archway into the kitchen. When he notices that they’ve noticed him, he jumps, and disappears from view.

Still, just because they can’t see him doesn’t mean they can’t hear him. Roman doesn’t really understand what it means to be discreet, unfortunately.

“They’re just making heart eyes at each other!” Roman hisses, sounding agonized. “I’ve known them for five minutes and even I can tell that they’re in love!”

Virgil has never felt so hot in his entire life.

“Roman, shh,” Patton hushes him.

Logan is pretty much frozen.

Three terribly long minutes pass before Patton comes out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with four mugs on it. “I hope y’all aren’t lactose intolerant! We use milk and creamer so it’s extra smooth.”

“Hey, how come you recognized Logan's scarf?” Virgil blurts as Roman joins them.

“Well, he wears it everywhere, doesn’t he?” Roman asks, taking his mug. “At least, I’ve never seen him in the dorm building without it on.”

“Hence why everywhere isn’t entirely accurate,” Logan corrects, accepting a mug from Patton.

“Still, must mean a lot if you have it on so often. Can’t imagine you’d share it with just anybody.” Roman sips loudly from his mug, holding eye contact with Logan.

Virgil begrudgingly takes one of the drinks, knowing he can’t possibly enjoy it now that he feels like he’s dying of heatstroke.

“Well, Virgil isn’t just anybody,” Logan says simply, as if it’s obvious.

It’s a miracle Virgil doesn’t spill all over the scarf, the stupid comfortable soft thing that means a lot to Logan, which, well, what does it mean that Logan's letting him wear it now? Sure, right after the noise-induced panic attack is all fine and good, but why hasn’t he asked for it back yet?

“Kiddo, your ‘mallows are melting,” Patton stage-whispers.

Virgil takes such a big, sudden gulp of hot cocoa that he burns the roof of his mouth. “So how long have you two been roomies?” He rasps.

“Oh!” Patton exclaims, wiggling a little from where they’ve sat criss cross applesauce on the floor. “Well, for forever, really!”

“We shared a room at an orphanage,” Roman explains. “We were lucky to be adopted by neighbors, who were very kind and let us have sleepovers frequently.”

“He’s my best friend,” Patton says soppily, blowing a kiss at Roman.

“And they’re my soulmate,” Roman continues, catching the kiss and pressing it to his heart.

“Gross,” Virgil responds, sticking his tongue out.

“That is… something.” Logan says slowly, thoughts very far away as he imagines what it would have been like if he’d been lucky enough to meet Virgil earlier on in life.

“How about you two?” Patton prompts.

“Met junior year,” Virgil replies, “hit it off pretty quick.”

“When it turned out we had applied for the same colleges, it was clear some things are meant to be.”

“Did you just use a love song to describe your relationship with Virgil?” Roman asks, delighted.

“What?”

“What?” Virgil echoes.

“Ro!” Patton scolds, as if this isn’t the first time he’s had to be reprimanded for meddling.

Roman is grinning like the damn cheshire cat. Virgil is sure he’s as bright as the roses painted red and he’d very much like out of this mad cocoa party, thank you kindly.

“Well, this was fun,” he says loudly, setting his mug down on the end table. “I'm exhausted, though, good night!” And with that, he gets up (after a moment of struggling, as if the tiny couch is determined to hold him hostage) and heads for the door.

He can hear Patton scrambling up, as if to follow, but someone else is at his back first.

“It was a pleasure meeting you both. Please do keep it down in the future.”

It figures Logan would be the one to follow him out, not because they came here together or because they’re roommates or anything, but because Logan always, without fail, is there to look out for him. Oh god, Virgil is going to die.

He doesn’t realize he’s running his hands over the scarf until he’s halfway down the staircase where he misses a step and doesn’t catch the railing in time and oh good, he’s really just having the best night, isn’t he—

A hand catches the back of his sweater and pulls.

He lands hard, probably bruising his tailbone, but his elbows are caught, and instead of falling back and possibly hitting his head, he lands against something sturdy and warm. He tilts back, looking up, and, oh good, his night is getting better and better—

“Are you okay?” Logan asks breathlessly.

“What do you… am I... are you serious?”

“I’m sorry if i’ve made you uncomfortable,” Logan says sincerely, letting go now that Virgil isn’t in danger of getting hurt. Logan even scoots up a step so that Virgil can have his space. Virgil realizes he's no longer carrying Pixie, which should be obvious, but he already kinda misses her.

“L, what are you going on about?”

“Back there, some of the things I said, they were… I didn’t think them through.” He looks away, reaching towards his neck as if to fidget with something, before he remembers it isn’t there. “It’s important, though, that you… you know that I mean every word, right?”

Virgil pivots so he’s better facing Logan. They’ve been through a lot but Virgil’s not sure he’s ever seen Logan like… this. Kind of guilty and hesitant… but genuine and determined, too. Virgil just wants to kiss all the uncertainties away and he’s pretty sure that wouldn’t be a bad thing to do given how the last half hour had gone.

“We have a lot to talk about, huh?” He says with a quiet chuckle.

Logan looks relieved and then, confused—

“You don’t have to—”

Virgil leans in close as he puts Logan's scarf back on for him. “I think you could use it more right now than me.”

He stands up, wincing a little, before holding his hands out for Logan to take. He does so and Virgil tries not to blush too hard. “Are we gonna have to thank the noisy drama nerd for pushing us in the right direction?”

Logan pulls himself up with Virgil’s help. “I believe doing so would inflate his ego quite dangerously. It’s probably best we don’t encourage him.”

Virgil does a poor job of trying to conceal his laughter. It just makes Logan's stomach flip. He supposes there’s no hope of getting used to that sensation now. Virgil only lets go of one of his hands as he begins to lead the rest of the way downstairs and back to their dorm. Logan can’t seem to keep the smile off of his face, wondering if hand holding will become a new pastime of theirs… he certainly can’t wait to find out.

#sanders sides fan fiction #analogical #royality #sanders sides #dani writes #human au #college au #romantic analogical #romantic royality #analogical fan fiction #royality fan fiction #pixie

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