#spotify wrapped fic-o-rama
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Hey Lem!! Would you pls do smth with kakashi 28. If you'd like and if you are not already tired
I love you, take care, bye-bye!!馃挏馃挏
28. old gods - emily scott robinson.
carry my prayers on the ocean, carry my prayers on the sea
and if you are meant to be mine, love, one day you'll come home to me
Kakashi pulls his cloak tighter around his face, shielding the tender skin of his cheeks from the cold, lashing rain. The bewitched wind is greedy, though, it claws at his hood, tangles his hair into knots, cracks open his lips. He can feel the magic in it the edge of a knife.
But all magic wanes eventually, all he needs to do is wait it out.
He growls as icy pinpricks of rain stab at his eyes, the new scar over his left eyelid still tender and swollen from a recent skirmish. Thunder rumbles overhead, the sky splitting across with a blinding streak of lightning.
Thunder rolls like a laugh and Kakashi cannot help but feel like the punchline of a cruel joke. The weather laughs at him, at the fool's errand he has set himself on. Desperation remains a faint flicker in his chest, just enough to keep him warm. To keep him moving when all he wants to do is stop.
your blue eyes are there when i close mine, i see your sweet face when i dream
my heart is all raged in pieces, bleeding at every seam
He's been on the road for so long, Kakashi barely remembers the feel of a soft mattress at his back, the warmth of a real blanket. More often, he finds himself curled at the base of a tree, resting his head against the trunk at an angle that leaves him sore the following day as well as the one after. Sometimes he manages to find a corner of rock so he is protected on at least two sides, but it's rare.
Tonight, Kakashi is lucky to find an outcropping of rock partially shielded by a broad-limbed oak. It's not enough to keep the rain away, not really - especially when the rain is so specifically set upon him - but it's better than nothing. He slinks down into the tight space, shrugging his weary body into the least uncomfortable position he can manage before he tugs the hood down low over his forehad and closes his eyes.
Sleep won't find him, but it creeps close enough he can almost feel it and that's enough. It has to be.
i'm down on my knees at a crossing, wondering which way to go
but all roads are dark through the valley, and i'll learn to walk them alone
You appear to him as a dream - or near enough he can't tell the difference. You stand before him, the rain falling everywhere but on you, your hair and your face and your clothes are so dry it makes Kakashi jealous - you look warm and content while the rain lashes around you, just barely tugging at the ends of your hair.
Your name slips in a croak from his parched lips and you smile. He watches your mouth move, but he can't hear you over the terrible discordance of the storm. He stands, stumbles over his tingling legs, weak from lack of blood flow. Kakashi pitches forward, reaches his hands out toward you.
Lightning splits the sky again and then you're gone and Kakashi is still sitting in his uncomfortable sleeping spot - the sun puts forth a grand, if mostly futile, effort to peel away the clouds. The rain is nothing more than mist, now, but Kakashi's clothes are so drenched and heavy it hardly matters.
With the noise of the storm diminished, he can hear the whispers on the breeze, all that remains of the spell that tried to drown him. He smiles, though it takes an immense effort.
but are you a trick of the memory that the old gods are playing on me?
carry my prayers on the ocean, carry my prayers on the sea
Kakashi has come so far but he hardly has the will to continue. The tantalizing vision he had of you the night before feels like it's sucked all the air from his lungs - each step takes mor effort than the last, the weight of his sodden cloak doing all it cane to hold him in place, to drag his feet to a halt.
He wonders if the lethargy is a lingering effect of the storm's magic, one more hurdle to overcome.
He closes his eyes, tries to remember how you looked in his vision, tries to recall the exact movement of your lips as if he could figure out what you were trying to say by reading his memory.
But he doesn't understand. Hasn't since you left, since he woke one morning to find your side of the mattress empty, his father's sword gone. He knows, deep in his heart, you are trying to help. But he also knows that revenge will not bring satisfaction, will not heal the wounds he carries deep in his heart anymore than it wil bring his father or his friends back from the dead.
He wishes he could call you back to him, tug the tether he can feel stretching from his heart to yours until you return to his side, until he can feel the warmth of your body in his hands again.
He worries you have spent as many cold and ruthless nights with your back pressed to a tree instead of his chest, shivering in a cloak drenched by a vengeful storm.
i'm down on my knees at a crossing, wondering which way to go
but all roads are dark through the valley, and i'll learn to walk them alone
Kakashi has battled too long to give up, but his knees protest each step. HIs eye - or, where his eye used to be - throbs in time with his heart beating.
He comes to a crossroad and hesitates, his feet unsure of which way he should turn. A light breeze brushes past him, soft as a caress against his cheek; he thinks he almost hears your voice carried on the air current. The wind whips his clock toward the right and Kakashi turns down the path, more confident than he perhaps should be.
He holds your visage in his mind's eye, feels the tether between your hearts shorten with each labored step, every shuddering breath.
no wine and no song can soothe me, i'm pierced by the arrows of pain
i'll lay on the grass by the mountin and summon the wind and the rain
One day, Kakashi knows, he will find you again. He will wrap you in his arms, press his mouth to yours. And the two of you will face whatever darkness that lies ahead together. He will take up his father's sword to protect you.
He will thank you for giving him the courage to undertake a journey he never thought he would be strong enough to endure.
For now, as the sun finally wins against the lingering clouds, Kakashi lies down in a field of sweet summer grass. He inhales slowly as he closes his eyes. Sleep finds him this time, and his dreams are filled with you.
#kakashi hatake#kakashi x you#kakashi x reader#fantasy au#(vaguely but it's there)#lemony scribbles#spotify wrapped fic-o-rama
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1 - Naruto / Kakashi Hatake
when the party's over - billie eilish.
Kakashi felt the hard wood of the the auditorium chair digging into his back and adjusted. It was dificult not to roll his eyes as families settled into their seats, turning to talk excitedly with one another about the show.
His eyes flitted to the decorations fixed to the front of the stage, the hand painted banner with "A Time to Remember" scrawled on the front.
Kakashi had never participated in a recital like this. Even in his youth, because of who his father was and what he did for a living, Kakashi's education in movement had been exceptional. Professional from the very start.
He had taken adult workshops instead of classes with children his own age, and he had featured in a few of his father's residency works before his death - had been taken under the wing of Sakumo's friends and contemporaries thereafter.
Kakashi was grateful he had never had to demean himself in such a way, wearing cheap costumes and trying to bend and break some artistic vision into a malformed box that suited A Time to Remember.
What did that even mean? What was it supposed to convey to the audience?
Kakashi huffed, rolled his neck from one side to the other to quell his irritation. An unfamiliar hand tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to look at the person attached, seated behind him, with only the thinnest veil of social politeness pulled over his natural expression of annoyance.
"Hi," a woman said, pointing toward the curtained stage with a hand-folded program printed on too-bright green paper, "who are you here to see?"
That was the questions, wasn't it? Becasue the person he was here for was not even performing, likely had done almost as few of these types of recitals as he had himself.
But Saya Tsunematsu was a peculiar thing, a person he still did not have a good read on, despite his proclivity for undrestanding people at a glance, in most cases.
The woman behind him, for example, leaning too close and hoping desperately he too was a single parent - something they could bond over before she inevitably asked him to help with some ridiculously small home repair project in a bid to finally seduce him.
"No one," he said flatly, turning to face the stage again. He heard the woman's half-shocked sound of confusion, felt the warmth of her hand as it crept toward his shoulder again before retreating. Kakashi closed his eyes, breathed through his nose. An hour and a half, one twenty minute intermission, and he could lay to rest whatever questions he had come here to answer.
Or, at least, if he didn't, he would forcibly bury them and move on. He had spent too much time already on trying to understand Saya; her determination to challenge him at every turn.
He had originally dismissed her when she auditioned for him with a piece of his father's choreography and she had snidely retorted that he was an egotistical fraud who could never live up to his father's legacy.
The remark had stung, the fear of inadequacy which Kakashi so easily pushed down most days writhing its way up his esophagus, curdling in his mouth.
Perhaps it had been a good thing - he'd never admit it - because it had forced Kakashi to truly think about the path he had set himself upon, the goals he wanted to achieve by reviving the White Fang Dance Company. To rewrite his childhood, to bring closure to a part of his past which had remained until recently an open, festering wound.
Saya had helped with that, had challenged him repeatedly as they reworked his father's choreography. He'd never met anyone who knew the movement as well as he did until Saya. It was strange, to find someone so devoted to Sakumo's work who had never known him.
The lights of the auditorium dimmed and Kakashi settled into the familiar darkness, the hush before the curtains pulled apart to reveal another hand-made (and similarly nonsensical) set piece - a backdrop painted with a mountain range in the distance, a field of flowers in the foreground; neither of which seemed to evoke a time to remember.
The first half of the recital was devoted mostly to the youngest children, few of whom knew their places or their steps, several of whom froze mid-stage, terrified of the lights and the sea of shadowed faces. One who cried, and three who tried to climb off the stage shouting, "Mama!" or "Papa!" with delight.
Kakashi had to forcibly unclench his jaw several times.
Intermission brought headache-inducing fluorescent lights and the opportunity to buy cookies and brownies and boxes of sugar water masquerading as juice in the hallway to support the dance studio's competitive endeavors. Kakashi purchased a single red carnation, unsure why except that it gave him something to do with his hands.
When he returned to his seat, the one behind him remained vacant and Kakashi wondered despite himself whether the woman had moved on his account or if her child was one of the young ones permitted to leave early so as not to miss their bedtime.
The second half of the recital was at least slightly more interesting. The children were older, more dedicated to their burgeoning craft. And while none of them danced to a professional level, several of them showed promise, and Kakashi found himself clapping a little louder, hoping it would encourage them to keep going.
And then, finally, the last piece of the night was all that remained. Kakashi straightened in his seat as a familiar person took the stage, standing in the center wearing a simple black dress and sensible heels.
"Good evening," Saya said, smiling, the long earring she wore catching the spotlight and reflecting it back in sharp refraction. "My name is Saya Tsunematsu and I'm a performer with the White Fang Dance Company."
Kakashi felt his pulse quicken a little at the mention, the acknowledgement that she was tied to him in some way. Professionally, of course.
"I am honored to have been invited to collaborate with some of the senior students on a piece for tonight's recital. When considering the theme A Time to Remember," Kakashi almost laughed but quickly converted it to a cough before anyone noticed, "I thought back to my own childhood, to the joy that dance brought every day, even when it hurt or when I didn't get the part I wanted and my parents listened to me cry the whole way home."
Several knowing chuckles erupted from the audience and Kakashi found himself, not for the first time, slightly jealous that Saya seemed so capable of connecting with the people around her, even if they could never attain her level of talent.
"I wanted this to be a truly collaborative effort and I'm so proud of the work these students have put forth to create this piece. I will admit, their choice of music was outside my usual realm, but that only made the challenge more fun for me, and - I hope - for them. Thank you and enjoy."
Applause followed Saya into the wings and the curtain pulled open again. A single performer stood on the darkened stage, wearing a loose sleeveless top and tightly fitted shorts, all a dull grey.
When the music began, it was a soft harmonic humming until a cracking voice joined.
Don't you know I'm no good for you?
The lights slowly came up, soft blue washing over the stage as the dancer at the center began a measured adaggio - as close to a hallmark of Saya's work as Kakashi had ever been able to pinpoint.
The girl's foot trailed from her ankle to her knee, and then higher - her thigh pulling tight to the side of her body as her foot extended overhead. Even Kakashi had to admire the control and flexibility the movement required. Her leg trembled only a little as she stared blankly forward, mouth parted slightly, hands soft at her sides.
I've learned to lose you can't afford to.
Her foot flexed but she remained otherwise still as two other dancers joined her, falling from the wings with a soft flourish, pulling at their shirts as if trying to escape their confines.
Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding.
More dancers, suddenly, running swiftly onto the stage as the dancer at the center released her leg extension and joined them in a cluster, disappearing as she melted back into the sea of grey; no longer alone, but no longer special, either.
The lights flashed from blue to red, the whole ensemble moving together as one entity - expanding and contracting, lifting up onto the toes of one foot, leaning preacriously to one side until they nearly toppled over.
But nothing ever stops you leaving.
They all tugged the shoulder of each other's shirts, appearing to try and stabalize one another before it became apparent they were trying to pull each other off balance.
Kakashi did not notice he was leaning forward, perched on the edge of the uncomfortable auditorium chair as he watched.
The cluster dispersed, dancers flying in every direction, some cascading to the floor while others leapt through the air, each face painted with an expression of anguish, remorse, fear.
They all stopped suddenly, swaying on their feet; turned away from each other, staring at the floor, solemn.
The lights cut out.
Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own.
Bright yellow lights burst across the stage like the flashes of cameras, the music swelled.
One dancer fell to the floor, clambered forward from one knee to the other, rolling over each pointed foot, clutching their chest. Another fell on top, resting his head on their shoulder, wrapping his arms around them as if to cradle and reassure.
But the first dancer struggled against it, tried to pull themself free.
I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that.
Kakashi watched as the piece evolved, as moments of sadness and anger were punctuated by joy, by love. The lights wavered back to blue, ripened to orange and then rotten purple.
Slowly, those better moments overwhelmed the others, quelled the upset and the regret and replaced them with exultation. The dancers saw one another struggle, helped one another overcome. Rather than separate and isolated, they moved together again, one dancer propping another up as they fell.
The music crescendoed.
Let's just let it go, let me let you go.
The first dancer took her place at center stage again, but this time, instead of alone, the others joined her, all sweeping their leg up, up, up. Some weren't as steady, some not as flexible.
They all smiled.
I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that.
They flexed their feet as one as the music ended with a soft tinkling of piano keys.
The lights faded to nothing, darkness swallowed their beaming faces.
The audience erupted in applause, parents and friends and family all celebrating as the lights came back and the performers took their bows. Some in the crowd stood, many shouted. The dancers all laughed, giddy and pleased with themselves, as they beckoned Saya on stage to take one final bow with them.
Kakashi was the first to leave, the excitement of the crowd trailing behind him, falling quiet as the heavy door swung closed in his wake.
He smiled the entire way home, the carnation still clutched carefully between his fingers, and he finally understood why Saya did not find recitals or their preparation to be a waste of her time or talent.
#kakaoc#kakaoc fanfiction#oc: saya#modern au#dance au#lemony scribbles#music prompt#oh shit lem wrote something???????????????????????????????#spotify wrapped fic-o-rama#took me forever to figure out what tag i designated for this BACK IN DECEMBER and when i saw it all i could think was REALLY as;dfjasd;f
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howdy.
i saw an artist post something like this and so now i am unabashedly stealing it for my own purposes...
send me a number 1-100 and a character and i'll write a fic based on the corresponding song from my 2023 spotify wrapped playlist!
no guarantees on how long this will take! yes i know i still have ficti-grams and i am actively working on them in my headbrain! i may regret this later but for now i am excited!
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some truly great stuff in my inbox right now, y'all. my fave is the person who chose a totally instrumental piece. that's gonna be a fun one to dig into.
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VASH! and UH.... 45!
45. love, love, love (love, love) - as tall as lions.
Roses are such perfect organisms. Even when cut back to the root or gnawed through by insects, new growth will claw out of the dirt or spike straight through the ruined leaves, all stubborn red and resilient in the springtime. Their blossoms are universally considered some of the most beautiful, and yet their thorns are ruthless, slicing through anyone who gets too close.
Vash cradles a pink flower in his hands, thinks of all the adversity the blooming bush before him must have overcome to make its way from a ruined Earth all the way to No Man's Land. He smiles as one of the thorns pricks his real hand, piercing the outer layer to draw a small bead of blood.
"Sorry about that," Vash whispers ruefully, "I shouldn't have gotten so close."
He lets the petals slip from his fingers and strides away, wiping the blood from the his hand before pulling his glove back on.
Vash does this often when he can't sleep, wanders the desert. Never far enough from his companions that he wouldn't be able to protect them if they need it, but far enough the scuffing of his boots in the sand won't wake them.
Wolfwood sleeps like a weed, gangly limbs sprawled in every possible direction. Meryl is the opposite - she curls in on herself like she's trying to disappear.
Vash finds it difficult to sleep. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees himself and then he sees Knives and then sometimes he stops being able to tell the difference. Most nights, it isn't even worth trying to rest when his companions do. But he'll close his eyes anyway, breathe deeply, match the tempo of his inhalations to the cadence of theirs.
He learned a long time ago that the more he can make himself seem human, the more comfortable those around him will be.
The smell of the rose is still in his nostrils by the time Vash returns to find Wolfwood snoring with his mouth agape and Meryl's fists curled so tightly he's afraid she might split a knuckle. He's about to wake her to make sure she's all right when, a moment later, she releases a long sigh and her fingers relax.
Vash releases a breath, too.
Have I ever told you before I think you're beautiful when you're sleeping?
He likes watching them like this - enjoys seeing them with their guard down, even if sometimes he panics, thinks for a moment maybe they've stopped breathing.
Sometimes he cries while he stares at them, wondering how long he will get to enjoy the gift of their presence. Because nothing good in Vash's life lasts as long as he wants it to.
If I'm all that you're looking for, tell me, why is there a river treaming (down your face)?
There was a time when Vash thought he would never feel this again, the warm humming sense of contentment - a soft vibration beneath his skin, singing through him.
The way he used to feel when Rem smiled at him, when he and Knives chased one another through the artificial fields on the ship where they were born.
It's a fragile feeling; fleeting, in most cases. And Vash, though he is foolish in many ways, is not stupid. He knows he has done things that make him unworthy of that feeling.
He flexes his cybernetic fingers, the slight mechanical sound of them nearly undetectable, even to him.
So many days I was afraid of love, love, love, love.
Vash sits in silence as the night fades, counting Wolfwood's breaths and listening to the faraway sound of Meryl's heartbeat, the soft murmuring he finds so endearing about her when she dreams.
He wonders how long this can possibly last. Wonders how many more times he will be lucky enough to save them both from the curse of knowing him, of being caught within his vortex - two more casulaties of the Humanoid Typhoon.
He wipes his tears away as Wolfwood stirs, tilts his head so the morning sun will reflect off his glasses, hide his swollen eyes.
But don't get too attached to the living, every single memory's fleeting (that's a fact).
The first thing Wolfwood does each morning is stuff a cigarette in his mouth; the man never speaks until he's smoked at least one. And even then, most of his speech before noon consists of gutteral, half-words and curses.
Meryl wakes like she's being dragged through brambles - all groaning and moaning like she's fighting a thorned bush. Vash stifles a smiles at the thought of her strangling the rose he held so gently this morning for the audacity of pricking her hand instead of his.
"Let's get moving, dumbass," Wolfwood growls through a haze of smoke, teeth clenched on the end of a cigarette.
Vash blinks, realizes he's been daydreaming a little too long, didn't realize his companions were finally up and ready. He wonders if he drifted off to sleep without realizing.
One day I woke up and realized...
Meryl punches the priest in the shoulder then flashes Vash a smile, head tilted to one side.
That tingling warmth spreads through Vash's chest, reaches the ends of his fingers, makes the spot where the rose bush pricked him thrum even though it's long since healed. He thinks he can even feel the electric components of his prosthetic zip and zing a little.
Love's not a grave. It won't decay on you.
#lemony steps out of their comfort zone#vash the stampede#vash fanfiction#vash character study#spotify wrapped fic o rama#am i gonna regret the trigun related tags? yeeeaaahhhh prob
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