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chemicalmagecraft · 4 years

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The Gamer Hero, Deku Chapter 24

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in so long but first there were finals and then I kinda just needed to get back into the mindset to write this... My writing needs a bit of momentum sometimes.

By the way, I've decided to stop putting those accent things in Shoto and other people's names. I still haven't figured out how to do them using the keyboard so I have to find it somewhere every time I want to use it, which can get annoying... That, plus the fact that Shoto is probably going to be referred to by his first name a lot in the story soon? Yeah I hope you guys don't mind.

MattKennedy: Yeah, totally! The OFA Quirks that Izuku has unlocked so far are Fear, Skeletal, and Magnetize. Fear is an emitter Quirk that allows the user to raise or lower the level of a person's fear by making eye contact, Skeletal is a transformation Quirk that allows the user to turn any part of their body into a hardened, bone-like substance, and Magnetize is an emitter Quirk that allows the user to magnetize any object (though it explicitly does not work on living things or any body part attached to a living being). There are only three OFA Quirks that have yet to be shown, which are (SPOILER ALERT) Mending, Blackwhip, and Float. The only two of those that I didn't make up are Blackwhip and Float. Oh, and a fun fact: originally I thought of a Quirk that would let Izuku flatten people and things into any flat surface to kinda-sorta turn them into graffiti (actually I think it was the first original OFA user Quirk I thought of...) but decided against that because it would probably be a little overpowered if Izuku could just take out anyone he could push into a flat surface, even if there was a limitation on just slapping someone on the head so hard they become part of the ground, so I replaced it with Mending. Another fun fact, Fear causes Izuku's eyes to become slitted like a snake's.

xoxoxo

"This tournament has been so exciting so far!" Mic-sensei shouted.

"It's almost over, but I doubt there won't be some more... excitement," Aizawa-sensei added.

"That's right! This next battle will be Aoyama versus Bakugou! Who will win, folks? Will it be the radiant paladin, or will the red-hot warmage!"

"Start!" Midnight-sensei said.

"Let us have a glorious battle, mon ami!" Aoyama glittered.

Kacchan laughed. "Like it'd be anything else! Hit me with your best shot!"

"As you wish!" As with Tokoyami's fight, Aoyama opened by turning his sparkles into lasers. But while Kacchan dodged them his navel started to glow again. Aoyama struck a pose, and ribbons of light erupted from his stomach and enveloped him. The armor looked slightly thicker than what he had last time, but was unmistakably the spell he'd used last time.

"Let's see what you can do!" Kacchan shouted. He blasted himself at Aoyama, fists blazing. He slapped Aoyama in the armored chest and shot himself back with a small explosion. The hits caused Aoyama's armor to fluctuate and knocked him back, but aside from looking a little less vibrant the armor held. Kacchan grinned.

Aoyama smiled back at him and shot another wave of lasers. Kacchan tried to phase through the lasers with Fire Embodiment but was still blown back anyway. "Shall we get this battle started for real?" Aoyama asked as he struck a pose and used the distraction to fire up his Quirk again. His armor thickened and formed a stylish helmet, then the excess light flowed down his arms and formed into a rapier and buckler. Aoyama flourished his sword and shouted, "Taste the sting of my Silver Chariot! En garde!"

Kacchan's grin widened. "If that's how you're gonna play this..." he muttered. He struck an equally dramatic pose, almost literal fire in his eyes. A glow similar to Fire Aura engulfed his body, but it looked deeper somehow. I honed my senses on it and heard a ping.

A new skill has been created through special action! From extensive use of skills to understand magical effects, the skill 'Analyze' has been created!

"That'll be useful," I muttered. It created a text box with information that I already knew some of from using Eye for Magic. Which meant it would probably be made passive by Tactician, unlike Eye for Magic or Open Mind. Score. Now if only I could get an Open Mind version... I filed that away for later and looked at the Analyze text box.

Fire Ignition

An infusion of the fire element into one's body stronger than Fire Aura. Grants greater enhancement than Fire Aura, but damages the user.

Increases attack damage by 90%, increases movement speed by 45%, increases STR by 30%, user generates extreme heat.

150 MP used per minute.

User takes 150 HP of fire damage per minute.

Locks user into using exclusively the fire element.

Maybe he tried to brute force Fire Embodiment and got something somewhere in between? It looked like I'd be healing him after this fight...

The ground crackled and glowed from the sheer heat pouring out of Kacchan. "If that armor of yours is Silver Chariot... how 'bout we call what I'm doing Magician's Red?" Even I could barely follow it when he ran at Aoyama, leaving only a few burning footprints behind him. He was behind Aoyama before he could even react, and slammed his leg into him. Aoyama was sent flying, sparkles erupting from where Kacchan kicked him. Aoyama almost flew out of the arena from that one attack, but managed to force himself to slam into the ground using light magic, leaving a rainbowy afterimage of himself for a second. The ground cracked from the hit and Aoyama's armor looked a little worse for wear, but Aoyama just looked a little dazed. He used that new spell, Starlight Dash, to get up immediately.

"DIE!" Just in time, too. Aoyama just barely managed to Starlight Dash out of the way of Kacchan dashing at him. Kacchan stopped on a dime when he passed through Aoyama's afterimage, shattering the ground from his stomp, and shot himself at Aoyama again. It almost looked like he was hitting the ground so hard that he was being launched around by the recoil... Aoyama flinched and raised his shield. Kacchan slammed shoulder-first into the shield. The buckler flashed in an explosion of light, knocking Kacchan back. He almost landed outside of the arena but Fire Dashed back in just in time. "Not bad," Kacchan said. Then he lunged back at Aoyama. He let loose a flurry of almost-blows, just barely stopping himself from triggering Aoyama's shield trap whenever he maneuvered it in place with an explosion. Even though Kacchan never landed a hit on Aoyama, though, each explosion pushed him back a bit.

Kacchan yelled and slammed the ground in front of Aoyama. The ground exploded, knocking him into the air. Then Kacchan wiped his forehead and flicked his hand at Aoyama. A few small beads of fiery light flew off of his hand, landing on Aoyama's armor and shield. The mana-charged sweat droplets exploded, launching Aoyama back. Before he could touch the ground, Kacchan tackled him again. This time Aoyama didn't manage to save himself in time. He dropped outside of the arena and let his armor dissipate. Meanwhile, Kacchan collapsed to the ground. His skin was red, and he had steam rolling off of him. Luckily his pants were mostly fine, but his shirt was more ash than shirt...

"The match is over!" Midnight announced. "Aoyama is out of bounds! Bakugou is the winner! Now go to the nurse before your next match, Bakugou."

xoxoxo

I waited in the waiting room while Kacchan got chewed out by Shuzenji-sensei. Sonia flinched at something and sat down next to me.

"Hey, Izuku," she muttered out loud, even though she was still incorporeal. She liked doing that sometimes, probably because she was a sound elemental.

"What's up, Sonia?" I asked.

"You... might wanna be extra nice to Iida for a while..."

"Did you eavesdrop on a conversation?"

She frowned. "It's not... I hear everything within my range. That's just what it's like as a sound elemental. I used to not... process it, I guess, but now that I'm contracted I know what everything I hear means..."

"Oh." That was... interesting. I'd heard the elementals say things that implied they existed somehow outside of being summoned, but that was... interesting. "Do you... want to talk about it?"

Sonia shook her head. "Nah. It's actually a lot nicer than not really knowing anything that's going on. Besides, Granny's almost done yelling at Kacchan."

I got up. "Alright, then. Let's go."

xoxoxo

Kacchan grinned toothily at me. "So. It's you against me, huh?" He said over the roar of the crowd. "I figured it would be." He did his signature fist-punch. "Let's have a great fight, Deku!"

I smiled at him. "I'll make sure of it."

"IT'S THE FINAL FIGHT, FOLKS!" Mic-sensei shouted. "MIDORIYA VERSUS BAKUGOU! WON'T THIS BE A SHOW!?"

"Midoriya and Bakugou have shown themselves several times in the sports festival to be very talented and very powerful," Aizawa-sensei added. "Honestly, even I've been inspired by the crazy things the students have been doing..."

"Start!"

Kacchan jumped at me with a proto-Flash Step, boosting with his explosions. I reacted just in time to activate Elemental Embodiment, and Kacchan swung at air. It still hurt because he used fire magic, but I rematerialized behind him and Bass Blasted him. Naturally Kacchan didn't go anywhere near the edge from the sound blast, but he went a bit further than I thought he would. "LIMIT BREAK!" I shouted right off the bat. I swung my arm like I was throwing a bowling ball, outputting a lot of ice magic. "GLACIER PRISON!" Kacchan was encased in a giant wall of ice. Just as I thought, that was only a temporary stop. I could see him melting through the ice already. I Flash Stepped in front of the Glacier Prison and activated Ice Aura. I kicked the base of the ice, cleanly breaking it from the ground, and pushed it with a small use of OFA combined with ice magic. The entire Glacier Prison started sliding like in Kirby when you move into an enemy you used Ice Kirby on, if you were able to freeze boss-sized enemies with Ice Kirby.

Kacchan exploded out of the ice in a wave of steam and water before he went out, spraying half the arena in water as he hurtled straight towards me. I planted my feet and swung back to hit him. He threw a few strands of his hair at me for some reason, then cocked his own fist back. When I went to swing, my arm was stopped by something, letting Kacchan get a free hit on me. Whatever blocked my arm didn't stop me at all from getting knocked back. I had Dune raise a few rock walls for me to crash into. I got back up and... tried to Flash Step. Something around my chest this time stopped me. Luckily Damage Reduction meant that it didn't hurt me too much... I looked down at what was blocking me and saw several strands of long fibers. As I watched, a few more threads of silk wrapped around my body.

"You've probably noticed by now, huh?" Kacchan said. And then I thought to check his affinities again. Sonic 40 and Bio 30. "You can come out now, Leaf!"

The silk anchored to the rock wall I threw up grew and morphed into a green-haired boy in a green blanket cocoon that may or may not have been a giant leaf. He grumbled a bit and said, "Hey."

"The surprise is over, get him," Kacchan ordered. Thousands of strands of silk erupted from the bio elemental and wrapped around me and the surroundings. I was quickly wrapped up tight in a silk cocoon. I tried to use Lightning Embodiment to escape, but the webbing was resistant enough that that was a waste of time and MP. I struggled, trying to get some leeway, and took stock of the situation. I couldn't really move, the silk blocked my lightning, I could hear, or rather not hear, that there was enough material that it was soundproof, Halitus told me that it was airtight... I tried water and then bio. Water just left the cocoon wet, but I was able to merge into the web with bio. Leaf tried to keep me in the center, but I was, with a little difficulty, still able to phase through the silk. My hand got free of the web, so I slammed it into the ground and turned it into roots. I pulled the rest of my body out of the cocoon by turning into a small oak tree.

"OH WHAT THE HELL!" Kacchan shouted. "Alright, let's do a pincer attack on the tree!" Kacchan Fire Dashed at me from one side while Leaf lashed out with silk from the other. I burst into cactus needles, evading the webs and stabbing Kacchan a few times. I gathered my body back together, except for a few needles that Kacchan manage to incinerate, and reformed behind him. Kacchan turned around, murder in his eyes. "Leaf," he growled.

Leaf sighed and shot more silk at me, while Kacchan threw fireballs where Leaf wasn't covering. I smiled at Kacchan before turning into water. Leaf's string shots stabbed right through me, splashing even more water around. It didn't help that all of Kacchan's fireballs hit into what remained of the ice prison, nor that I had Rayne subtly spread all the water around. I "fell" into the puddles, then popped up behind Kacchan. I slapped him with a wave of water, soaking him, then switched to Lightning Embodiment.

"Ah, shi-" Kacchan started to say before getting punched by my lightning fist. He coped a lot better than the last time I used that combo, though, because after only a few hits my hand hit his wooden face with a lot less impact. Kacchan smirked and transformed his arm into a bunch of vines, which he wrapped around me. I changed back to normal and almost immediately turned to air to get away. Kacchan cursed as I rematerialized on the far side of the arena from him. He pointed at me, a fire lit on the tip of his finger. I grinned, activated Eye For Magic, and mirrored Kacchan perfectly, copying the magic he was putting into it almost perfectly. He shot the fire bullet at me, which I copied. Then he blinked and summoned more fireballs. I summoned more fireballs almost immediately. With my INT it was hopefully quick enough to look simultaneous. We threw a few more fireballs at each other before Kacchan realized that that was getting him nowhere.

"You're not finishing me off with a stupid copycat game, Deku!" Kacchan dashed at me using Fire Ignition. I managed to mimic it with One For All, but fumbled with the explosion to the face that followed it. My head shattered. Conveniently it happened to be made out of stone and I was able to piece it back together. "Damn Elemental Embodiment..." Kacchan blasted me a few more times. This time, however, I blocked the explosions with a Mana Shield, then hit back with a Steam Blast. Kacchan recovered with Fire Dash, then started flying upward. "Come and get me, Deku!"

I grinned, forming Halcyon Wing to fly after him. Really, it was bound to happen at some point. I flew after him, just barely lagging behind him. I flapped my wings, shooting a few feathers at him. Thanks to Halcyon Wing's secondary effect his flight spell also faltered for a moment, letting me catch up and kick him toward the boundary. He blasted himself back up and threw two blades of heat at my wings. I scattered my wings into feathers long enough for the blades to miss most of the feathers, then reconstituted my wings with most of the rest of the feathers. I threw the few that I left out at him and followed up with a small lightning bolt. Kacchan dodged the feathers, but I curved my lightning to strike him in the shoulder. It wasn't enough to do any major harm, but he growled and clutched his arm from the shock. I grinned and fired an Ice Beam at his hand, which was clutching his arm. I also iced that lightning wound for him while I was at it.

"DEKU YOU FUCKER!" Kacchan shouted as he plummeted. He caught himself with Fire Dash, supplemented with Fire Ignition, and rammed straight at me. The fire melted the ice as well. I flapped my wings, which was now no longer enough to screw up Kacchan's Fire Dash, and ascended fast enough that I hoped I would dodge him. It didn't work. "DIE!" Kacchan screamed as he punched me in the face. I shot all my feathers at Kacchan while I was still ascending, then turned to air. I floated down while Kacchan dodged all the feathers, then turned back when I was under him. Ping. I stopped falling before I even used a flight spell.

"Really?" I muttered to myself. "I get a flying Quirk now?" I shrugged it off and reached for the source of my new Quirk, Float. "Hey Kacchan!" I shouted. He pivoted in midair to face me. "Limit Break: Flurry of Blades!" A spear appeared in my left hand and a kunai in my right, both glowing brighter than my normal level 98 Bound Blades. I gave the spear Electric Aura and the kunai Wind Aura, then threw both of them at Kacchan. He dodged them both and shot an explosion off at the spear, but I'd already created my next two weapons, a flaming flamberge and a steam rapier. Bound Blade's interaction with One For All was interesting. Trying to supercharge a single weapon would either make it explode or cause it to become gigantic. Both of those could be useful in the right circumstances, especially as a surprise, but it was a lot better to just generally enhance the skill itself. This made the weapons slightly stronger and gave me a sort of connection to them, but there was an even bigger advantage to it.

Namely the fact that I could make a theoretically infinite amount of weapons, and give them their own individual Elemental Weaponry. Within a few seconds, I'd thrown a little over a hundred weapons at Kacchan. He managed to dodge most of them, though. "What, are you just gonna keep throwing weapons at me, Deku?" he asked. "That's not gonna work!"

I grinned and looked at the mass of floating weapons above Kacchan that I managed to keep him from noticing just by keeping him focused on dodging. "You'd think that..." I sent all the weapons at him at once. Kacchan noticed before any of them actually hit him, thankfully, and started dodging and exploding them again with more than a few curses. While he was preoccupied, I started charging up a large ball of ice magic. When he was most of the way done with my storm of weapons, I threw the swirling ball of frigid energy at him. "Arctic Storm!" I shouted when it hit him, engulfing him in a miniature blizzard. He was tossed out the side, steaming and covered in frost, and I had Halitus make an air cushion to keep him from hitting the ground too hard.

"Bakugou is out of bounds! Midoriya wins!"

I floated down next to Kacchan, landing lightly. "You suck," he told me with a grin wide enough that I had the strangest feeling he wasn't being sincere. I offered him my hand, which he grabbed. "Still, that was a damn good fight," he said as I helped him up.

"C'mon, let's get you patched up so you can accept your silver medal," I said.

He snorted and lightly hit me. "Fuck you, asshole."

"Love you too."

xoxoxo

Elemental list:

Midoriya: Halitus, Dune, Rayne, Blaise, Juniper, Mifuyu, Raimon, Iggy, Sonia, and Claude

Bakugou: Pyra and Leaf

Tokoyami: Corvo

Uraraka: Nebula and Ion

Hagakure: Lucy

Tsu: Bubbles

Aizawa: Charlie and Cassiopeia

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #The Gamer Hero Deku #Gamer Hero Deku #GHD CH24

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pulchralilium · 4 years

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Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours.

Hi.

Love me?

This got insanely long. I am not sorry for any of it. Whatcha think?

@burdenofthebuster

Viridian irises are tracing the outlines of his face as soft fingertips smooth against his jawline. A surprise that he hasn’t yet woken, but she doesn’t mind. For once he’s found a bit of peacefulness in his sleep, found some type of comfort in blank dreams. Just a few hours prior she had woken to him, shaking and dare she say tears? Night terrors that shook him to his core.

Always wishing she could do more, more comfort, more to chase away these dreams. To be what he needs, to make him feel something else than guilt, then pain. She can hold off the nightmares as long as he needs, nails raking gently through his hair until he eases the tension from his muscles and falls deeper into slumber. He deserves it, so rarely getting sleep like that.

Sunrise is not far away, low ambient light beginning its cascade into their room. It outlines him, letting her see the outlines of his face, mouth, nose. It weakens her heart when he’s like this, how disarming it is when he’s vulnerable to her. Sliding along his jawline, wrapped in his arms she can see the definition. He’s stirring from the contact, and his arms wrap around her instinctively. Actions like this are easier for him in moments like this, when limbs are sluggish, and his mind isn’t in overdrive.

Cerulean eyes peep open, already looking down at his wide-awake companion. He briefly wonders if she’s been up since, but that’s a concern he’d address later. He doesn’t want to immediately get nervous, and instead forces his brain to halt. Inhale, and enjoy the moment with her. Aerith leans up, her nose nuzzling against his jawline. “Good morning” She muses, whispered softly against his skin. He leans into the contact, his head nodding in response. Mornings like this are rare, but they make him feel spoiled. She breathes life into him.

“ m’ sorry about waking you” The words fill the space between them, gentle but strained. Admittedly, he feels guilty about waking her up, keeping her up. A tender chuckle, low and enough that he can tell she’s smiling. “It’s okay, cloud” She makes his head fuzzy in moments like this, when instead of filling it with words it’s the small actions that make him tremble. She never asked for more from him, never expected anything he couldn’t give. Patience, kindness, a place to call home. She does it with one look, with one smile, everything feels okay when she’s looking at him like that.

He can feel the outline of her lips on his jawline, quietly pressing kisses into skin. She gets away with so much more during the mornings, and she knows it. It makes his throat tighten when he tilts her head up, hesitation in his actions when he sees how she looks up at him. But Aerith doesn’t hesitate, she doesn’t have to second guess herself or him. Her head tilts, leaning up to press a firm but soothing kiss into his mouth. Not their first, but it makes both feel the same. An electricity shared by them, a sensation that he can’t put his finger on. He wonders, can she?

But hands tangle into loose brown curls to cradle her head, a small gesture that he isn’t ready to let go; that he doesn’t want her to end it. Her kisses feel like salvation on his lips, a prayer that has been answered. If this was the answer, he’d be praying every second he could. Aerith is gentle in her motions, when her body presses to his and he feels like fire has ignited in his stomach.

It should be a sin at how easy she captivates him; how easy it is for her to get her way when he isn’t sure which path to take. Her hands brush over exposed flesh, and Cloud swears that he isn’t deserving of that touch. It feels like absolution for every sin he’s ever committed, a penance he doesn’t deserve. Her touch absolves him, over and over until it is recited by memory.

She does the thinking for both, and every action on his part is met with guiding hands and gentle smiles. It makes his breath catch in his throat, a tremble in his fingertips when flesh meets flesh. It makes his head spin, stomach twisting. She smooths her lips over his, drawing his attention back. She won’t let him get lost in his mind, and every touch brings him further from his own thoughts. Think less, do more.

The racing of his heart doesn’t stop, but Aerith is there. Calming him, wordlessly comforting him, telling him ‘it’s okay’ . God how did he get so lucky? How could she love him? How could she so effortlessly accept him as he was? Confused, isolated, broken. What on Gaia did he do that made him deserve her? Deserve this?

His lips part, a strangled muffled cry between surprise and pleasure. Heaven on Gaia must be here, wrapped up in these sheets with her. His sins, his atonement, it disappears in her lips. Her voice, whispering words of devotion that wash over him and encourage him on. His thoughts becoming quieter, his actions becoming bolder.

Filtered hues of soft pinks and purples are filling their room and Cloud swears she’s glowing, a literal goddess that he’s been blessed with. He isn’t sure why he’s so deserving of her, but he’d spend the rest of their lives trying to figure it out. Trying to prove he’s worth her love.

Time felt as if it did not exist within these walls this morning, as if the heavens themselves had slowed the universe. Their love so strong that even time will lie down and be still for them. His love is consuming, a subtle fire that ignites into a blaze when they’re alone. There is no place in the promise land or Gaia that feels righter than at his side, then right at this moment. He is her entire world, in the simplest and most complex of ways.

A love so strong it transcended time, space, life and death.

He fills her with dreams and hopes, silent promises made with knowing looks and gentle caresses. Her protector, her bodyguard. Her everything. He shields her when the world crashes in on her, when the world demands too much from her. She finds safety in his arms, hidden from the world. No matter the demon, the challenge, the nightmare, he’s there to protect her, to listen to her.

Cloud sees her, just as much as she sees him.

Her fingers dig into skin that no doubt will leave marks, movements altering between gentle and needy to loving. They don’t need to think about it, their bodies and minds in sync. Their hearts finding a way to bring them together, to bind them one another.

It’s here where they meet on even ground, inexperienced but willing. Tentative touches and whispered praises until they fade into noises between lovers. Between these walls, between the sheets. They find one another in ways that only lovers can. In a way that is so unique between them that it makes her heart flutter in her chest.

He unravels her at the seams, cracks open her ribcage and steals her heart. Never in her life did she imagine loving someone so deeply, so entirely, so consumingly. Every crack, every broken thing about them seems to mend when they touch. They don’t feel so broken anymore.

Labored breaths are exchanged, heightened senses as the world outside is forgotten and they both are absorbed in the passion between them. It’s slow, an ember that is feed bit by bit until they can’t restrain themselves. He’s lost in her, searching and finding a home, a place she’s carved out for him.

It’s here where she discovers he’s done the same, that she’s managed to fit into an empty spot he’s crafted just for her. A space that he whispers is just for her. Not another soul would fit so well between his walls. She’s slipped through, and now he’s not sure if he could ever let her go again.

No, they both know that answer. They are both ruined by one another, their sharp edges are dulled in the presence of one another. There is not another soul in the universe that could part them. The cosmos would die out before their love for one another would, their devotion was sealed for eternity. There would not be one without the other.

The morning continues on, light streaming through the cracks of the window. The once soft pink hues are stronger, still too early for others but not them. Tangled limbs and lips, sheets around bare bodies as they tangle deeper into one another. Soft gasps, please on eager ears until they’re swallowing the sounds of one another.

Heartbeats begin to steady, warm kisses pressed to flushed skin until lips are connecting feverishly. Fingers winding into locks between breathy whispers. Cerulean eyes gazing down at her, robbing her of all senses. She’s so small under him, so doe-eyed and soft. An expression that is reserved for him.

His heart takes control, lips moving before his mind can comprehend. Blonde spikes dip, face hiding in the crook of her neck as he lays alongside her. ‘I love you, Aer’ Breathlessly, genuinely and entirely. She has his heart, his soul, his life. He would gladly lay down and die if it meant protecting her. If it meant keeping harm from befalling her.

He lost her once, an act that nearly destroyed him. And now he realizes that there is not a force within the universe that could make him lose her again. Ever. He would never allow another to take her, to separate them again.The light of his life, his savior. His flower girl. Her hands wrap around him, and he can feel the soft gasp when she hears those words.

It makes him halt, his brain beginning to function and switch into overdrive. Had he done something wrong? Was he not supposed to say that? Had he messed up? Had he ruined the one good thing to happen to him? Worse of all, did she not feel the same? Tensed, ready to pull himself away until he feels her tightening her arms around him.

Hearing the words churn her stomach, a validation that makes her heart ache. Of course they love one another, of course she loves him. The words are a dip in the ocean that is his mind, a reflection that their making progress. That they, both want this. That it’s something more.

“I love you too, Cloud” Her voice is so diminutive, but he can hear the notes of happiness underneath it all. His body relaxes, pulling her as close as physically possible. He needs her, he needs her like how the sun needs the moon.

She’s exhausted him in ways he can’t quite comprehend yet, in ways he’s sure he’ll begin to understand. He’s opened up to her in ways she wants to explore, in ways she never imagined before. It’s a silent promise they can feel as her hands reach over and interlock with his.

A promise that this, is real.

That they deserve it

That the life stream itself, could not separate their love.

#;headcanon #☽❀☾『Can I take your pain and make it go away』→ burdenofthebuster #burdenofthebuster

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ombreecha · 5 years

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The Uchiha's Wife: Palimpsest of Semblance

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: This is a collection of content that was intended for The Uchiha's Wife but was either removed, improved, or didn't make the final cut. None of the content here will be in any particular order so it'll be posted with no real rhyme or reason. There will be a mountain of errors, and some twists and turns that originally were meant to occur but didn't. If I can remember what exactly I intended or what the thought was behind it's removal, etc I'll add notes to that. These will also be in varied length since they're sections of content not a full piece.A lot of you seemed interest in my original plans as I wrote this story out and I figure this would be a fun little thing for you guys to see and how much it's changed. None of this work is considered "canon" to the actual The Uchiha's Wife at this stage so everything you see here will probably never be referenced, used, or continued upon.

ORIGINALLY MEANT FOR CHAPTER 14 So originally we got the name of the OC Senju way early. I was originally intending to make this where he got a name, and he had a face to face with Sakura. This was also intended to be her first battle I guess you could say? I also thought to have her cut her long hair but after going back and forth decided not to cut her hair. Far too often I feel we run for the iconic moment in the Forest of Death, and this also didn't work for something I have on hold for way later in the story. While I do a lot of parallels I also try really hard not to do what's expected or obvious, and a lot of my friends such as beatoneheart, closetpoet7, etc. all agreed it was to cliche to go this way. I felt extremely dissatisfied with this outcome and scrapped this entire section. From the hair cut to the proverbial damsel in distress moment it just seemed too ridiculous honestly. Although at the time I was pretty excited about this, and really proud of it I found later when I took a step back this just wasn't the route I wanted to go haha.

This also started what I considered the possessive Sasuke moment I had for a while. I ran into a situation where mentally I had him in two completely different mind sets between chapters and sections considering this takes place after the trip to Konoha. At that time it became increasingly obvious I was writing two completely different Sauces and was another reason I went a head and scrapped this. I needed it to flow evenly and to come from a moment in which he's proud of her and wanting to understand her more to making him freakishly possessive out of left field just couldn't happen because I hadn't developed him in that way nor was it something I wanted. You'll notice it abruptly ends because I literally passed out in the middle of writing it and when I was able to come back I couldn't remember what the hell I was about to do next OTL

I replaced the OC Senju's name with random x's since he hasn't had his name thrown down yet in the main story but once we hit that I'll probably adjust it here.

The medic camp is infected with influenza. The symptoms are obvious—fever, aching bodies, chills, headache, cough, fatigue, congestion, and scratchy throats. The influenza has hit their camp hard, and progressed through all it touches. The season had not been kind with the down pour it had brought. The thunder that had only been but days before brought with it the coldest of rain. The drops soaked through all it touched chilling the air. Her best efforts to keep herself from falling prone to it’s grasp is but that of a cloth mask upon her nose, and mouth. The virus has already made its way into her system though—the rawness of her throat, dull headache, and ache that throbs within her every movement. She’s not as far gone as the injured shinobi who had come for healing after their last battle. The cries of the children as they shook within the blankets, and the choked breaths between coughs remind all around them that they are just that—children. The fingers that grab for those treating them ache and the fever that’s touched them brings tears down their face as the illness runs through their small bodies. The adults who have captured it let the groan fall from their mouths with the headache that pounds within their head. For every mixture of medicine she makes she reminds herself to drink two—she never does as there’s never enough to go around. There’s only the hope that she can pour a little more of her chakra into them after the medics have done their best to mend the physical wounds. Fingers grasp the ladle with care as she continues to stir yet another mixture of medicine.

Shisui had been kept from the camp with his task of continuing to gather the herbs she had listed. It had only taken a description, and what should grow around it. He continued to bring her what she needed. There’s concern for her own health as he too adorns the mask meant to keep the virus at bay. The headache dull within her head increases, and with it she can feel the continued throb within her ears.

Her teacher had made it clear when she had taken in medical ninjutsu—she would be the last to fall. The medic would always been the last to fall. They were meant to keep the front line moving, and they would not stop until treatment was complete. The medics throughout the camp followed her lead. All of them had gotten the virus but even within their ache, and even within their fever they worked to mend the broken bone, they worked to heal over the severed limb, they worked to disinfect the torn skin, and they worked to bring the sick comfort as they drank their medicine. They held the hand of the child that cried out within their fever, and they held the bucket as the adults let the contents of their stomach rise from their throats.

The heat from fire that heats her mixture is soothing and one that she praises mentally among her aches. Her fingers shake, and the stiffness of her neck is increasing. She’s going to lose the ability to turn her head soon—no, it’s best to think of what comes next. She cannot allow herself to think of her own aches, and pain. The shinobi in tent thirteen needed his next dose. These motions are habit she does not need to think into them as she seeks to bring the first dose from this mixture to the one in need. Entering the tent this male greets her with a groan and the mutter of pain.

His hand grasps her own gloved one as he struggles to sit up allowing the blanket to pool upon his lap. Battle had taken this man’s right eye, and broken his arm. His breathing is high within his fever, and the sweat that coats his hair and clothes is in the air. Her fingers press upon his arm and the exchange of the cup is given. She wants to utter encouragement. She wants to tell him his body will fight through the virus, and that it will get better. She cannot find it in her to do it though. He does not need her encouragement right now. He needs rest, and his body would continue to do all it could even within his weakened state.

The shift of the tents flap is barely heard—the pounding of her head within her ears is coming harsher, and more often.

“Shisui?” she’s calling her voice raspy.

The pause of the shinobi in front of her comes and the choke of his air follows—it’s all the warning she needs. Viridian widen, and her heart beats to a new rhythm. None within her care would come to harm—None. Sore muscles send spasms of pain as she grips the hand far closer than she had realized. There is nothing gentle about the way she twists their arm slamming their body upon the ground making the muddy earth shake and her patient shuffle off the bed in an effort to assist. Viridian glow dangerously as she lets out the sound of distress leave her lips. The pain shoots through her body but she’s far from done. She will protect this shinobi. He had fought hard, and he had sought safety within her—

Blood splatters the ground. Iron in the wind. Heat upon their skin. Sound fails to enter her ears.

There’s the scream she knows is coming from her mouth as she clambers to her feet. Mud cakes her and fingers gloved in dirty pull with far more force than necessary upon the mask to give her better oxygen flow. She’s charging forward with aches and pain abandoned within the destroyed tent dancing within the flames. A lift of her leg and down upon the earth it comes sending it shattering the ground before them.

Soundless. All of these things are soundless.

The high pitched noise that continues within her ear drums is all she can hear as she stumbles out of the way of a fist that had not taken her earth shattering display as a warning.

Senju, and Uzumaki alike are in every direction viridian dare to shift. The medics hardly a threat are being slain as they seek to protect their injured, and the injured are taken by their heads, and those capable fight back. They only needed to put distance between them. They could make a getaway with enough push.

The fist to her nose connects slamming her head back, and twisting her feet—they intend to kill her.

She would no longer be a victim of circumstance. War would not take her from the world of the living. Medics would not be the first to fall.

Her fists are slamming back and her viridian keep themselves upon every twitch of their body as blood spills from her nose. It only seeks to make her far less dainty—it seeks to make her all the more dangerous.

She had told her husband she had put her support in him. She would defend his men. She would defend his men’s children. She would defend them in all in her support. She will keep going, and going to see to their safety.

The crush of her knuckles comes and this enemy shinobi’s jaw cracks with the force. His body scrapes across the muddy crumbled earth skidding into the two who seek to assist in her death. Fingers curl—she will not be taken lightly. They will have to drag her to King Yan’s gates. They will have to make sure she cannot raise her head before the god of the underworld. The forceful whip of her neck sends the surge of pain through her head bringing sound once more to her ears. It’s terror, and it’s chaos. It is war.

The scream that echos in the chaos scratches against her throat as she goes to meet them half way. The fist that connects with her chest is harsh but the fist to their shoulder is even harsher. Viridian do not dare to leave them even within their strikes.

Evasion is top priority for a medic when in combat. The medical ninja should never be hit.

Blood flies from her mouth—sickness has made her sluggish. The second hit to her temple sends her sideways but the glow of her viridian will not be stopped. The Senju and Uzumaki spoke of the terror that came with eyes deep in rich reds. They spoke of the stilled heart beat that came from the eyes her husband wore. They would fear her viridian this time.

Her upon the ground is the leverage she needs to push her legs forward in an attempt to connect. The muscle within the hand that grabs it is enough warning to slam herself upon the ground. She cannot suffer a broken ankle. She cannot suffer damage to this degree. The crush of her body against the earth sends a tremor throughout the battlefield. The desperate air she seeks to taken in burns her lungs as she breaks into a fever from the increased strain on her body.

Rolling within the mud she’s managed to evade the attack meant for her heart. Hands come behind her allowing her to arch upon her back and flip to her feet. The shooting pain throughout her back, legs, and arms is just the influenza she reminds herself as she slams her fist upon their back crushing them within the mud and breaking a few ribs.

Oh—no, no, no—

Her rose colored strands are pulled sending her backward upon her bottom. The blood that paints her teeth come out within the pained lividity that decorates her face.

“Sakura-san, don’t fight. You will be fine.” this is a voice she had not heard in years, “The Uchiha dared to use you in such a manner.”

The footsteps that make their way before her send her viridian scaling upon this male that speaks so gentle with her. Every inch of him that she trails only seeks to make her viridian widen in their gaze. She knows this male well—she had healed him well before her marriage. He had been caring, and he had always been gentle. He had come to see her on more than one occasion between battles. He had tried to overawe her with flowers, and he had court her. She had turned him down every time.

“xxxxxx-san?” she response with a touch of uncertainty.

He’s bending before her brushing the pale rose-colored strands that stick to her face within her sweat away, “They will no longer force you to aid them—I’ll make sure your safe.” his malice for the Uchiha pours within the mention of them, but the smile upon his face remains gentle in speaking to her.

Viridian widen realizing the intended meaning and it’s before her words can make their way from her throat that her head feels lighter than before. The sound within her ears is the drag of a blade through strands of hair, and the scream of anguish from that who wrapped his fingers within her pale rose. No sooner she is removed from the ground she had been forced to sit upon. Her face is pressed within the chest of the one who sought to free her. Fingers curl within the cloth feeling her heartbeat against her chest.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” his voice is calm but there’s no missing the erratic heart that beats within his chest.

The feel of his fingers within her hair torn carelessly is calming as she pulls her face from him. She’s pulling from him and there’s no missing the red so deep and rich across his face, “Shisui.” she coughs from within her illness. He’s left her side within her call as she shakes within her need to bring herself from the earth. The ring of his blade clashing with another rings within her ears as she struggles to focus. The cough turns violent as she raises within shakes to her knees. Fingers curl upon her mouth staining her muddy gloved fingers in the coppery liquid that seeks to find its way from her chest. The swelling of her eye seeks to remind her of her aches and pains.

The violent cough has her spitting the blood upon the ground as tears sting within her eyes. There’s no stopping her gaze upon the strands of pale rose caked in mud, blood, and fingers of that who had dared to grasp them.

My hair has become far too long—I keep forgetting to cut it. Don’t. That which pounds in her ears is no longer the headache that beats within her temple. It’s heart that pounds within her ears sinks within her chest. There is no listening to the anguished cries of the male who had taken hold of her.

Sasuke-kun, it’s so long though. I like long hair on you.

He had liked long hair on her. He had asked her not to cut it.

Viridian shake as they come to the Uchiha who had come to protect her. There’s no telling what her husband will do when he sees her in shortened locks of hair. There’s no telling what her husband will do if he dares to see her so bloody, and bruised. This Senju had thought they had forced her to mend their injured, and heal their wounded. He had desired to take them from her husband and her acquired family in marriage.

She would go no where.

The Uchiha meant to protect her in her husband’s absence is thrown to her and her reaction time is still slowed as she seeks to dig her heels within the earth to steady them. Her fingers are glowing and their healing the wound across his chest that dares to bleed within her hands. She will heel the scar further when she has more time—right now she must move forward.

She’s none to gentle within her drop of her guard as she’s rushing forward to play the one who protects. The scream of her name comes and then it’s cut off within a choke. There’s no looking back. There’s no stopping what she’s doing as this male of chocolate locks, and tanned honey skin seeks to cut down the Uchiha. Feet skid within the earth as she brings her hands down upon one of the large broken pieces of earth. A forceful shove is what sends it heading for him, and she’s running straight behind as she forces her legs to move faster. The fever that had dared to come over her is only beaten by the blood that pumps through her veins as she keeps herself moving among the rubble that seeks to trip her.

A bend of her knees followed by hand signs come—she’s gone. Fingers curl as she pulls her fist back intending lethal harm to come to this man. There’s hope he hasn’t realized she’s coming from above him, and it’s as he shatters the earth she had shoved his way that the oxygen is lost from her lungs. The rope infused with metal has wrapped itself around her throat dragging her back upon the ground and knocking the air from her lungs. There’s the realization as she gazes upon the sky with viridian wide and tears fall down the sides of her face into her ear that her fingers that managed to make their way between her throat and the rope are broken. The blood that forces its way from her throat spills upon her face. Blurred vision over takes her but she refuses to fall within unconsciousness. Her neck is done—she’s pushed her body to far. She cannot turn to see what has become of Shisui. They’ve grabbed her by the cheongsam no longer recognizable in color between the blood, and mud that stains it.

They are harsh as they remove the rope from her throat and bind her hands behind her. There is suchc a lack of care as they throw her among those they have taken by force. Her air flow is but strangled puffs of air.

“Sakura-san, why would you fight us when we only seek to assist you from these monsters.” her vision is far to blurred to allow her the ability to see his face.

She does not need to see it to know his brows have risen in discomfort by her actions. She cannot even open her eyes as the pain, and ache fills her being, “They are. . .not monsters. I will stand—I will. . . stand. . . beside my family.”

“What have the done to you?” there’s no missing his heightened tone, and the anger that’s threatening to fall from him at her words.

“Don’t—hurt them.” she’s pleading as she’s desperate to open at least one of her eyes, “They’re. . . sick. . . They’re injured.” the cough that wracks her body is harsh spending spasms sharp, and jolting pain, “Please xxxxxx-san.” she’s begging within the tears that fall between her closed lids.

“I will fix what they’ve done to you. This is not you—You would never follow Uchiha. It’s his fault. This is his fault. We’ll. . . we’ll cure you of whatever that vile man has done to you.” he’s quick within his steps to press his hand upon her head running his thumb across her swollen eye with care.

“Don’t touch Sakura-sama.” the hiss of a child comes lunging forward within his restrains at who would dare touch this woman wed to one of their greatest shinobi.

“Remove your filthy hands from Sakura-sama.” another venomous tone fills the air barely caught within her declining consciousness.

“We said remove them—now!” Shisui’s voice is a raspy threat filled with lividity as he slams his head against this Senju who dare to touch that one he is meant to protect. It’s no sooner his head is slammed into the ground.

“Please don’t hurt them. I’m begging you!” she’s crying out upon hearing the Uchiha smashed within the earth, “Let me heal them—let me—”

The press of a body—it’s so small against her own, and so obviously one of the children shinobi—is against her side, and then the following of another—more adult—as they seek to keep her from this Senju so intent on obtaining her. They seek to comfort her within her fever and battle driven exhausted state.

“If you are to follow them then you are to be treated as they are.” there is nothing soft and gentle from him this time—it’s malicious and it’s holds absolute disdain. There is the forceful push of the child from her side, and then the hate filled shove of the adult that sought to protect her with their body. Fingers yank her by her pale rose-colored fringe pulling her head back against its wishes, “Tell me what they’ve done to you?”

A resounding hiss. A curse fills the air. The drip upon her skin. The forceful toss.

“You dare to bite me—” the cry of a child, and then there is the warmth that comes over her leg, “You nasty, vile, inhuman pest.”

Every word spoken in malice brings the sound of a choked cry, and every choked cry brings more of the warm liquid onto her leg—vomit is rising within her throat. The weight of the body that has been dropped upon her lap she is sure is a child. They’re small, and they’re warm—their blood is what’s covering her leg. The slow drag of her left eyelid comes to confirm her thoughts. Viridian drink in what what she can trying her best to fight through the blurred vision. It’s enough to make her entire being quake at seeing this child wide eyed and dead upon her lap.

This shinobi so small and so fragile had sought to protect her—they were all protecting her.

xxxxxx had called the Uchiha monsters. The Senju were no different.

No, none of them are monsters—this is war. Never forget this is war.

This man had been kind once. This man had smile so softly, and spoke in such gentle tones. This man had attempted to awe her with brightly colored flowers, and he had praised her with such wonder within his features. This man had spoken to her of his fears as she mended his flesh, and gave way to tears when his father had fallen in battle. She had seen him battered and broken, and she had gazed upon him within loss, and anquish. He had absolutely been kind—once upon a time.

This man was still possibly kind underneath what war had molded him into. He is no different then her husband, and yet it is so much easier to feel such hatred for what he’s done.

She does not know if she could forgive what she’s seen today. She does not know if she will ever see him the same way again. She does not know if she can ever accept what he’s done to them all.

He may be no different than her husband, but she knows she is blinded within her love.

She knows that her husband sits upon rules far different from what she applies to this man.

His heart sinks, and the beat it had held stops as he walks within the deserted battlefield once medical camp. The swallow he produces seeks to suffocating him, and the panic that washes through him has his eyes looking upon the rubble of tents and land. Fire long since put out still wafers through the air. There’s no missing the blood that paints every place his ebony seek. There’s no missing the dead bodies that litter the ground—Senju, Uzumaki, and Uchiha a like.

Heavyhearted doesn’t begin to explain was overwhelms him as he dares to step through this camp meant for healing, and mending. His team is right behind him following with slow even steps awaiting what he does next. The female of vibrant red shows the most hesitation as they pass a child who’s eyes remain wide with blood spilled from what he swears are finger holes within the small throat—the bruise that wraps around his throat is deep within blacks, and purples and makes it far to clear this child had been strangled as the enemy sank their fingers deep within their esophagus.

His feet feel weight down as he feels as though he can hear the screams of his brothers-in-arm fight until their last breath. These men, and children did not defect—they had stood their ground until they could stand no longer. They were overrun, and they were overwhelmed. The thunder within the sky threatens to wash the ground of the blood that soaks within it. The earth so shattered and torn is a sign she had fought—she too had stood her ground in what had come their way.

Pale rose coated in dirt and blood has him kneeling. Fingers reach out taking the weathered, and coarse strands within his fingers. He had held these strands not to long ago. He had found comfort within these strands forever long, and he had pressed them to his lips as he watched her sleep. His fingers dig deep within the dirt long since dried by the sun in the days that had passed this battle. There’s no missing the severed appendages that have made the strands turn brown within their blood loss. Ebony shift and there’s a heat upon him at seeing the Senju who lay dead not far from from where these strands once so exotic lay in such shredded fashion.

Karin can only press her fingers to mouth, and Suigetsu can only attempt to swallow the air threatening to choke him within his throat as they see what he has kneeled to touch.

“Sasuke-sama.” there is startle from the silent members who cannot fathom why their teammate of orange hued locks dares to speak in this moment.

Standing slowly he brings the locks within his hand. The thundering of his heart brings oxygen once more within his lungs. It burns and there’s the tightening of his jaw as he turns to those who follow him.

“Find them.” his command is lethal, and threatens to bring harm to any who dare to utter another word.

This woman had told him she would shoot down the nine suns herself if she so had too for his sake. She would protect the elixir of immortally and allow him to drink all of it. She would be the otherworldly archer, and the divine goddess of the moon. Her body did not lay among those that reek of death. The do not move from him at first. There’s hesitance in leaving his side. It’s not until his ebony leave the soiled pale pink strands and those ebony dye within deep rich red as the glow upon them that there’s the shift of their feet. He will not speak again.

There quick in removing themselves to shuffle among the remains of the fallen, and rubble of the destroyed tents, beds, supplies, and belongings.

The glow of his eyes fall upon the lifeless man who had dared to touch his wife. His fingers curl upon the strands soiled by battle as the force of his grasp makes him shake. This man had bleed out in his death. His death had not been what he deserved—he had deserved far worse.

His steps are strong and the press of his foot comes upon this man who cannot feel what he is about to do. He could only pray that this man would feel this within the depths of hell. The spring nymph had taught him not deep within her culture’s New Year of the gods they held faith within.

She had whispered of this deity who passed judgment upon the dead. His name is upon the tip of his tongue and it’s as he breathes in deep with his foot applying even more pressure to crush this man’s skull in that he recalls it. Yánwáng had been the name of this deity, and he would assist this diety in passing judgment upon this Senju.

He was a god of war—he was the chaos within the battlefield. He was an otherworldly being of destruction.

The pressure of his foot finally breaks through the skull driving into the organ that had seemed to fail him within life—if he had been smart he would have known better than to mess with the Uchiha.

His father’s words ring within the air. Never underestimate the Uchiha.

The choked call of his name has him whipping his head and finally releasing the strands once flowing from his wife’s head. He gazes upon the woman of vibrant red locks, “Juugo—he’s figuring out where they are.” the press of her hangs against her chest are the only thing that stands between him and possible harm.

He’s flashed beside her and walking with power radiating within each step he takes. There will be no stopping what he intends to do next. Her fingers shake in her grasp upon his sleeve, “Whatever happens next we need you out of that splint.” her voice is heightened within her fear.

Deep rich red trail across her face to slide down her throat. There’s no missing the way she twitches within his gaze and her fingers release the small cautious grasp of his sleeve. She’s pulling her sleeve up, and allowing the marks of teeth that mare her skin to show themselves within the daylight. Roughened tips run upon her arm and it’s the sink of his teeth within her skin that follows. He’s not gentle within his actions. His grip is tight upon her wrist, and he is none to gentle as he takes in her chakra.

He is but one of many who have marked her, and it’s as he feels he’s had enough that he removes his mouth from her shoving her arm back within her chest. There is no secondary look as he resumes his steps to the male speaking with a bird perched upon his finger.

“He says Sakura-sama is alive. The Senju have moved north. He will scout ahead as we move.” the nod he gives the bird is all the things he would expect from this gentle giant—his appearance is his most deceiving factor.

“We leave. Now.” he’s still commanding, and still leaving no room for questions.

There off once more. Kagami had asked for him to rest. He had told him that his exhaustion was evidently. He feels refreshed within his lividity at what he’s traveled upon. Once he had acquired those who had been taken—once he had acquired the ethereal being that was his wife—they would send to retrieve the bodies of those who had fallen. They would bury their dead as they always did, and they would silently mourn them as they headed back out onto the battlefield.

The sun that dared to light the sky has begun to seek rest as the moon sets to replace it. The air cools them as they run through the trees. There is no resting—the longer they took the farther they were. He would not allow them the pleasure of taking her farther from his grasp. He would now allow them to hold their people as spoils from the war.

His impatience is growing, and growing, and his frustration is showing, and showing. They keep going, and going, and it feels like forever within the night. He can only wonder if they will ever reach them.

The spark that had ignited within him is what drives him. The spark that had ignited within this new found malice is what make his legs carry him further and his jumps soar him farther. This is the fight he seeks to have.

That Senju had called him a coward.

That same Senju would now be the one to walk upon the rubble of his clan. He would show him what his clan had showed him. He would bring their tents down within flames. He would drop their shinobi down upon the ground as they begged for mercy. He would be merciless as he took their skulls within his hands. He would strangle the life out of the children who dared to fight against the Uchiha. Ebony would remember every injury, and every mark that was upon her milky skin. Ebony would engrave her war torn features within his mind and make sure to repay each of them for every ounce of harm that they had brought upon her.

He would gain vengeance for those that fought for them. He would get revenge for the children who lost their lives far too short within this war of ideologies. There would be no room for failure, and he would strike down any who defected—he would rip their heart from their chest as it still beats for betraying them all. He would remind everyone within this war who he was, and what he could bring down upon them.

They do not stop for rest, and they do not stop to put food within their mouths. The tick of time is all that he sees, and the distance they travel every second, every minute, and every hour is enough to keep him level headed within his impatience.

He had been brought terror in thinking of her as the Senju and Uzumaki towered over her. He had pictured her within his mind crawling away from them in desperation. He had once seen a medic of the Senju begging for mercy—that could have been her deep within the camp as they sought to harm her. Teeth display themselves from his lips as he remembers the way he had ripped the heart of that medic from her body. What was he to do if he came upon her lifeless? He had sought to protect her. He had wanted to keep her safe and away from the war that had already taken so much from her. The glow of those viridian could dull as she stood before her god of judgment within the land of the dead.

Is that not where love begins? The desire to keep one safely protected?

Desperation is within every step he makes—but was this love? Urgency is within his heart that threatens to burst with his overwhelming charge to fight—but was that love? Fear lingered within the corners of his mind—but had love begun?

He does not have the answer. He does not have the strength to solve that puzzle here and now. All he can do within this third day of chasing after them is continue the steps that come. They are tired, and their muscles ache with an entirely new burn. They had traveled farther, and yet they had always rested—they had always taken care as they moved closer to their enemy. He had desired to keep her protected—he had failed, but he would redeem himself here and now.

He would keep her safe beside him. They feared his name, and they would soon learn to fear her. She was more than title. She was more than a wife. She was so much more than that.

It’s as his teammate of orange colored locks stops upon the branch that sought to jump

#sasusaku #ombree:palimpsestofsemblance

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motherboxing · 5 years

Text

I said I wasn’t going to write about this but after talking to my girlfriend I changed my mind

TW for mentions/acknowledgement of sexual abuse, including CSA and incest, as well as non-CSA/non-incestuous abuse/rape, gaslighting, property damage, stalking, and self-harm.

I want to talk about the Ailey O’Toole plagiarism thing but I am angry. I am worried that saying I am angry is derivative. I am worried that my trauma is derivative. I am worried that my trauma is original (too original, perhaps, one might say, unbelievable?) and people have and will plagiarize it for personal gain. I am worried about being accused of doing this, because I have cast around for ways of describing What Happened, ways of acknowledging, naming, coming to terms, trying to mend, and in my utter overwhelm about the abject terror of that, often looked to the writings of other survivors. I have talked to other survivors who told me that they did this with my own writing, for themselves. The networks of survivors that I know, sharing our language, offering up our sympathies for each other, relating, connecting, trying to heal, are beautiful, intricate, delicate things. When someone does something like this it smashes a wrecking ball through the house I am trying to build in my head for the knowledge of my own abuse.

She stole the words of other women - many of whom were women of colour - and presented them as her own. More than that, she stole the stories of their personal trauma. She took a description, written by Rachel McKibbens, of physical injuries relating to abuse, and presented it as pure metaphor, revealing through her own amateurish take on an expertly constructed work her lack of understanding. Her poems are worse than the poems of the people whose traumas she exploited. She’s a hack. I have tried to muster empathy for her and I have none. I only have the internal chaos of having been effectively gaslit for years.

Something that I think gets lost in the way that the term “gaslit” gets thrown around today is the long-term impact of gaslighting. I am not very good at describing it but I would say it is in part a constant self-doubt. Did this happen? Here is the proof I have collected. At night sometimes I do little drawings and leave them on my desk to prove that I was there, a real person. When someone lies to me, I become destabilized and angry, then direct that anger inward. I compartmentalize my memories into neat little boxes, separate and away from each other, and then when that no longer works I pick and pick and pick at them. I acknowledge the truth of my memory and then I unravel it, spool the thread, and light it on fire. If you go to therapy, he said, they’ll plant false memories. Therapists can do that. They’ll tell you you were abused to turn you against me. You know I would never hurt you, right? Don’t you love me?

A recollection of a specific assault can be hidden away, like the rug I bought that he ruined that he pretended wasn’t real. I bought it with my own money and he hid it and told me I never did, and I believed him until I found it when I was moving out and saw the big stain on it. I left the rug there. Did the rug exist? Now I believe - know - that it did, but when someone lies about shit like this, it worms its way under my skin and eats at me. There are people - former friends of someone I was formerly in love with; someone I was formerly in love with; someone I was never in love with but who took what he wanted anyway - who will still tell you the rug did not exist. Sometimes people who were not there tell me that the rug did not exist. I imagine there are people who will read this and say, see! She ADMITS she’s an unreliable narrator!! The rug is literal and also a metaphor.

What if someone does to me what Ailey O’Toole did to McKibbens and others - reads this piece I am writing and cribs it, claiming it as their own? Or, more horrifically: what if I’m doing that to someone else and I don’t realize, because all of my memories are fake?

My rational mind knows that there is a difference between me reading something on someone’s blog and then later, privately, telling my therapist about it, saying I appreciated the language that person used, saying I found their writing a relatable account of something similar to something that I remember in my own past - that their writing made me feel understood, made me understand something about myself; that I cannot speak about my own memories as mine just yet, but I can acknowledge the recognition that I felt reading this other person’s work - and publishing in a book that I got paid for and did interviews about and won awards for a story which is wholly someone else’s, and claiming it as mine. My rational mind even knows that there is a difference between someone picking up a phrase I used to describe my abusive former family (“mutual bullshit society”) and applying it within their own traumablogging on their non-monetized tumblr blog where they are just trying to process their own shit, and the careful, deliberate crafting of an autobiographical poem written for publication and considered for prestigious awards.

Gaslighting, though, tells me there isn’t. Maybe, it tells me, you’re lying. Maybe you made it up, for sympathy, for attention, for prestige - to be seen as someone who has Survived, which is Admirable, because everyone loves a survivor as long as they aren’t a bummer! As long as they are inspiring. Isn’t that what you want? To be seen as strong? To not be afraid? Wouldn’t it be easier if none of this was real?

I wonder if Ailey O’Toole understands these feelings. I wonder if she understands what it’s like to have someone deliberately chip away at your ability to trust your thoughts, memories, feelings, instincts, and impressions until you genuinely think you don’t know what’s real anymore. I wonder if she understands what it’s like to wrestle that self-doubt to the ground, pin it down, and say, “THIS HAPPENED”, only to have it rear up and take a chunk out of your flesh in retaliation. I wonder if she understands what it’s like to do that and then see her, her smiling, perfectly made-up, straight-haired perfect white girl face with no damaged teeth, revealed as a fraud, and feel a fear worse than “what will happen if I stop acting like I made it up?” - what if I DID make it up after all?

I don’t know Ailey O’Toole’s life. I’m not saying she’s never been abused. And I do not subscribe to the school of thought that teaches that people (women) make up stories about sexual violence for twitter fame and book deals. I do think that in many (white) feminist circles online, there is a dangerous premium placed on vulnerability. That poses much more of a risk to people who are willing to be genuinely vulnerable than it does to people who crib other peoples’ writing about their abuse and pretend that that is vulnerability.

And I don’t know what to do with my anger about this. I don’t know how to navigate the tangled knots of denial it tightens within me to see a story about someone who exploited other peoples’ trauma in this way. It is damaging, and it sucks, and if I’m honest, I do not think O’Toole understands the harm she has caused - primarily to the people who she ripped off, the victims of her fraud, but also, in a secondary way, to the people who are struggling to tell their own truths whose perception of that activity is easily cracked by shit like this. It’s just hard. I wish people wouldn’t do it.

#if you read this i would appreciate a like just to let me know

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blondepomwrites · 6 years

Text

What We Leave Behind (1/4: Da’len)

Summary: Post Kirkwall, Hawke and Fenris have fled their lives and the Free Marches, trading certain Kirkwaller persecution for hunting down slavers along the Nevarran roads to Tevinter. When one of their efforts leaves them be-saddled with a orphaned elven boy, they find themselves forced to confront everything they had thought they'd left behind.

Part 1/4: Da’len

Rating: Teen, probably.

Ao3: [link]

Notes: This started out as a simple prompt request. You know, as it goes. The line chosen was: "I'm not jealous." by @aban-asaara. It began as a cutesy, fluffy (if not overly-indulgent), little idea that then became an excuse to explore a host of things painful and sweet in both their pasts, and then, spurred by a conversation with @cantfakethecake, it kinda turned into... well, this.

You know. As it goes.

[all titles subject to change]

“Hawke… No. Do not even think about it,” he said, knowing full well it was already too late.

They’d crossed into Nevarran territory following a lead on a suspected slaver’s route, and before long they stumbled over a well-trodden path from Kirkwall into Wildervale and then, inevitably, into Tevinter. After days of tracking through the plains and woodlands, the caravan they uncovered numbered near the hundreds. They’d had to splinter this caravan, hunting down the larger of the two groups before doubling back to free the rest.

They’d returned to find that in the chaos, many of the would-be slaves in the second group had tried their unshackled hands at escaping into the unforgiving hinterlands. Some found some unexpected aid. Others found bandits.

One such couple struck misfortune with the latter. The bandits left nothing behind but corpses in small clothes for the vultures. But what the corpses left behind…

“It’s alright,” Hawke spoke softly, as if her the weight of her words could break the air. “We’re not here to hurt you. We want to help you feel safe, I promise.”

Surveying the area to assure they were alone, Fenris set his greatsword against a tree with a defeated sigh, and, against his better judgement, knelt next to Hawke.

Mumbling something under her breath, Hawke paused, then in a voice that mimicked Merrill’s, she cooed, “Andaran atish’an, uh, da’len.”

A dirty, pinched little face peeked out from behind the tree, big eyes in a tiny frame glowering at them from under a messy nest of black hair. “Ma tel’sumeil!”

Hawke glanced to Fenris. “Did you catch that?”

“Why are you asking me?” He deadpanned, “because I have the ears for it?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Na, lethallin?” came the small voice again. The boy had stepped out partway from his hiding spot, revealing tattered, dirty rags that hung on his frame like a war-torn banner. His once hard stare had softened, widened, at the sight of Fenris.

For the life of him he wished he didn’t, but somehow Fenris knew that look.

The look that filled to the brim then burst like over-ripe fruit, tears pouring down the boy’s face like nectar over wrinkled skin. A cry that tore what had been held together too long by only eyes pinched shut and hands clapped over the mouth. The abandon in his steps as the boy broke for the first sign of familiarity and safety.

Even so, it nearly knocked the wind out of him when the boy finally crashed into him, a wave of untamed, unbridled, undeserved emotions too large for his small frame to contain.

The boy clung to him, tight as his own armor. There was no place for words in the boy’s wailing sobs; no room for anything but release of that which had been clamped down and wound too tight for far too long.

And Fenris could do nothing but put one arm around the boy, and then, uncertainly, the other, and hold him so that he did not fall completely apart into the dirt.

“Oh, sweet thing…” he heard Hawke exhale, and she ran a comforting hand over the back of the boy’s head.

The boy peeked out, and at the sight of Hawke, let out a howl of a scream and pressed himself deeper into Fenris’ armor. His cries reverberated off the metal in a way that haunted and hurt, and it showed in her eyes as she retracted her hand.

Hawke stood up, clearing her throat to smooth over the cracks that crept into her voice. “Well… I think it would be best if I… gave him some space. I’ll go… take care of them, then.”

Fenris must have given her the look of a dog with its own foot caught in a trap, as she reassured him, “You’re doing fine. Just keep holding him until he calms down. Unfortunately, that’s all you can do in these situations.”

The ending of slavers and the unshackling of their would-be slaves was always the easy part for Fenris. But this? This was Hawke’s area of expertise, not his. This was where he was relieved to have her to bridge the insurmountable gap from freedom to free.

Yet, here he was, with this responsibility quite literally thrown into his hands. Hands that were made to rend a beating, bleeding heart—never to mend it.

So, despite the instincts that told him better to gnaw off his own leg, Fenris did just as Hawke said. He held him against the sobs that rocked him like waves, against the screams that tore from his throat like clawing gales, and in spite of how the boy clenched and pounded his fists against the feelings he could not and should not have known.

It was the most frightening storm he’d had to weather. He knew that he was safe, but it was the little boy at the heart of the storm for which he found himself concerned, and even scared.

But like a summer’s squall, its throes were just as wild as they were sudden and suddenly ending, tapering off with the steady beat of soft sobs of exhaustion, punctuated with sniffles like retreating thunder.

Hawke returned then, dirt caked to the end of her staff. He could see the last of the ice she’d formed to make a spade melting from the tip. Fresh soil stained her hands. She leaned against her staff, eyes drifting over the ground between them. “I did for them what I could. Some space in a clearing, picked a few flowers, found a seed for each of them… I don’t know if they were trees, and I don’t know if they will grow, but… the thought was there, at least. I hope it’s enough…” She looked back to where Fenris was with the boy. “How is he?”

“Better,” Fenris said, “or, at least, he is settled somewhat.”

“Enough to where you can carry him?”

“Perhaps,” he answered, aware now of how his legs ached from remaining still for so long.

“I would be more than happy to hold him for you, but…” Hawke let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t think the feeling would be mutual.”

“I will manage.” He placed one hand on the boy’s back and supported him underneath with his arm, shifting his legs underneath him until he stood with the boy still pressed against him. He felt a murmuring in the back of his mind, like a something stirring from a deep slumber. He brushed it away. “There was an alienage not too far back from here. We could make it there within the day.”

She pounded the end of her staff into the ground, ice in her eyes and in her voice. “We are not taking him to an alienage.”

He gave an acknowledging nod and waited. She would know better than he what to do with an orphaned child. But when she did not say a word, he saw what went unspoken between them, and how she held it like parchment over a hungry, grasping pyre.

She made a habit of playing with fire—entertaining her follies and letting her heart speak louder than her mind for longer than was safe. He shook his head, voice low and dowsing. “We can’t keep him.”

Hawke looked away with a huff, indignance rising like a shield.

He could not tell if the weight on his chest came from the what he knew took cover behind her shield or from the elven boy curled, sobbing against his armor. Through both, he added quietly, “You know this, Hawke.”

When she met his eyes again, the look was only half as sharp as she perhaps intended. “Obviously. But… doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

Walking off, Hawke grabbed Fenris’ sword from where he left it. She hefted it to fit in the sling where she normally carried her staff. “Then we’ll find a clan to take him in.”

His sword looked out of place slung over her back, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest as she marched ahead. He began to follow in behind. “We haven’t passed any since the outskirts of Kirkwall.” He paused, finding his footing almost off balance. Smoothing his gait so that he didn’t jostle the boy like a sack of potatoes proved tricky on the forest terrain, but not entirely unnatural. “How do you suppose we’ll find one now?”

And she said, as if it was so simple, “By looking.”

Carrying on was not as easy as before. Though, Hawke reminded him many times, the boy was extremely complacent for a toddler—quiet and still as a sack of potatoes, sure, but also just as heavy. He kept having to shift the boy from arm to arm, and each time he did so he felt almost certain that he was going to end up dropping the boy on his head. But each time he found the motion to be as natural as a thought.

One that he brushed aside for now.

They’d tried to coax some words out of the boy as they went. Hawke soon surrendered the task to Fenris, as her words were only met with hiding and whimpers. It didn’t take long to find that the boy knew just about as much Trade as either of them knew Elven, but they were at least able to find a few words or phrases that would elicit a look of comprehension from him.

He even gave the shiest of smiles when he heard Fenris say Da’len. So that was how they called him.

Even so, the words of the Elven language felt clunky and out of place in Fenris’ mouth. The syllables sounded thick as dried mud and were just as pliant under his tongue. Though he did not say it aloud, he suspected Da’len found the language this lethallin less of a warm familiarity, and more of a fascination with his accent, if it could even be called that without offense. He may as well be the cat who barked to the elven boy.

For some of the time, Da’len slept—dirty face nestled on Fenris’ collar bone, unruly black hair brushing against Fenris’ neck with each step. When he did, Hawke allowed herself closer, stealing long, longing looks at the little boy who spurned her.

After a little while, she offered up, “I’m not jealous, or anything.”

Fenris scoffed. His arm hurt, the constant contact made his skin crawl, and the toddler wasn’t exactly fragrant right under his nose. “There is little to envy here, believe me.”

Hawke shook her head. “From this angle he reminds me of little Bethany—only father and I could rock her to sleep after a bad dream.” She reached a hand to stroke his hair, but caught herself and retracted to crossing her arms. “You seem to be handling him fine enough, though.”

“There are… things for which I have plenty of patience.”

“I know… I see it every day. You put up with me.”

That elicited a chuckle from him. “For some things more than others, yes.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Despite—or perhaps due to—the deadweight in his arms, he still tried to keep a sharp eye out for any threats lurking in the woods around them. He assumed Hawke did the same, until he checked in and saw her eyes no longer resting on Da’len but on the boy and himself. Placid and drifting like a boat on open water, he could not catch her gaze. He felt himself begin to flush. “What?”

She blinked and refocused. “What? Oh. I’m not… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Da’len shifted and began to stir, rubbing one hand at a puffy eye.

Pulling out her staff, Hawke sighed. “And that’s my cue to go off scouting ahead again… Please tell him I’m not a slaver or anything and that I just want to hug him and squish his little cheeks.”

He smirked, partially in relief that he could now shift the boy to his other side. “I thought you said you weren’t jealous?”

She called back from stomping her way forward, “I’m not! At all! Not even the littlest bit!”

Da’len looked up at him under half-lidded eyes and cheeks that wore an impression of the leather in Fenris’ armor. He asked in a small voice that barely broke above a whisper, “Iras mamae la papae, lethallin?”

Although he could not understand the question, the sounds parsed themselves enough for him to know that he could not give him the answer he wanted. Fenris looked to the trees, remembering the tradition of the vallasdahlen. Even if he had the words to tell a tale he did not know, how much would the boy understand anyway? Would it even be fair to lead him to understand so soon?

Fenris shook his head and gave him the only answer he could: “I’m sorry, da’len.”

And although the little elven boy could not understand the words he used, Fenris’ answer seemed to give Da’len enough peace. He felt Da’len loosen his hold, leaning back to peer up at the trees overhead and the mottled mosaic of green and blue they made with the sky.

All the while, Fenris kept his eyes on the ground, unwilling to see how numerous and tall were the trees in these ancient woods. But he could not stop himself from wondering how many of them grew on buried remains, and what those buried remains had had to leave behind.

#fenhawke #fhawris #fenris #f!hawke #f!fenhawke #marian hawke #dragon age #dragon age ii #fanfiction #mine #What We Leave Behind #prompt fiction #also fun edit: I CAN'T FUCKING COUNT #there are only going to be four parts not five #god I hope that stays true

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