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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Intertwined - Chapter 4

Chapter: 4/8

Additional Notes: My AO3, WizardGlick, is 3 chapters ahead on this. Critical thinking exercise: Read the following Twin Peaks quote and consider how it related to Intertwined and to post-PoF as a whole:

WINDOM EARLE: What do you fear most in the world?

MAJOR BRIGGS: The possibility that love is not enough.

Chapter Content Warnings: Again, it's a hanahaki fic.

Excerpt: "Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

Yesterday, Patton supposed, could have gone worse. He had haunted the kitchen after his departure from Janus, begging the mindscape for some sort of hint. Like the answer to all their troubles was lurking in Thomas’ subconscious, just out of reach.

When morning came, he returned to Roman and Logan's rooms, was again rebuffed, and so floated back to the kitchen, made himself some coffee, and sat down at the counter. Again, he reached out with his mind for some kind of reassurance. He had to fix this. There had to be something he could do.

A 5,000 piece puzzle appeared in front of Patton. The image on the box was that of dogs playing poker, captioned A Friend in Need. The subconscious was funny sometimes, in a way that made Patton feel kind of sick and hollow. He opened the box and shook the puzzle pieces put onto the counter. It was a way to pass the time, at least.

A few hours crawled by. Patton’s hands began to shake from the caffeine, and he knew he should eat something, but… It almost didn’t seem worth the effort. He was happy to cook for his fam-ILY, but, when it was just him, what was the point? He put down another edge piece and flinched at the sudden appearance of Virgil in front of the coffee pot. Virgil had made himself scarce after yesterday’s meeting, only reappearing to turn down Patton’s offer of dinner. Patton couldn’t even blame him. How terrible, to wake up after a bad day and find your friends inconsolable and enemies at your door.

“Hi,” Patton said. Finding faux-happiness out of reach, he settled for ‘not completely miserable’ instead.

“Did you eat?” Virgil asked, pouring coffee into a purple mug decorated with this logo.

Patton saw no reason to lie, not about this. “Not yet. I got a little distracted.”

“Mm-hm,” said Virgil.

“Listen,” Patton said, already getting up to make toast. “Are you okay?”

Virgil shrugged and opened up another cabinet. “Want some orange juice?”

"Um, sure." Patton got out the bread and popped a few slices into the toaster. "Thank you."

"No prob." Virgil stood on his toes and got down two glasses, pivoted to the fridge for the orange juice.

"It's just," Patton said, "You don’t seem very upset?" It wasn't that Virgil was necessarily acting upbeat , but… Well, Patton had been expecting something more intense than Virgil's baseline levels of casualty.

"I am," Virgil said. "But I also want orange juice."

"Oh." Patton fell silent. His own feelings were so big and loud in his head they didn't really leave room for anything else. In the light of everything that had happened, Virgil's response felt cold. Patton had half a mind to tell him so, except that… Well, he had no room to talk about 'proper' emotional responses to things. If this was how Virgil wanted to navigate the situation, that was his right. "Did you talk to Roman yesterday?"

"Sorta." Virgil put the orange juice back, scooted a glass to Patton, and took a seat on the counter. "He said he wasn't ready to talk, but might be soon."

"To you?"

"Yeah." Virgil's expression was cloudy. "To me."

"That's a lot," Patton said, treading cautiously. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Virgil's knuckles went white around his glass, so much that Patton was worried he might break it. "Oh, there's plenty I want to say," he said darkly. "To you and to-- to him."

"Janus," Patton said, feeling it important, somehow, to say his name.

"Yeah. To Janus."

"You can," Patton said. "To me. I won't get mad."

"I just don't understand!" Virgil said, the words exploding from his chest. "What did he say to you to make you trust him? After everything he did to Roman, to you, to Thomas! What did he say?" It was almost a plea, "What did he say?"

"I already told you, kiddo," Patton said, poking at the water droplets collecting on the side of his glass, unable to remember that they were called. Logan would know. "I made a choice to trust him."

"But why ?"

"I don't know, I just-- I felt something. I don't know if I can explain it in a way you can understand. I just got it. I understood what it was all for. "

"So, what, he just gets a free pass for treating us all like crap? Just gets to talk his way out of consequences?"

"Well, no." Patton kicked the toes of his loafers against the molding under the counter. "But I don't know that it would do any good to… punish him? Be cold, be mean, yell at him. What's done is done. I'm not asking you to forgive him."

"Good, 'cause I don't."

"But I also need you to understand that I made my choice and I'm committing to it. I…" Patton smiled sadly, gazing at the countertop without really seeing it. "I gave my word, in a way."

"Fine," Virgil growled. "But if he hurts you, if he does what he did to Roman and Logan, I swear, I swear--" Patton covered his ears briefly and Virgil seemed to get the message. "Well. I'll avenge you."

"Thanks, Virgil." Patton smiled again, happier this time, and looked Virgil in the face. It really wasn't all that long ago that he had thought of Virgil as an enemy. And now look at them. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"You are?"

"Of course I am! You've been a really good friend to, to all of us. And I'm so happy--"

"Stop," Virgil said, pulling up his hood. "Stop, stop, stop."

"Aw, did I make you blush?" Patton teased.

"Yeah," Virgil said, his voice breaking on that one syllable. He cleared his throat. "Let's not-- I'm gonna--"

"Is something wrong?" Patton asked, already reaching out for a hug. Virgil couldn't see him with his face buried in his hood, so Patton stopped short and let his arms fall to his sides.

"I just, uh." Virgil took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, swept his hood back with a jerky motion. "Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve all this."

"Oh, kiddo, of course you do!" Patton said, again holding out his arms for a hug. Virgil instead held out his hand, and Patton took it in his own, determined to communicate all the love and devotion he could through that simple contact. He smiled at the matching weave of their friendship bracelets, smiled at the memory of sitting side-by-side with Virgil as they both struggled with five-strand braids.

Virgil nodded, and his breathing was still shaky and spastic when he said, "I'm gonna go-- I'm not going off to cry all by myself, if, uh, if you're worried about that. I just need… Uh. Yeah."

Patton nodded, hurriedly snatching the half-cooked toast from the toaster and imagining it smeared with Crofter’s and butter, arranged neatly on a plate. "Okay!" He said with false cheer, passing the plate to Virgil. "Come get me if you need anything! Maybe we can watch Ghost Adventures tonight."

"Sounds good," Virgil said, slightly muffled around his hand, as he was chewing at his thumbnail. "Later." He sank out.

Patton sighed and stared at their untouched orange juice glasses. Even when he was trying to fix things, he made people upset.

A drop of water slid down the side of Virgil's glass, pooled on the countertop. Patton stared at it as another followed.

What did it truly mean to deserve something, anyway? It was something Janus would probably have an opinion on. He seemed to have opinions on most things. Maybe Patton could ask him in a bit.

“Did you need me for something?

Oh, okay, or Patton could ask him now. He turned, unsmiling to Janus. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cheered by Janus’ presence, but that he had no reason to lie. Janus had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't depending on Patton for anything. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to steal you.”

“No harm, no foul,” Janus said, and sighed so heavily his breath displaced a few puzzle pieces. “As you can see, I was hard at work.” Despite this claim, he wore a hard, annoyed expression and Patton remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was dealing with a liar. "Did you need help with your puzzle?" Janus asked.

Just like that, Patton's heart leapt. "You'll stay?"

Janus shrugged. "I suppose I can clear a space in my schedule."

Patton stood to get him some coffee. The pot was empty, but it was simple enough to imagine it full again. Ordinarily, he disliked the laziness of misusing Thomas' imagination, but he couldn't deny that it was convenient sometimes. He could tell he was on the brink of annoying Janus (somehow) and didn't want to risk pushing him over the edge. "Have you eaten?"

"Have you?" Janus asked, side-eyeing the remaining slices of toast sitting in the toaster. Patton had forgotten all about them.

"I guess it slipped my mind," Patton turned around and set a coffee mug on the counter in front of Janus, then rounded it to sit down again. He tried not to notice that Janus had scooted his chair away from Patton's, that he leaned on his elbow so they were even farther apart.

"Hm," said Janus, making a face. He didn't push it, and Patton was grateful for that. "Oh, and thank you."

"Of course," Patton said.

He watched Janus for a moment. He handled the puzzle pieces with difficulty, his gloves impeding his ability to pick them up. When he realized he was staring, he turned away and started fitting more edge pieces into place.

He couldn't decide if the quiet was pleasant or awkward. It was kind of nice, kind of domestic, sitting here with Janus, but he couldn't help but feel a kind of tension in the air.

Then Janus turned away and started coughing. Patton reached out to put a hand on his back, caught himself, pulled away. The deep, jagged sound made him cringe. He was no stranger to coughing fits, none of them were, brought on by Thomas' cat allergy. But this had come out of nowhere.

"You okay?" Patton asked when Janus resurfaced. Maybe he was just projecting, but he thought Janus looked a little pale on his human side.

"It's warmer today, isn't it?" Janus said, not looking at Patton.

"Huh?"

"It's not as cold. Roman seems to have gotten ahold of himself somewhat."

"Um, yeah, I guess." Patton furrowed his brow, trying to get a good look at Janus. "But Janus, are you okay?"

"Fine," said Janus. "Just inhaled some coffee, that's all."

But his hands shook as he slid a blue puzzle piece down the counter, and Patton was already halfway out of his seat before he even realized what he was doing. "You know, I think I will make breakfast."

"A little late now," Janus said. "By the way, did you really call me all the way down here just to work on a puzzle?"

"So brunch, then," Patton said. "And to be honest, no."

"Oh, do be honest," Janus said, leaning against the counter and resting his chin in his palm.

But Patton's priorities had shifted beyond philosophical debate. He had to take care of Janus now, get him comfortable, get him honest. He had to. "It's not important anymore."

"Hm," said Janus. He cleared his throat quietly, winced. "Well, now I'm not curious at all."

"It's okay," Patton said, trying for a reassuring smile. "We can talk about it later." He spun around, trying to decide what to make. Toast sounded wholly unappealing now, and he should choose something that would be easy on Janus' throat--

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, by the way," Janus said.

"Making brunch?" Patton said with faux-innocence.

"Mm-hm. And what did you have in mind?"

"Soup."

"Patton," Janus said in a chastising tone. "I don't need you to take care of me. I need you to take care of you."

"That cough sounded like it hurt," Patton said, defeated.

Janus sat back and spread his arms out as though to show himself to Patton. "It did. It went away on its own. I'm fine."

Patton wasn't sure what to say to that. He scratched at his friendship bracelets, embarrassed. "Oh."

"Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

"But that's wrong!" Patton said reflexively. He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it wasn't like he could take them back. "Not for you," he hastened to explain. "That's your job. But me?"

"I can't very well be selfish for you," Janus said. He seemed annoyed, digging his fingers into both sides of his midriff in a way that looked decidedly painful. "Just try it. It won't be the end of the world."

And Patton wanted to. He didn't want to let Janus down, but… Where did it end? Where did it stop?

"Patton," Janus said. "I can see you catastrophizing."

"Sorry," said Patton, feeling close to tears. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just… I don't know who I am or what I want or if I'm even allowed to want."

"Breakfast, Patton. That's all. One little thing."

"Okay," Patton took a deep breath. Calm down. Make food. He could do that.

"There's nothing else," Janus said. "Just us, right now. Just this room. No consequences."

"Okay," Patton said. Cinnamon rolls. He wanted mini cinnamon rolls.

"Good," said Janus. "You're okay." He cleared his throat again, coughed a little behind closed lips. Patton forced himself not to notice, knowing that it would make Janus annoyed if he pointed it out or tried to help.

"I hope so," Patton muttered, half to himself, as he got his ingredients together. A phrase popped into his head and he shouted it out impulsively, "Mise en place!"

"Bless you?" Janus said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no." Patton smiled. "Getting all your ingredients together. Mise en place."

"Ah," said Janus. He smiled too, his human eye crinkling at the corner. Patton almost sighed at the sight. Janus seemed to hold himself above human standards sometimes. He presented himself as something cold and pure, unbreakable and untouchable and utterly perfect. There was something so beautiful about seeing him step down from the pedestal. Janus seemed to notice Patton staring and turned away, surprisingly demure. "How about some music?"

A turntable appeared on the counter, spinning something inoffensive and charmingly lo-fi. "That's nice," Patton said. He didn't recognize the artist, but it didn't really matter. The music seemed to slide into the cracks of their conversation, filling out the empty spaces and projecting calm throughout the kitchen.

So Patton made cinnamon rolls and Janus worked on the puzzle while he sipped his coffee, and they both pretended not to notice the ragged coughs that Janus couldn't bury under the music no matter how hard he tried.

#moceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

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rocket-bear · 3 years

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shinsena ghost fic outline

SO. on my last list of shinsena fic ideas I had written "shinsena ghost AU (yes, like the patrick swayze movie) but with an actually happy ending". I have decided that I'm not actually going to write this fic because 1) it would take forever and I have other ones that are bigger priorities for me and 2) the inspiration for it was really the MOUNTAIN of IT fix-it fics I was reading in early 2020 because I was Going Through It where I then shunted that inspiration over into a fandom I was actually comfortable writing for, and at this point I have moved past that stage and no longer need the catharsis,

BUT! I do really like the bits that I did already write for it, and I still love the idea, so I'm just going to go ahead and post the WIP bits that I did get finished, and then flesh out what the rest of my plan was after!

The fic takes place in Sena's second year of college! It's a ghostfic so, y'know, warning for major character death and copious discussion of grief, haha, but it gets better!!! Also, in addition to ShinSena there's BG mentions of HiruMamo in both the fic excerpts and bulletpoints for the rest of the planned plot. Text below the cut is about 6k words!

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"Aw, beans," is the first thing Sena hears after he dies.

He doesn't really process it in the moment, too busy blinking up at the bright, unclouded sun and distantly noticing that it doesn't hurt his eyes. He sits up, running through the last few moments in his mind-- a bouncy ball dotted with pink flowers, skipping merrily over the sidewalk into the street, a girl in her school smock tottering on chubby legs after it, a car unavoidably close, his view of everything blurring as he throws himself forward without even thinking about it--

Oh.

"EHHHH," he shrieks, and scrambles away from his body, and it doesn't come with him.

"I'm going to be in ;so much trouble," that voice says again, and Sena whips around because it's the only thing he can actually hear clearly, even though he's pretty sure he should be able to hear-- the other people around him, looking at his body without looking at him, everyone unharmed but most of them in tears, and he doesn't want to think about that.

So he looks, and sees-- something. It almost looks like an afterimage, at first, the kind of light-dark luminescent spots your eyes put up when you look away from a light you've been staring at too long, but it stays put as Sena stares at it, a kind of void of shifting light just stamped in the way of his view of the bushes lining the sidewalk.

"Um," he says, and the Thing kind of goes more dark-light than light-dark for a moment as it… sighs?

"Yeah, sorry, you're not getting me at my best, this wasn't supposed to happen," it says, and Sena feels like he would be hyperventilating if he had lungs, but he doesn't anymore.

"No, listen," the Thing says, and it starts to get bigger, which Sena belatedly realizes is because it's moved closer to him. With the way it doesn't actually seem to take up space, it's hard to tell. "Let's move away from here, okay? It's going to be hard for you to listen with all this going on."

And, well-- Sena casts a glance back behind him, to the people with their hands over their mouths and tears in their eyes and the pointless things they're doing to his body to try to bring him back to it, and he scrambles up to his feet and follows the thing.

"Okay, here goes," the Thing says as they move further away from the-- the scene, and then its voice changes. "Fear not, mortal, for your time on this plane has elapsed, and you have accomplished all that you were intended for. Your current form--"

"Wait," Sena says, fighting against the mesmerizing effect of the Thing's shifting lights in combination with its new, multilayered voice, high and low at once but somehow soothing. "I thought you said this wasn't supposed to happen??"

"Well, okay, yeah," the Thing says, its voice reedy and thin once more. "Your time actually isn't supposed to be up, but-- okay, did you know you're like, really fast? Like crazy fast. I was just supposed to nudge the driver once they stopped the car in time, you know, typical near-death experience stuff, but you jumped right through me before I was in place."

"You kill people by touching them?!" Sena skitters away from the Thing, and gets the distinct impression that the silvery flush it pulses in response is decidedly unimpressed.

"I can't kill you again," it says. "And we don't kill things, anyway. We just… mark them as finished. I got you out of the oven too soon, that's all."

That sounds a lot like it was only different from killing things in terms of word choice to Sena, but he doesn't say so.

"C-can-- can we fix it?" He asks instead, the first shards of ice-cold realization sinking in at last. He's dead. He's dead?

The Thing flares sigh-dark, and says, "You know this kind of thing has only happened like, four times before? Ever! Since the dawn of humanity! It's been like 20,000 years since the last time! I don't know off the top of my head, kid, I'm gonna have to look it up."

"Then-- there's a chance? How long will that take? What if-- I mean-- they're gonna take me to the hospital--"

The ice shards sink further into his body, but the Thing's voice is dismissive.

"If there's a way, that's not the body you're going to be coming back to; there's no way we're gonna be able to do this without rolling back the clock. So don't worry about the morgue, okay?"

Which-- was a relief, but Sena feels an empty sensation at the word "morgue" that he's pretty sure would have been nausea if he had a working stomach left to experience it.

Some of that must show on his face because the Thing comes to an abrupt stop, and its voice is more gentle as it says, "Okay, gameplan. If there's a way to get you back, it's gonna have something to do with the energy left over from your presence among the living. So go see your friends and family and see what you can figure out. Right now, you're a ghost, so there's got to be some way to tap into that energy."

Sena nods a little numbly at first, working on auto-pilot, and then nods more firmly as he actually processes the Thing's words. A plan! That means-- there's something he can actually do, while the Thing goes to-- "look it up." That's good! A plan!

And then, the Thing goes yellowish, and its tone turns apologetic.

"And… Speaking of ghost stuff, I didn't get to finish this part before. Your current form will let you move around this plane to visit your loved ones and grant yourself any closure you desire, but you won't be able to interact with the living world, and if we're not able to fix this in time-- when the time comes, you'll have to make a choice. Move on completely to the next plane, or stay here with your loved ones until there are none left who remember you."

Sena blinks, going still, and the Thing glows even more yellow.

"So we've got about [a month] to figure this thing out. I'll do what I can, kid. You hang tight."

And then it's gone, and Sena is left alone on the sidewalk.

He does all that he can do, and goes to find Mamori.

------

He doesn't think through the consequences of that until he gets to her apartment and finds her in tears and Hiruma on the phone, calling them an escort to the hospital. Every awful minute of that first day feels like nothing more than a smear in Sena's memory by the time his funeral comes around. He spends the time in-between trying his best to do something, anything, that will let his friends and parents know that he's still there. He does his absolute best to go full Hollywood Haunting on everyone he knows, trying to knock over pictures or rattle windows or flick lights on and off, but nothing works. Every once in a while, when he's flopped beside Mamori on the floor as she goes through photo albums, he almost thinks she hears him as he talks about the photos she's flipping through-- but it always just ends up being a fresh round of quiet tears that brings Hiruma over to her side.

The funeral seems to be no different. He'd hoped, somehow, that maybe having so many loved ones gathered in one place to think about him would somehow give him the energy to make himself solid-- and there are so many people there, not just Sena's family and closest friends, but people from nearly every team in the Tokyo American football community, some of them who he only ever remembered seeing across the field.

All of the original Devil Bats are there, of course. Kurita sobs his way through the service. The Ha-Ha Brothers stand stony-faced, and Juumonji scrubs a rough hand across his eyes, but Sena never sees any tears. Suzuna clings to Monta's arm as they both cry openly with Riku in the row behind Sena's parents, Mamori, and Hiruma.

His parents cry. Mamori seems too exhausted to, just sitting quietly and taking in the service with bruised red eyes. Hiruma puts his arm around her shoulder at one point, and Sena finds himself surprised by how much tenderness he's seen between them in the last few days. Hiruma had handled almost all of the arrangements, actually-- Mamori and Sena's parents making the decisions, and Hiruma diligently rising from each discussion to make the appropriate phone calls.

In the middle rows, Sena finds himself looking at Shin and Sakuraba. He shouldn't have been surprised to see them-- and he really wasn't, not really, he knew he would be devastated and would definitely show up if the situation was reversed-- but something on Shin's face startles him into looking again.

He looks tired. Sena doesn't think he's ever seen Shin tired, before, not even after playing full-out through an entire game, not even after the most intensive of training. But Shin's face is undeniably drawn, and the skin underneath his eyes is bruise-dark.

Sakuraba tears up, and Shin doesn't, but it's Sakuraba who lays a comforting hand on Shin's shoulder. [UNFINISHED SCENE-- also I had intended to go back and make this scene more accurately reflect Japanese (vs Western) funeral traditions but have not done that since, I'm not finishing the fic]

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He finds himself seeking out one of his and Shin's old training routes from high school, when they lived close enough that it made sense to share. It's been years since he ran this route, but it makes sense, he figures, that he would be revisiting old memories like this. It was a good route, anyway-- at one point it ran alongside the river, and Sena remembers reaching it on hot summer days, and noticing that even Shin tipped his face into the breeze when the sun was really beating down.

He walks along the path at first, but before long finds himself jogging, the force of memory and habit alike drawing him into those quick strides. It doesn't feel the same without the sensation of the wind on his face, or the heat of the sun on his body, or even the sweat beading up stickily between his skin and his clothes, but it's something.

Without fatigue or fear of obstacles to keep him vigilant, Sena finds himself startled before too long by the sound of steady footfalls coming up behind him. He automatically shifts his path to make way-- though it doesn't matter much now, he thinks with a frown-- and looks up as the lone jogger makes to pass him.

It's Shin.

Sena's not-heart squeezes painfully at seeing him unexpectedly, and Sena gapes.

"Shin-san--" He gasps, and of course Shin doesn't respond or look his way. Sena swallows the painful reminder and adjusts his pace to match Shin's.

They run together, and of course it's quiet, because Shin doesn't know that he has company. Not that companionable silence was atypical for their runs together before-- running was for focusing on technique, including breathing, so they would save the chatting for before and after.

Sena wonders if Shin had kept to running this path all along-- he was so sure that they'd both abandoned it when they'd made their way to university. Or at least, Shin had apologetically told him so, when he'd moved on to Oujou University and Sena was still in his third year at Deimon.

Maybe Shin's feeling nostalgic too, Sena thinks, and then shakes his head. He doesn't want to be sad, and it's nice to have Shin at his side, even if Shin doesn't know he's there.

He tries to sink into the feeling of running. It's still hard-- he can't feel much of anything, after all-- but with Shin there, it's a little easier to fall into old memories and let those guide him. He can pretend-- to feel the gentle breeze off the river cooling the sweat on his face, to feel the push of the sidewalk under his feet launching him into his next step, to feel how the sun is hotter on his back and shoulders than anywhere else as it crawls its way up the sky.

It almost feels like normal, finding that rhythm alongside Shin that has their steps striking the pavement in tandem, Sena's extra stride to make up for their heights a little accented half-note; that peaceful, focused haze that has them inhaling and exhaling in synch. It's so perfectly familiar that Sena can almost imagine a lump rising in his throat and the sting of tears in his eyes, nearly overcome with the twin sensations of having and loss--

--when Shin startles hard beside him and skids to a stop, with a gasp that has Sena's blood running cold before he even looks back for him, the image of the oncoming truck flashing through his mind.

But there's no truck here, of course. They're on a running trail, on a totally separate level than the road, but it's obvious enough what drew that terrifying, uncharacteristic noise from Shin's lungs when Sena looks back, and his eyes meet Shin's.

Shin sees him.

[UNFINISHED SCENE, this is the last of the actual fic that I wrote!]

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FROM THERE here was the plan:

- Shin being able to see him only lasts a split second. Shin's super shaken and keeps looking around and rubbing his eyes for a couple moments, and then he turns around and walks back to the train, and Sena-- thinking, like, "holy shit, Shin never skips training"-- follows him back, because even though it's super heart-breaking seeing Shin so shaken up it's also the closest he's gotten to making any progress the whole time

- Shin gets back to his dorm and just like. sits down at his table with his head in his hands. Sena's motivation to keep trying to get his attention kind of dries up so he pokes around Shin's dorm room instead and notices, like. a bunch of half-eaten meals/snacks in the trash, "Practice" scratched out on his calendar for the next few weeks, unmade bed, evidence that Shin's only really gotten dressed to go out jogging over the last few days and is only wearing his pajamas otherwise-- he's just not doing good.

- Just as Sena's like, really starting to grasp this, Sakuraba shows up at the door-- Shin gets up to answer the door with his back to Sena and like, whatever Sakuraba sees on Shin's face just stops him in his tracks and he immediately pulls Shin into a hug, which Sena is kind of shocked to see that Shin totally sinks into

- Sakuraba sits down with Shin at the table and they talk. Shin admits that he thought he saw Sena while he was jogging, and both of them are just brushing it off as like, a grief-induced sensory memory, stuff like that happens, etc. Sakuraba comforts him and encourages Shin to take it easy, it's okay to take time off of even his own personal training, it's okay if he needs more time, and also like fusses about Shin not getting enough to eat especially if he IS going to keep training

- Sena meanwhile is like, feeling awful with guilt but also just kind of overwhelmed with the realization of how important he was to Shin, and this is where I would've like, laid the groundwork for how they'd gotten closer during the rest of high school/early college but Sena still never rrreally understood how much Shin cared about him because 1) he's got self-esteem issues baybee, and 2) Shin is not exactly, like, super forthright about his feelings,

- but, while Sena DOES feel awful about how much Shin was shaken up about seeing him, it's the only thread he can think of to pull on to try and bring himself back, and he ALSO feels guilty about having to watch everyone grieve for him, so, well,

- he starts haunting Shin!! Shin does not listen to his good and helpful friend Sakuraba and goes jogging again the next day, but it's obvious that he's still feeling Off and he's having a hard time getting into a rhythm, and Sena isn't able to tap into ~whatever it was~ that made him visible the previous time and is feeling super defeated about it, UNTIL,

- Shin takes a break at the midpoint of his normal route, which is a thing Sena knows he does not generally do from their own training together, and is basically just slumped over on a bench with his head in his hands again and Sena's also feeling awful and helpless and does the same thing,

- and then Shin tenses up beside him, his breath getting shallow, and Sena notices and tentatively calls out to him. Shin slowly, slowly looks up, and they make eye contact for just a second again, before Sena can tell he's not visible anymore because Shin's eyes kind of unfocus and he looks away, and just gets up and goes home.

- This kind of refreshes Sena's determination, and over the next few days (IT WAS GONNA DEPEND ON HOW LONG I WANTED TO TORTURE SHIN) they repeat the same pattern, with Sena going on Shin's jogs with him and occasionally achieving small flashes of visibility(/audibility, though Sena isn't ever able to get out anything helpful before the universe mutes him again) which Shin seems to be determined to just brush off as grief illusions even as he gets more and more tense each time

- Until finally as they're jogging, Shin sort of tersely asks "Are you there?" and instead of saying anything Sena just tries to barrel into him for a hug because clearly auditory-visual haunting only isn't WORKING and we've gotta get some TACTILE FEEDBACK in here,

- and it works. He knocks Shin off of his stride, and Shin grabs for him in turn, and there's a moment where they both stare at each other in total shock and relief before Sena starts trying to frantically tell Shin the whole story and disappears out of his arms like, three words in.

- Shin has a little tiny mental breakdown in the middle of the sidewalk where he cycles from devastation at Sena disappearing again to trying to pull himself together like, "okay if this is real then this isn't my last chance because it's happened a lot over the past few days" to a kind of giddy catharsis because it's real Sena's really here to kind of shutting down over the idea that maybe it's STILL not real and he's just going REALLY crazy to actually pulling himself back together and going to find a bench to sit down on, and just like,

- talking things out, out loud, in hopes that Sena can hear him. He can only see Sena when they're running, which is something they used to do together, so maybe recreating old memories is what triggers it. He's noticed that even when running, he usually sees Sena in moments when he's feeling least conflicted/emotionally complex-- either pure grief or pure nostalgia or pure just-zoning-out-running, not as much when he's really struggling to process and has a lot going on internally at once. Maybe the stability of the emotion is part of it.

- Sena meanwhile is having his own meltdown from sheer overwhelming relief over FINALLY FINALLY making contact and Shin FINALLY FINALLY believing he's there and also just like making hearteyes at Shin for immediately going into full methodical Ghost Scientist mode after getting his own meltdown over and done with

- speaking of going full Ghost Scientist, Shin announces his intention to do exactly that by saying he's heading back to his and Sena's old running trail to test out the "recreating memories" theory right that second, and they head over.

- They jog, and Shin talks out some of his memories with Sena from his own perspective, which is a surprise for Sena because he doesn't even remember some of the things that Shin does and also it lets him actually understand what Shin was thinking in those moments.

- And most importantly: it works. It's not constant, but the longer they practice, the longer they're able to keep Sena in view for longer stretches of time, more of an unsteady flicker than the total off-or-on that it was before. They stay out for a long time (and in the process discover that other people still can't see Sena when Shin can as he continually gets weird looks for talking to thin air) and Shin actually eats a real meal when he finally goes home.

- Sena and Shin keep practicing over the next few days, which makes Sakuraba SUPER concerned because Shin spending hours and hours jogging every day looks like Shin further depression-spiralling from his perspective, but he's somewhat mollified by the fact that Shin's actually getting back to eating and getting dressed etc. normally, even though he's still not going to practice.

- During this time, Sena and Shin bond when they're actually able to communicate. Sena notices that Shin's parents haven't checked in on him even once despite the fact that he just lost a friend, and Shin confirms in one conversation that he basically doesn't have a relationship or emotional connection with his parents at all. (But watch, hang in there, I'm gonna fix it,)

- In the meantime, Shinigami-san tracks Sena back down and they both share what they've learned. Shinigami-san says that Sena has to gather energy from as many of the people he's formed bonds with as possible to chain himself more strongly to life, and gives him a pendant to wear around his neck that will store the energy. When Sena talks about his and Shin's experiments, It says that it makes sense that being emotionally and physically in-sync would help bolster the connection between them to the point where other people would be able to see him, and that if they practice enough they might even be able to just use one or the other (emotional sync or physical sync) without needing both.

- After Sena laboriously relays this to him through flickers, Shin gets a metronome and they both practice tapping their fingers to the rhythm, and they're finally able to see each other at Shin's dorm room vs having to be on a run and actively reminiscing together. They develop a system where when Shin wants/needs to see him, he'll tap his finger against the side of his leg and Sena will do the same thing so they can actually talk.

(- There is at least one moment in the development of this that, when Sena successfully appears in front of him, Shin smiles fondly and very softly says, "There you are," and Sena immediately disappears again because he's so shaken to his disaster bisexual core that he can't even handle it.)

- During this process they find out that Sena's pendant glows when Shin is reminiscing or otherwise talking about his feelings (but not the capital-L feeling) about Sena, which lets them know how to go about "gathering energy" from Sena's friends.

- With the clock counting down on Sena's deadline, Shin starts approaching Sena's friends to "check on them," or, to sit down with them and talk about Sena. It's a little awkwardly sweet on both sides, because no one expects Shin of all people to be making sympathy housecalls and Shin's not very good at talking about feelings, but the conversations are surprisingly genuine and cathartic for all parties (including Shin, who is still processing some weird sideways grief even with his new connection to ghostSena, and Sena, whose self-esteem issues have a hard time standing up under a deluge of people talking about how much they cared about and miss him), PARTICULARLY:

- Monta and Suzuna, where the reminiscing works a little too well and they actually see a flicker of Sena sitting at Shin's side during the conversation and freak out. Shin immediately changes tacks and tells them that Sena is there and that he's trying to bring Sena back and he needs their help, and at first this makes them freak out more because what the fuck but by virtue of Shin being… Seijuurou "Overly-Serious-Stoic-Never-Overreacted-In-His-Life" Shin, he convinces them to try the tapping technique to bring Sena back into view.

- Sena has Shin describe a memory involving the three of them while they tap along to Shin's rhythm, and the combination of reminiscing and tapping works well enough that they're able to get frequent enough flickers of Sena to believe Shin. Yes, they do get a least one good long group hug out of the flickers, I'm not a monster.

- Shin still has to do most of the communication for Sena because it would take a lot of practice for the Sena-Monta-Suzuna combo to get enough in-sync to be able to communicate effectively, but he explains the whole situation and all the information they've gotten from Shinigami-san. They decide that it still makes the most sense for Shin to field the energy-gathering housecalls for the same communication-based reasons-- Sena can guide Shin through the conversations by suggesting memories to bring up with his friends-- but all the same, Shin suddenly finds himself with two tiny new best friends who want to hang out with him all the time. (And not even just to talk to Sena! Suzuna and Monta become pretty attached to and curious about Shin after he shows them more of his vulnerable side in the conversation leading up to the point where they actually see Sena themselves.)

- I was going to go through little flashes of Shin's conversations with a lot of Sena's friends across the football world, but the other Big One was going to be Mamori, of course. (And a little bit of Hiruma, who refuses to sit down for an Emotional Conversation with fucking Shin, but will gladly peanut-gallery Mamori's out of his own repressed desire for catharsis and also to make sure with guns loaded that Shin doesn't fuck up the fragile acceptance Mamori's been building since Sena's death.)

- Having learned from the experience with Suzuna and Monta, Sena wisely sits out of view during the conversation because he actually doesn't want to put Mamori through the rollercoaster of seeing him again, especially if his and Shin's efforts fail.

- Shin does not fuck up his conversation with Mamori and so Hiruma doesn't have to murder him! It's actually the most honest-- and healing-- conversation he has with anyone. Mamori finds herself feeling very fond of Shin, who she didn't know was so close with Sena and could be so supportive and empathetic under all that stoic strength, and Shin finds himself immediately adopted by another one of Sena's loved ones.

(- In their conversation, Mamori also mentions that just after Sena passed she kept finding herself thinking she heard Sena's voice, because that seed in the actually-written bit above was in fact foreshadowing ohoho.)

- I was not going to Go Into It because not even I have the strength, but to continue the theme of Shin finding a new family via his bond with Sena, there was going to be a brief scene referencing that Shin's visit with Sena's parents went much the same, with the addition that Shin was surprised Sena's parents already knew so much about him (because as it turns out Sena talked about him FREQUENTLY.)

(- Also within the housecalls there's a comedy scene where Shin makes Sena solid just long enough for Sena to log Shin in on Skype so he can talk to Panther without sacrificing a computer, and they discover that international friendship energy gathering does in fact work.)

- AND THEN: SAKURABA. The fic would switch to Shin's POV from here! In Shin's energy-gathering conversation with Sakuraba, things are going well at first, with Sakuraba reminiscing about Sena and then turning the conversation toward Shin himself to talk about how he's noticed Shin's seeming a lot more steady and like he's been doing some real healing lately. Shin obviously does not explain the ghostSena situation, but does honestly say that his conversations with Sena's other friends have helped him process his feelings a lot. And Sakuraba, being a supportive friend, very gently says that he's proud of Shin for reaching out, and for doing so well when he's going through something so hard, because he can't imagine losing the person he was in love with.

- Shin freezes up, and Sakuraba tries to reassure him that it's okay, he's known for a long time, he's so sorry that Shin never got to actually process those feelings with Sena, and Shin doesn't have to talk about it but if he ever wants to Sakuraba's there for him-- and Shin very stiltedly deflects the whole conversation because he doesn't want to totally shut Sakuraba down when he's just trying to be supportive but also Sena is right there

- After finally, awkwardly shooing Sakuraba out the door, Shin sits back down and tries to Talk About It with Sena, but he's so emotionally frazzled that he's not able to get a stable connection. Since they can't have a two-way conversation, he just launches into apologizing-- he's sorry, he understands if it makes Sena uncomfortable, Sena doesn't need to feel obligated to respond to it and of course Shin is going to help him finish getting what he needs regardless--

- Sena's just RAPIDLY flickering in and out of view, with the time he's not visible getting longer and longer as Shin keeps talking because they are incredibly emotionally out-of-sync, and with Shin only able to tell that Sena looks upset whenever he's able to see him, he makes some Assumptions about Sena's feelings about his accidental confession.

- Things don't get better over the next day or two. They try to do their synchronizing exercises, but even reciting memories doesn't help because Shin is too anxious and ashamed (and sleep-deprived from stress) to connect to them emotionally, which is only compounded because he realizes that Sena's deadline is fast approaching and they won't be able to finish in time if he can't get his shit together but that anxiety Does Not Help with relaxing enough to synchronize when he's spiralling over the thought of losing Sena again because of something that he "did".

- Finally, Sena apparently gets desperate and snatches up the metronome during one of the moments when he's solid for just long enough to do it.

- Shin doesn't see him for a while after that, and assumes (correctly) that Sena has taken the metronome with him to try and sync with Monta and/or Suzuna instead, and also assumes (incorrectly) that this is because Sena is extremely disappointed with him at best and totally hates him at worst, and that either way Sena probably doesn't want much to do with him anymore even if he is able to be brought back.

- He spirals for like, A Day, after which he does in fact break and go to tear up very stoically on Sakuraba about how yes he was (is) in love with Sena and it hurts him that he'll never get to express that properly (now that Sena wants nothing to do with him) and how he feels like he let himself (and Sena) down by not being able to act on that earlier (when it wasn't a literal life-or-death situation) and how maybe he's just not cut out for emotions and connections with other people actually, just look at even his relationship with his parents???

- Sakuraba comforts him and very gently tells him he's being a catastrophizing dingus and shows him, like, a mountain of texts on his phone not ONLY from concerned fellow Oujous, but also from a bunch of the people that Shin's talked to about Sena over the last few weeks, all of them expressing the general sentiment of "wow I was super surprised when Shin came around to talk to me about Sena but I'm so glad he did, it looks like he's doing well, keep an eye on him for me" in varying levels of transparency because after all they are Manly Footballers, but regardless: look at that, Shin is actually perfectly capable of forming relationships with other people, and they like and care about him.

- This results in some decidedly less stoic tears, and Sakuraba and Shin successfully patch things up after their previous awkward discussion about Shin's feelings for Sena. When Shin leaves he immediately heads for Enma to try and find Monta, because even if Sena and his friends don't want to see him he absolutely can't just shrug and sit back and just wait to see if they manage to save him.

- When he's like halfway there, he comes across Monta and Suzuna heading in his direction, and they cut off his questions by just being like NOPE SHUT UP COME WITH US and dragging him over to like, a park gazebo for some semi-privacy.

- Suzuna gets the metronome out of her bag and sets it on the park table and turns it on. Monta pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and starts reading.

- It turns out that after he left Shin's, Sena ghosted up into Monta's room and just plopped the suddenly-appearing metronome down on Monta's desk, scaring the shit out of him but also giving a very clear signal of WE NEED TO TALK. Monta called up Suzuna and the three of them had spent the last day and a half working on synchronizing non-stop, and while they still aren't nearly as good as Shin and Sena had gotten with weeks' worth of practice, they got far enough along that Sena was able to have them slowly write out some of his memories with Shin, this time from his perspective, through the unsteady connection.

- Suzuna and Monta take turns yanking the paper back and forth between them to read out the description of Sena and Shin's memories, and with Shin tapping along to the metronome, he's able to see Sena more and more clearly over time until he's solid more often than not.

- As it becomes increasingly clear, even to Shin, that these specific memories Sena has chosen to share are a record of him coming to realize his feelings for Shin, Sena is eventually able to take Shin's hands and hold them without disappearing, tapping not needed. He interrupts Suzuna and Monta to try to finish off the confession himself: Shin didn't need to be scared when Sena found out about his feelings, because--

- Absolutely overwhelmed by everything about the last 36 hours and having no ability to process any of it in words ANYMORE but moved by the SPIRIT OF COMMUNICATION regardless, Shin gambles on the pretty sure bet that he and Sena are in-sync about this, and kisses him.

- It connects. (And connects, and connects...) Sena's pendant starts to glow brighter and brighter until he's totally enveloped, and--

- Switch back to Sena's POV! He wakes up on the street in front of the truck again, scraped up but otherwise totally unharmed. So are the little girl, who he successfully pushed out of the way, and the driver of the car, who stopped in time regardless. Shinigami-san is also there, and Sena tells It to leave the driver alone because It owes him one, and Shinigami-san congratulates him and tells him that hey hey that was the plan along!! (The onlookers assume that he's confused from the near-accident when he starts talking to thin air.)

- Sena waves off all the concerned onlookers and runs off to find somewhere to sit where he's not going to be gawked at so he can text literally everyone he knows. By the time he finds a bench, he's already gotten HOLY SHIT WE JUST TIME-TRAVELED ARE YOU OKAY??? texts from Monta and Suzuna, which he responds to and incites a flood of emoji-based cheering. Everyone else he texts is politely puzzled by his "are you okay???" message, including Mamori and his parents to his intense relief, except--

- He gets a call from Sakuraba, who sounds very confused as he tells him that Shin wants to talk to him. Sena reassures Shin that he's okay, and tells him to meet him at the park that they left off at, and also that he loves him because he can't restrain himself after not getting to say it before. Shin says it back, and Sakuraba therefore sounds both confused AND delighted when he gets the phone back from Shin to say goodbye.

- Sena texts Suzuna and Monta to meet him at the same place, since it's about halfway between Enma and Oujou, and starts running.

- Shin and Sena, being… Shin and Sena, get there before the other two, and there's so many tears and so much hugging and so many I Love Yous and also some apologies. Monta and Suzuna eventually arrive and there's another round of tears and hugging and I Love Yous, and when everyone is less punchdrunk off of trauma and catharsis, they sit down and figure out that it's only the people that actually saw Sena as a ghost that remember the other timeline.

- With the group understandably not ready to be separated under the circumstances, but also with Sena desperately wanting to see his parents, Mamori and Riku, he comes up with a thin excuse for an impromptu dinner party at his parents' place later in the day (celebrating passing a tough test? beat the Cupids in a football game? national pancake day?? doesn't matter!!!), clears it with them, and invites Mamori+Hiruma and Riku over as well. (Shin lets Sena arrange takeout for everyone on his dime so that Sena's parents won't have to cook for an unplanned dinner party.)

- Fic ends with the group heading toward Sena's parents' house, Shin and Sena holding hands, with Sena feeling content and confident in his relationships as his phone continuously blows up with people responding to his check-in text, and Shin admitting that he's feeling pretty hopeful about the idea of getting to form connections with Sena's family all over again.

END. Thanks for indulging my "I'm too lazy to write this but NOT too lazy to bulletpoint each plot detail beat-by-beat" post, haha!

#shinsena #eyeshield 21 #my fic #kind of!!!

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wonderofasunrise · 4 years

Text

About a Long Night

A/N: Naturally, I’ve been writing some ER fics on my own, and I managed to actually finish one yesterday. After a few tweaks here and there, I thought I’d post it here because...why not?

Inspired by @bwayfan25, whose brilliant ER fics on AO3 made me real hot for Susan/Kerry and prompted me to start writing fanfiction again. Among other things, it’s a great exercise and wonderful way to relax.

Hope you enjoy, and fingers crossed I can share some more writing stuff here in the future. Reviews/ideas are welcome!

Disclaimer: These characters are, sadly, not mine. But a girl can dream, can’t she?

Featuring an excerpt from the song “Lost” by Dermot Kennedy, who I’ve been listening to a lot lately.

-----

For fear of moments stolen I don’t wanna say goodnight But I’ll still see you in the morning Still know your heart and still know both your eyes

***

“How long have you been awake?”

Kerry starts to rub her eyes, unable to contain her mild annoyance upon realising that the person whom she shares her bed with has been watching her sleep. Their room is dark with only a faint ray of light barely piercing through the window, but even without her glasses on she can easily recognise the pair of big green eyes staring at her, along with the smile that accompanies them.

“Long enough,” Susan smirks.

She is lying on her side, her head propped up on one of her hands—her favourite position every time she gets a chance to watch Kerry in slumber. Susan makes it no secret to Kerry that she finds the sight of her lover sleeping comforting, to which Kerry, in her typical defensive way, first responded by accusing Susan of wanting to see her at the most vulnerable.

Over time, however, Kerry has gotten used to it, to the point that there is nothing she looks forward to more than seeing Susan’s bright eyes and smile first thing in the morning—when their schedules allow them to spend the morning together, that is.

“You’re on at seven in the morning, Dr Lewis. Don’t push your luck,” Kerry tries (and fails) to emulate her Chief of Emergency Medicine voice, which comes as no surprise seeing that she has one of her eyes closed and her body relaxed against the comfort of her queen-size bed. Susan confirms it by sticking her tongue out in response.

“I’m not Dr Lewis,” she says in a mocking tone. “And neither are you Dr Weaver. We’re not in the ER, we’re home, and we’re just...us. Is my irresistible charm not enough to remind you?”

“Susan,” Kerry groans, her annoyance growing ever so slightly by the second. “You and I both know we need all the rest we can take. I had a long day, which I’m sure you’ve heard about, and chances are you’ll have one yourself in a few hours. Come on.”

But Susan is undeterred, and instead she gently pulls Kerry into an embrace and lets her head rest against her pillow, moving closer to ensure that their heads meet. Kerry can now feel Susan breathing against her skin, Susan’s hand wrapped around her body with only the fabric of her pajama top between their skins. Kerry half-expects Susan to kiss her neck and cause her to blush in the process, but instead Susan just rests her head against Kerry’s shoulder while inhaling the familiar scent of the latter before letting out a sigh.

“Do you know why I like watching you sleep very much?” Susan murmurs, her tone suddenly serious. “And it’s not because I like to prey on you when you’re vulnerable, although you gotta admit that would be pretty hot.”

“Because you get off on getting on my nerves,” Kerry states matter-of-factly. Both of her eyes are now closed, as if it somehow would convince Susan that they really should be sleeping instead of talking, but Kerry knows better and mentally prepares herself for a witty response.

“I’d rather get off on your other things, thank you very much. But seriously,” Susan retorts, “do you have any idea how different you look when you sleep? How...peaceful and relaxed you are? I swear sometimes I see you smirk in your sleep, and we both know that’s not something anyone would expect to see from you in public.”

“I’m not sure I have any idea as to how I look in my sleep, and I don’t think I’d want to know,” Kerry deadpans.

“You’re—you’re just you,” Susan happily ignores the remark. “You’re not an ER doctor, you’re not the Chief of Emergency Medicine, you’re just human—which I’m sure you’re aware that some people find debatable.”

Kerry is about to challenge that, but at this point she is just too tired and there is no way she can shut Susan up anyway, so she might as well let her be. All the while, Kerry lets her hand rest on top of Susan’s, her fingernails giving it a gentle scratch.

“I get worried sometimes, you know. That you don’t loosen up enough, that you’re content with people hating you and talking shit about you behind your back, because you deserve better than that. I think the world can do with knowing that you do have a heart, and not just in front of patients,” Susan muses, feeling Kerry squeezing her hand tighter now with each word.

“But then I feel lucky too, knowing your gentle side is reserved to those who deserve it. And you trust me enough to be one of those people. Heck, I’m the only person who gets to see you in pajamas and how cute you are when you’re cranky before having a cup of coffee in the morning.”

No longer feeling the urge to sleep, Kerry’s eyes are now wide open, staring at Susan’s as the latter shows no sign of ceasing her chatter. In turn, Susan, satisfied that she now has Kerry’s full attention, brings Kerry’s hand close to her face and places a soft kiss on it.

“When I—when we had our first date,” Susan continues, her smile growing even more at the word, “I remember you were getting tipsy after only one glass of wine, and you laughed so hard at something I said. I don’t even think it was that funny, but you laughed anyway and I just sat there, amazed. I never saw you laugh like that before. Granted, you had alcohol in your system, but the fact that you didn’t even try to conceal it said it all.”

Kerry chuckles as she recalls their first (proper) date, in which she inadvertently revealed to Susan that she was a lightweight, and she was surprised that she did not make any effort to conceal that. She was drinking and doing silly things as a result, but not once did she feel embarrassed. If anything, she was relieved that she could let herself loose up in front of someone she trusted completely, and she was beyond grateful that that someone was Susan.

There were no concerns about the possibility of being recognised by someone, nor were there misgivings about going public with their relationship—which Kerry normally has, ever since she started coming to terms with her sexuality. There were just the two of them, and the realisation that their feelings were manifesting into something more.

“It’s moments like that, and when you’re asleep that always remind me how lucky I am to see the real you. Sometimes I feel like keeping myself awake—even after pulling a double—simply because I don’t want to miss these moments when you’re just yourself. Because I want to always remember...how fortunate I am to be the one seeing you like this.” Susan can barely contain herself now, tears flowing down her face freely. She has to let it all out now, having expressed how privileged she feels to be with Kerry, to be the only one who witnesses her affectionate and loving side on a daily basis. To be the object of the said affection.

“Susan—baby, you’re crying,” Kerry raises her hand to wipe the tears away while sporting a concerned look. Susan, as if trying to tell Kerry to stop being concerned for nothing, laughs between her tears instead.

“I’m happy,” Susan takes a deep breath. “I—I never thought I’d say this, least of all when we first met, but I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time, and it’s all because of you.”

In many ways, as Kerry has learned, Susan is a fairly straightforward individual who only says what she means and means what she says, and coming from her those words feel like music to Kerry’s ears.

Unable to respond, having been rendered speechless at Susan’s sincerity and the way she expresses her feelings so candidly, Kerry simply kisses her on the lips, which Susan happily (and still tearfully) reciprocates.

“Me too,” Kerry says in a low tone that almost sounds like a whisper. “I’m the happiest I’ve been in years. With you.”

For a few minutes the two women stay silent—save for the soft sounds of Kerry’s breathing and Susan’s occasional sobs—as they lie still in bed, engulfed by the warmth of each other’s embrace. Time must have stopped for both of them, as for a time it feels like the stillness and warmth will never fade. As strange as this might sound, this is how Kerry always feels whenever she is with Susan: that the world around them stops as if conspiring to let the two be without anything in the way. There is no work, no hospital, nothing except Susan in front of her with her arms around her smaller body, and she knows Susan feels that way too.

“You know what will make me even happier?” Kerry smirks, and there is no mistaking the hint of mischief in her voice. “If you’ll get some rest, because God knows we really need it. And you know you don’t need to worry about missing any moment—I’m off tomorrow morning, and I’ll be right here when you wake up. First thing you see.”

Susan chuckles, pulling Kerry tighter into her embrace. She feels silly for admitting that she is worried about missing her favourite moments with Kerry, but she figures she can indulge herself in silliness once in a while. She is, after all, a woman in love.

“I love you,” Susan mumbles, her lips caressing Kerry’s shoulder blade. She has said this numerous times, and each time she knows that she always means it, and that it never gets lost on Kerry.

“I love you too,” Kerry kisses the top of Susan’s head and smiles at the sensation of Susan’s hair tickling her face. Similarly, each time she says the words she always ensures her sincerity comes across, which Susan never doubts.

Soon enough, the two fall asleep with their arms wrapped around each other, and again it feels almost as if everything around them stopped. There are just the two of them, sleeping peacefully without any care to anything or anyone else, and they know it is what they deserve.

All worries fading slowly, serenity begins to envelop Susan with the knowledge that she will see and hold Kerry first thing in the morning, all in a way that only Susan is privileged to witness, and that is enough for her to take on the world.

#er #nbc er #fanfiction #fanfic #er fanfiction #susan lewis #kerry weaver #i ship these two so hard it hurts #they both deserve nothing but the best #they deserve fluff too #kerry weaver x susan lewis #kerry x susan #writing stuff #fic: about a long night

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wayward-mikaelson · 3 years

Text

When You’re Gone

Word Count: 4319

About: Reversed situation of How To Save A Life. What would happen if it were you reeling from Steve Roger’s death

Characters: Reader, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Character Death, Blood and Inury, Blood and Gore, Depressed Reader, Time Jump, Surprise Ending

A/N: This popped into my head while listening to Avril Lavinge’s When You’re Gone. I knew that I knew I needed to get this down because I needed to know how the reader would react when the love of her life died in the explosion. Would she wallow or would she try to get back to somewhat a normal life?

Song: When You’re Gone By Avril Lavigne

*This work contains content for the 18 and up crowd.

**Please DO NOT copy and paste my work anywhere WITHOUT my permission and WITHOUT giving me credit. I work too hard on my work and would hate to have it stolen. You obviously can share the link.

***This work is also posted on Instagram (excerpt), WattPad, and Archive Of Our Own. Go show it some love over there too please.

****Go follow my other accounts. Links can be found in the pinned post on my profile.

*****Currently NOT taking any requests.

Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife

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“I’ll be fine Babe,” You stared into Steve’s worried eyes as you turned away. But you turned back, “Don’t forget, we have those dinner reservations tonight.” You added and saw a slight smile and shine in Steve’s eyes. Enough for you to turn around and head on up to do a walk around.

You had been excited for this dinner Steve had planned. He had waltzed right into the room four days ago and had told you that he made those reservations. He didn’t tell you where, just when. He had done this a few times before so you loved the mystery behind it. You thought it was romantic. That’s probably why you were attracted to Steve that very first day.

You took the stairs two at a time, while lost in your thoughts. The agent behind you, despite the muscle and looking like a body builder, had a hard time keeping up with you. You opened the door to the eight floor and began to look around. Making sure that everything was good and nothing suspicious were hidden away.

“Hey, do you think you can slow down some?” the agent asked, clearly out of breath.

“If you can’t keep up, then you need to find a new fucking line of work,” you shot at him. You half excepted to hear Steve tell you to watch your language but, you didn’t. He was probably too occupied with the mission to say anything.

“Yes ma’am,” the agent replied back.

Something made you stop dead in your tracks. You stood in the middle of the room when you felt your body grow cold. The pit that was in your stomach early that morning returned. It tightened around in your stomach more, making you feel sick.

Something was wrong.

Something was going to happen.

***

You stopped chopping the carrots. You set the knife you held aside and rested your head in your hands. You rubbed your face as you recalled the events of that nightmare day. You didn’t want to think about it but, the memories would hit you hard and randomly throughout the day.

Over time, you had gotten better at pushing them aside to try and finish the task you had at hand. So that’s what you tried to do. You took a deep breath and looked up from your hands. You saw Wanda, your best friend in the entire world standing there. The look on her face reflected what you were feeling deep down. She knew how you were truly feeling. You couldn’t hide it from her.

Wanda walked over to you and pulled you into her arms. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing her hand down your long hair. “It’ll get easier over time.”

“I don’t think it ever will,” you whispered. “I feel so empty and cold all the time.” It was true. You felt like you had this huge hole in your chest that you couldn’t seem to fill. You were always so cold that no matter what you did, you could never get warm.

“I know, I know,” Wanda cooed into your ear. “Think of a happy memory you had with him. That helped me when I lost my brother.”

You closed your eyes and remembered when you first kissed Steve. It was one of your favorite memories that you held close to your heart.

Tony called a late briefing, and it took everything in you to not tell him to go fuck himself. Your body had been killing you and all you wanted to do was relax in a nice warm bath or just pass out on your bed. But you saw Steve rolls his eyes and walk into the conference room. You weren’t alone.

The whole meeting, you saw from the corner of your eyes that Steve looked at you. You either kept your eyes on your notepad or on the speaker. Tony talked about stuff that you clearly couldn’t understand because science wasn’t your strong suit in school. Bruce would cut in and correct him or add onto something. You hoped that the meeting would end soon. For Tony’s or Bruce’s sake.

Finally when the meeting came to a close, you got up and walked out to the court yard. You wanted to stretch your legs and breath in the night air before calling it a night. You heard the doors open and the familiar sound of Steve’s shoe hit the pavement. You smiled to yourself like a giddy little school girl.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” He had asked. So gentlemen like.

“Yeah,” you felt your cheeks flush and you know that Steve would be able to see it in the bright moonlight. But you didn’t care.

The two of you talked for a few more hours about whatever came to mind. You listened to Steve tell some embarrassing tales about Bucky and you promised that you wouldn’t tell anyone else. You laughed so hard, that you had to think back to when someone this handsome had made you laugh that hard.

It had been awhile.

“Let me walk you back to your room,” Steve stood up with you and offered his arm.

You stared at him, your thoughts running with scenario after scenario. Steve stared back and you could only wish what was going through his head. Then Steve turned slightly and had your face in his hands. He pulled your face gently to his and pressed his lips to yours. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

In that moment, you knew your heart found epic, true love.

***

Finally, finishing the fifth and final floor you still couldn’t shake that deep pit in your stomach. You only had a few more floors until you were out of the building and the agent with you was much more annoying than anything else in the world.

“How’s it looking up there?” Steve’s voice rang in your ear. You smiled and let out a breath of air.

Steve was okay.

Steve was alive.

But the pit in your stomach remained.

“We’re all clear up here,” you said into your wrist. You wanted to add that the agent with you was a pain in the ass but this mission was almost done. So you didn’t even bother. “We’re just passing through the fourth floor.” You stopped and smirked. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, Captain.” You could already picture Steve’s face starting to turn a deep shade of red. You knew what calling him Captain did to him. You didn’t even care that the rest of the team could have heard you.

Everyone knew that Captain America was fucking you for that last few years.

“Move faster Agent Y/L/N,” the way Steve had said your name, sent shivers down your spine. You felt the familiar ache in between your legs. Steve knew how to play this game well.

“Could you guys not?” the agent behind you said. “We’re working here. Save it for the bedroom.”

You turned to see him raising an eyebrow. You wanted to smack it off his face so fucking bad that you had your fists clenched. You could have done this walk through by yourself but you knew protocol. You had to have a partner go up with you. You closed the distance between you and the agent and stared up into this dark eyes. You saw fear flicker in them. Good, you thought. He knew who had the bigger set of balls in this room.

“You’re lucky I’m in somewhat of a good mood. Otherwise, I would kick your ass right here.” You grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked his face down to your level. “The team wouldn’t even care. Better yet, Fury wouldn’t give a flying fuck.”

You let go of the agent and turned on your heels. This mission was almost over. You’d be back at the compound cuddling up with Steve before going out to dinner. You didn’t have time to deal with the agent whose minutes were numbered. You reached for the door leading to the stairwell when you were suddenly thrown back with a loud explosion surrounding you. Your body hit a table and your fell to the ground.

“Y/N?!” You heard the panic in Steve’s voice. You couldn’t find your voice because you hurt just about everywhere. “Y/N, sweetheart? Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Steve’s voice shook with panic in your ear. It was a matter of time before he went in after you. Which he would be stupid to do.

You got onto all fours and looked up and saw the agent had been been killed on impact. Fuck, you thought. He had been annoying but you never wanted him dead. Maybe bruised and battered up. Never dead. The pain in your arms caused you to collapse. You rolled over, finally able to find your voice.

“Steve…” you groaned before loosing consciousness.

***

Your eyes opened and you were still sitting in the shower with your legs drawn up to your chest. The water had grown cold and your fingertips were shriveled up prunes. You stood up and turned the water off and wrapped up in a towel.

Stepping out of the shower, you noticed in the mirror how red and puffy your eyes had been. After two months you still bawled your eyes out. Crying and the pain you felt, even though you hated the feeling, it was the only reminder that Steve Rogers had been real. His love for you, you didn’t ever want to forget that feeling.

You thought about all the times you and Steve made love. He took his time with you. He made sure to always kiss every part of your body. He made sure to let his hands linger in all the right places just to toy with you and make you squirm under him. You would claw at his back when he hit all the right spots while inside of you. Your lips would mold slowly together while coming down from the high of both your orgasms. Just long enough before being pulled into his arms before drifting off to sleep.

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your face. God, you missed that feeling. You wondered if you would ever be that close to someone again. You hardly doubted it. A love like that, that was always a once in a life time kind of thing.

***

You woke with the sound of metal groaning and pieces of the the room falling around you. You heard the faint voices of people shouting but you couldn’t make out who they were. There was a ringing in your ears and shook your head to make it stop.

You attempted to get up but you realized something was pinning you down. You sat up a bit and saw a slab of ceiling pinning your lower half. That slab should have crushed your legs but you noticed a wooden table sticking under it. You let your head fall back on the ground. You were stuck and alone.

“The fuck I’m not,” you heard a familiar voice yell. “I’m not leaving your ass in here.” It was Bucky. You weren’t alone. If Bucky was here, then Steve had to be too. Opening your mouth, you tried to say something but nothing came out.

More debris fell. “Buck,” Steve’s voice rang out clear and it was closer than you imagined. “I’m not going to-“ Then he stopped. You wondered what made him stop talking. “Bucky!” There was a hint of joy in his voice. “Get over here. I found her.”

Within minutes the heaviness was lifted off you. The look of relief flooded Steve’s face as he knelt down and brushed the loose hair from your face. The biggest smile spread across this face as he gathered you into his arms. You couldn’t help but give a pained smile as well, everything felt right now that Steve had you in his arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve planted a soft kiss to your head. “I got you now.”

Then everything in that moment changed.

As Steve carefully made his way back towards the stairwell, the floor gave out underneath the two of you. Bucky, who was quick to think grabbed the two of you. His metal hand gripped you tight while his other hand gripped his best friend.

Both the weight of you and Steve held Bucky down where he was. There was no possible way Bucky could swing the two of you up. Not without one of you slipping from his grip and losing one of you. You and Steve watched as Bucky tried hard to calculate in this super human brain how to save the two of you. Then part of your hand slipped from Bucky’s metal hand.

Steve’s eyes met with yours. “Bucky, you take care of her.”

“No!” you and Bucky shouted. You were happy to have your voice back again. “Steve,” you continued. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Steve’s eyes started to fill with tears. “I love you.” Steve reached his free hand up and pried Bucky’s hand off his arm. You began to plead and cry for Steve to stop but, you started to slip more from Bucky’s metal hand. Then before your hand could fully fall out of Bucky’s, his flesh hand was already on yours. As Bucky pulled you up, you knew it was too late.

Steve was gone.

***

Your eyes flew up and you sat upright in your bed. Sweat covered your body as if you had been back in that burning, collapsing building. You wiped the sweat from your head and looked at the empty space next to you. The space that had once been Steve’s and it still slightly smelled like him. It was still strong after two months.

The time on Steve’s digital clock read two in the morning. The normal time you’d been waking up since coming back from the hospital. You kicked your legs out of the beg and walked out of the room. You wore pajama bottoms and one of Steve’s shirts.

Entering the kitchen, you saw Bucky sitting at the small island. Bucky, you take care of her, rang through your ears again. And Bucky had. He stayed with you the whole time your were in the hospital. You checked on your countless times that first month. He somehow always knew when you’d be up from a nightmare. That, or Bucky’s and yours nightmares were synced together.

You pulled up a chair next to Bucky as he slid a cup of tea your way. And you guys just sat there while you sipped on your hot tea.

“If there was a way to save him, I would have,” Bucky said softly. Never once had Bucky talked about that day with you. Normally, the two of you would sit in silence for thirty minutes before going back to bed. Tonight was different.

“I know, Buck,” you turned to him and place your hand on his shoulder. “I would have done the same if I were him.” It was true. You would have ripped your hand from Bucky if it meant that Steve would live.

Bucky patted your hand as he met your gaze. You saw how sad he was and you knew he missed Steve probably as much as you did. “You know, I found an engagement ring in his night stand,” You took another sip of your tea. “I think that’s what dinner was supposed to be that night.”

“Y/N,” Bucky leaned back in his chair. He had this look on his face and you knew he didn’t know. “I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would have made sure Steve stayed.”

“But would he have stayed behind?” You asked laughing lightly. You both knew Steve inside and out. Bucky gave a light laugh as well.

“You’re right.”

You thought back to night before that mission. You and Steve had been arguing about you going. If only you knew what your knew now, you would have stayed behind. But you didn’t. You couldn’t understand why Steve kept telling you to stay behind. He didn’t have a good reason and the only to make him shut up about it was to wear that red dress he loves so much on you.

You ignored Steve most of the night at Tony’s party. You talked and drank with your friends and for the hell of it, you let some random dude hit on you while Natasha and Clint took bets on your reaction. Natasha obviously won. You, having had too much to drink, told the poor dude you already had a boyfriend and it was Captain Fucking America.

After that you went and looked for Steve. Once your found him, you pulled him off to a private single bathroom. In no time Steve had your dress unzipped and pooling at your feet. Leaving you only in your lace bra and not so matching underwear. His lips already on your neck as he picked you up and placed you on the counter top.

Within in minutes, Steve had you in a moaning mess as he thrusted himself in and out of you at a hard and fast pace. Your nails were starting to dig into his lower back as you felt your stomach tightening up with the strong orgasm that was coming. Soon, you were crying out in pleasure while Steve filled you up.

He helped you back into your dress and helped get your hair back into place. He peppered a few kisses on your neck, sending a shiver down your back.

“I love you,” he told you before the two of you returned to the party.

The next morning, the same argument resumed about you not going on that mission. At that time you had that pit in your stomach. You told leave to just leave it alone and marched yourself not the that helicopter. You ignored him until he caught your arm before entering that building.

***

You woke up in the hospital. Everything was hazy and blurry but soon you focused on two figures by your side. As soon as your vision started to come back to you, there sat both Natasha and Bucky. They were still in their gear. Bucky’s face had cuts and bruises on it. Just his look alone brought everything back. It felt like getting hit by a semi.

Steve was gone.

You could feel it deep down.

Y/N?” Your eyes flickered towards Natasha’s face. It looked like she was holding it all in. Steve was her best friend. She was the one who brought you into the team. She was the one to introduce you and Steve. She watched the both of you fall in love. You did’t know it at the time but Natasha was there when Steve bought the ring.

“We found him,” her eyes fell to the floor. You knew it wasn’t good.

Bucky leaned forward and took your hand, but you pulled it back. You weren’t sure about how you felt towards him. Not yet anyways. “The entire fourth floor fell on him after the final explosion. He didn’t make it.”

The world around you froze. You slowly turned away from Natasha and Bucky. You stared at the blank wall and let the silent tears fall down your face. You covered your mouth to keep the sob from slipping from your lips. But it failed. The sob echoed around the room. You hugged yourself as you let yourself cry.

“I’ll go find a doctor,” Natasha said softly before leaving the room.

You felt Bucky’s hand on your arm and this time you didn’t pull back at his touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. You could tell by the shakiness in his voice, Bucky was close to tears as well.

You lost the love of your life.

Bucky lost his best friend.

***

You stared at the head stone that read ROGERS in big bold letters. One part of your brain was still trying to convince you that all of this was just a silly nightmare. That you’d be waking up soon to Steve’s strong and warm arms pulling you in close. But you knew better. Even though you wanted this to be just a dream and to have the man you loved back in your life.

“Oh, Steve,” you whispered tracing the letters of his name. “I miss you like crazy. Bucky's been real good too. We’re keeping each other in some sort of check. We’ll be fine.”

Light footsteps stop next you and from the corner of your eye, you see Bucky sit next to you. The two of you did this once a week. You’d get out of compound and just sit at Steve’s grave for a few hours. Either talking and telling stories or just enjoying the silence and weather.

“With everything going on,” You said taking thew water bottle Bucky offered you. “I didn’t catch it. Why everything has been hitting me harder and why my emotions are through the roof. I should have caught this.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asked.

“I took three pregnancy tests,” You looked at Bucky. “They all read positive.”

Bucky choked back on his water. “What? How far along?”

“About two months, I think.” You down at your hands. “The night before the mission, Steve and I snuck away from Tony’s party.”

Bucky stared at you, the ground and turned to look at Steve’s headstone. “Steve’s final wish was for me to take care of you.” He rested his metal hand on my leg. “And that’s what I’m going to do. You and Steve’s kid aren’t going to be alone at all.”

And Bucky did just that.

***Eight Years Later***

You sat on the porch watch a little blonde hair blue eyed boy play in the yard. He had on a small Captain America costume on, wielding a small shield. The two things gifted to him on his seventh birthday by your old team members. They loved your son dearly, especially Natasha who had all the good stories about Steve to tell him.

Your son was aware of who his birth father was. He was also aware of the sacrifice he made. His eyes would always light up when he heard stories of his father. His little smile was the same as Steve’s. It made you happy. That’s when you realized that Wanda had been right all those years ago. The pain had somewhat gone away. It lingered here and there sometimes when you thought about Steve and how you did this life without him knowing his son. A son who was exactly like him. The love that Steve gave to you never left. It reflected back through your son.

“Still going at it, I see,” Bucky sat next to you and handed you a glass of water.

Just like Bucky promised, you and your son weren’t alone at all. He was there for every appointment. He was there for the odd midnight cravings. He was there when you went into labor and stayed by your side for two days until it ended with an emergency C-section that had almost ended your life. He was even there for all the sleepless nights helping out with nightly feedings and soiled diapers. When you quit the Avengers, so did he.

Bucky was always there.

You didn’t know how it happened but falling for Bucky wasn’t apart of the plan at all. It was slow and unexpected. It scared the hell out of both you. But the two of you slowly went with it. Soon it wasn’t just small, gentle kisses on the cheek or lips brushing on your neck. It slowly turned into long nights of making love and learning to love someone again.

Now years later, you and Bucky had been married for five years. You guys lived on the outskirts of town in a two story house with a nice white picket fence. It had been perfect for you guys.

“He’s fallen like five times with that thing, but he always gets back up,” you rested your head on Bucky’s shoulder and he placed a kiss on it.

“Very much like Steve,” Bucky chuckled. “You know, if he takes after Steve, he will be more than a handful when he’s older. How are you feeling today, Doll?” Bucky’s metal hand rested on your bulging belly. You were about seven months pregnant.

“This one seems to be kicking my ass,” you shifted around on the porch bench. “They always seem to be in my ribs, trying to push outward.”

Bucky leaned down. “Take it easy there kiddo.” His blue eyes lookED up at you and it made your heart flutter.

“Dad?” A small voice brought both you and Bucky up right. Those bright blue eyes looked at the two of you. Breathing deeply after having probably ran as fast as he could. Despite knowing who is birth father was, he always called Bucky dad.

“What’s up sport?” Bucky turned his entire attention to the little boy in front of you guys.

“Are you going to tell me the real story of how you got that metal arm?”

“Like I said last week, when you’re older,” Bucky leaned forward with a smirk. “But I’ll tell you it was a secret organization. Now, go get washed up, dinner is almost ready.”

You saw your sons eyes light up and mouth fall open. “What secret organization?” He asked in wonder.

“Steve,” the two of you said the boys names at the same time.

“Okay, okay,” he backed up and ran inside.

You and Bucky exchanged a look. “He’s going to find out the truth one day,” You said slowly getting off the bench. Bucky helped steady you.

“Just like his dad.”

The End

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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5 Favourite Works

YAY! I got tagged by the amazing @chained-to-the-mirror, and I was tickled pink because I was feeling left out, seeing everyone tag everyone and then me just... over here. Thank you, Lovely. Seriously, you always know when I need a smile <3. I like happy posts today.

rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Well, I haven’t done a lot of works in the past year (not even Meta, and I’m not happy with them all), so I’m going to choose my five fave works I’ve ever done because I still am happy when I see them :) In no particular order:

1. Secret Episode Meta Ficlet

This came to me after S4 and while I was riding on the bus to work. It was my theory for what I wanted to see for a secret episode. I want to eventually clean it up and expand it to a full one shot, and then add it to the Sherlock fanfic I’ve been plotting out for years but never wrote. One baby step at a time, LOL.

Excerpt:

Sherlock looks up at John, his pale eyes wide in fear. “I almost lost you, John. After everything I did, I almost lost you. I wasn’t good enough and – ” Sherlock’s voice is starting to rise in panic.

John brings their heads closer together, and that seems to settle Sherlock down enough for him to continue.

“You were shot, John. In the head.”

It still makes me tear up.

2. The Mind Palace Theories of TAB Meta

This is the meta that cemented my place initially in the fandom, and it’s still one of my faves not because of how close we got to predicting TAB, but because it was a COMMUNITY meta, that we all made and speculated on and it turned into a beast all its own. It helped me essentially have people take me seriously as a meta-writer in my own regard. I’m fiercely protective of it because people have tried to claim parts of our meta as their own and that’s just not on, because it was a COMMUNITY effort speculation. It was OUR meta, and it helped me create this little corner in the fandom. I’ve never considered myself “popular” but I know that I was considered a BNF for a while because of this meta Nowadays I’m not much of anyone, but without this meta, y’all, without YOU guys, I would probably not still be as steady a presence as I am now. I wish I was more known for my art, but I am glad that my “claim to fame” was a team effort that was built upon from one single night of me writing a meta with a cracking headache, thinking it was just a crack theory to not be taken seriously.

3. Corndog Daddy || [Ao3 Post]

It’s stupid and silly and I love the fuck out of this ficlet I wrote as a gift. I don’t often promote my own writing (nor does anyone else, but I digress), so I don’t have a lot of kudos’ or bookmarks on this, but it’s so ridiculous and cracky and I love it. Essentially, John and Sherlock go to a county fair and Sherlock cums in his pants XD

Excerpt:

John ordered [a corn dog] for himself, and asked Sherlock if he wanted one, who nodded. John took the two corn dogs and handed one to Sherlock as John put the tip of the dog in his mouth.

Sherlock nearly dropped both bee plush and corn dog as his cock made a bold attempt to let Sherlock know it was interested in the current proceedings.

John raised an eyebrow, grinned devilishly, and started suckling the tip of the corn dog. “Mmm,” John hummed. “I do like a sweet meat stick.”

Anyway. XD

4. SHERLOCK - :Winter Kiss: by @stephdrawsjohnlock

(Click link for full image)

My favourite Johnlock anniversary pic (2018) I’ve done is also one of my most noted, which also makes me happy. I wish I could get even a quarter of notice on all my art, but this one is particularly good. I’m much better at Black and White than colour I think, and it was an experiment with new brushes I got with updated photoshop.

5. Smooth Hat Detective by @stephdrawsjohnlock plus Inspired Ficlet by @johnlockismyreligion

(Click link for full image)

Okay, the name is so stupid... I had Smooth Criminal stuck in my head when I was drawing this (and now I do again, lol) and that’s why it’s named that, but I love lingerielock and I wanted to contribute my own, so this was the result, which was a practice piece for shading. In turn, I was surprised by a gift fic inspired by this picture called Your love it feels so good by Hotaru_Tomoe and it forever made this pic worth being proud of because someone was ACTUALLY INSPIRED BY MY ART. That’s never happened, and even thinking about it today still makes me cry happy tears, so Thank you forever, Lovely. <3

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Anyway, so yeah, I hope you guys like them as much as I do <3

Anyone who hasn’t been tagged, and really wants to do it, like I did, I TAG YOU, so please do it and let me know you did!! <3

#tagged blogging #about me #happy posts #5 things #my blog #my art #my writing #long post

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loxxxlay · 4 years

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100 word meme

hiii, so I’ve been wanting to try this for a while since it seems to work out really well for @veliseraptor and i feel like it’d work out well for me too? so gonna give it a shot

rules are you vote for a fic and i write 100 words in it. so basically if u want a fic posted faster, vote for it, because a vote means i’ll actually work on it (hopefully XD). it’s mostly just a helpful way for me to have tangible goals that i can work toward without having to make decisions about what those goals are myself XD

[edit: oh yeah you can vote for up to 3]

so without further ado, here’s the list (as is traditional, with bonus excerpts as a reward for helping me with executive brain functions lmfao):

1. (Figment of Choice) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

“Oh, but dear, if I had known it’d be like this, I would have had you change ages ago. You’re simply beautiful!” He smiled and ran the ends of his fingers down Loki’s jaw.

Loki resisted the urge to bite them. Monster, he thought. Tears gathered in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this to me—”

“Loki, we’ve talked about this.” The Grandmaster made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. “Yesterday even. Didn’t I specifically tell your brother how I prefer those who are willing. Those who enjoy what Sakaar has to offer. What I have to offer. Are you telling me you’re not one of those people?”

“Yes,” Loki said by habit; then, “I mean, no—no, I am, I just—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” the Grandmaster said. “You know how much I hate hearing don’t and can’t. Come along, sweetheart, get up. As lovely as you are, I’m not only here for you. Time’s a’ticking.”

2. (The troy and lola story of my soul) [tw implied noncon/dubcon and csa]

Troy watched his friend disappear into his carriage, and then he watched a butterfly trail from flower to flower, and then he watched the sun approach the white mountains in the distance. His legs ached with the strain of standing as he watched, but he didn’t move. Moving would mean admitting the fact that his twin had been suffering for years. Suffering the same torment he himself had escaped. Moving would mean having to face the fact that his brother (sister?) might resent him.

As he stood, he tried—he focused his entire mind upon an imagined woman lying nude in the lounge of a brothel. He tried to feel what she felt. He tried to feel the weight of a body on top of his or the repetitive aching of his insides. He tried to feel the unbearable numbness infecting his limbs with cold. But there was nothing, no sense of life from his twin. Nothing except the ghosts of his own memories.

“My Lord,” Margaret called from the patio, “won’t you come inside?”

Troy sighed but didn’t turn. “You know to call me Theodore.”

“It’s cold out here,” Margaret said as if she hadn’t heard. “At least let me fetch your cloak.”

Troy didn’t answer, and a moment later, he heard the door bang shut. He waited a bit longer. For what? He didn’t know. But then the crickets started chirping, and the chill of nighttime wind raised goosebumps on his arms, and he managed to stomach his fear and turn to face the house.

3. (Forget Me Not, Remember Still) [tw domestic abuse, grandthorki shenanigans]

“You look so sad,” Thor said, and Loki hated that his voice sounded at all like the Grandmaster’s. “What’s bothering you?”

Unsure whether it was safe to answer, Loki pressed his lips together.

“Tell me,” Thor said, just as gently, but—Loki could sense the difference in his patience.

He took a breath. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s something,” Thor argued. “Now tell me—or do I have to remind you what happens when you try to think for yourself.”

Loki steeled himself against a flinch. Almost subconsciously, his hand came up and his fingers pressed against the bruises at his neck. The shirt he’d wanted to wear would have covered them, but this—it exposed him. It made him look weak, like a victim—and truly, was he not a victim now? Was he not being abused?

Wincing, he looked away from the mirror before the sight of himself could make him cry.

“Oh, Loki,” Thor said. “You’ve made some mistakes. All those marks show is that you’ve learned better. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

To you, Loki thought, and then shut the thought off.

4. (On Our Terms) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

The Grandmaster sighed loudly. “I don’t mean to offend you, but your society sounds quite borish.”

“It is,” the Valkyrie said, “but it’s the one we got, and I doubt you have room for three thousand potentially borish people here, so . . .”

“Yes, yes, your point has been made,” the Grandmaster said. “But you see—I’ve grown quite fond of these two, and I’m not quite sure if I want to let them go. Especially since they seem so eager to stay.”

“Yeah, I get it. So what’s your price?” she asked in a casual tone.

“My price? Goodness, gracious! I’m not the type to just sell these poor boys to the highest bidder. My dear dear 142, you should know better than to suggest such a thing! Absolutely unbelievable.”

There was a silence. Loki held his breath, closed his eyes, and tried not to think. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t matter what he did. It wouldn’t matter what he said. In fact, it might make things worse if he spoke, and things were already bad enough. The best he could do was keep silent and be good and just . . . wait. Wait to be dragged back into their nightmare.

Under the table, Thor’s free hand slipped around his and squeezed. Loki was numb, too numb, to care. He didn’t squeeze back.

At last, the Grandmaster gave a long put-upon sigh. “I suppose, I might be more . . . favorable to your wishes if you were to, hmm. Play a game with me.”

The Valkyrie shifted in her seat. “What kind of game?”

5. (thor ficlet whumptober chapter 4) [tw past noncon]

With a deep breath, Thor slipped on a robe over his nightshirt and pants (he no longer slept without a shirt), and headed toward the door. There was one person, in all of Asgard, besides her, who knew. His brother had every right to be angry. Even now, Thor remembered the things he had said the night before—before—and those had been his own words, not hers.

As he came to the door, feeling small and afraid, he remembered the morning after. How Loki had begged him for an apology and had not received one. How Thor had stood on the other side, unable to be anything but callous and cold. Their positions were reversed now. Thor prayed his brother would be more kind.

Trembling, he knocked.

Loki answered the door, not a minute later, robed in black and green, hair curly and disheveled. “Yes?” he said as he rubbed his eyes—and then, before Thor could answer, his face smoothed and his eyebrows furrowed low and angry on his face. “Did she try something again?”

“No,” Thor rushed to say, but Loki’s expression didn’t soften. Cheeks aflame, Thor fixed his gaze on the golden stone archway of the door and studied its numerous ridges and cracks. “I can’t—sleep,” he managed. “That—bed—” His throat felt hoarse. He returned his gaze to his brother and tried not to let the desperation seep into his voice. “I’m afraid to sleep alone.”

6. (IW AU thor whump) [tw violence]

“Let me make this clear,” Thor said. He ripped a strip of cloth free from his cape and toyed with it between his hands. “I follow the doctrine of my master because it’s what I believe. But even if I didn’t? Even if you somehow managed to convince me otherwise?” Thor lifted the red cloth and pressed it between the bones of her jaw. “I would follow him anyway. There is not one single thing you could say to dissuade me from his offer, universe be damned.” He tied the cloth in a knot on the back of her head. “Do you understand?”

Eyes blazing, Gamora kneed him in the thigh.

Thor stumbled. His heart sped, as he realized she’d been aiming for his crotch, and in a burst of rage, his hand clenched into a fist and raised in the air—trembling and white-knuckled and desperate to hit her back.

He didn’t do it.

There was something in her face that sparked a memory in him—one of Loki, handcuffed and bright-eyed and braced for a blow on the Asgardian skiff. The time they’d gone to avenge a mother who had left them alone too soon. The time Loki (seemed to have) died. For a shocking moment, the woman in front of Thor looked just like his brother. From the the tension in her shoulders, to the set in her lips, and to the glassiness of her wide eyes.

He lowered his fist. Grief cascaded over him, and it weighed like bricks on his chest and needles in his heart. In a count to ten, Thor reminded himself of the doctrine and of Thanos’s offer—the gauntlet, with all five Infinity Stones, would resurrect his brother. This woman—this traitor—couldn’t. The choice was easy.

“Get some rest,” he said, numb and cold. “Xandar is several hours away.”

7. (Zombie Post Apoc Novel) [tw grosss vagina shit, implied noncon]

At night, Helen catches her in the bathroom. The door is cracked open, and Cassandra is standing, one foot planted on the tub’s ledge and the other foot on the floor. Her hand is between her thighs and she’s holding the lighter under her clit, until the air sizzles with the smell of burnt flesh. She comes like that. Helen knows because tears leak from Cassandra’s face whenever her orgasm is real.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra whispers when she notices Helen watching. “I have to.”

And Helen doesn’t bother arguing. Larry may dead, but there are countless Larry’s, and even if there aren’t, Andrew hovers in their room sleeping on their bed. Something has to burn. So Helen just closes the door behind her, turns on the vent to clear the smell, and grabs Neosporin from a drawer under the sink.

Cassandra sits on the bathtub ledge. “Maybe we should stay,” she whispers. “Maybe it really is better here.”

Helen kneels on the bathroom tile. “You’re gonna kill yourself if we stay here, babe.” Then she rubs the Neosporin over the folds of her sister’s vagina, and when the burns are good and treated, tears of ecstasy leak down Cassandra’s face.

In the silence that follows, Cassandra bites her lip. “If it comes to it… I don’t know that I could pull the trigger.”

“You can,” Helen says. “Just pretend you’re holding a lighter.”

8. (Moment of Peace)

#gonna do a blanket tag of #cw noncon #because most of these fics have it lol #but each is tagged individually #lox talks personal #fic excerpt #placeholder writing tag #ask thing

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countessrivers · 4 years

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For the meta asks: 3,4 and 8, please :)

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

So, for my vampire au aka Previously on the Gotham Diaries (for which there is still only one part published *shrug*) I have these big sprawling plans and ideas that I keep getting distracted from but other, equally good fic ideas. The rough plan for this au was/is one fic that explores the twin’s backstory and how they were turned, and another that’s kind of like an adaptation of season 2, where Galavan comes to town and he’s a vampire and you’ve got the Valeskas and Bruce and Oz and Hunter Jim and it all kind of plays out very similarly and still totally ends with Jim killing Galavan while Oz looks on a little bit in love and a little bit turned on. These are currently very, very fragmentary WIPs, so in the spirit of the ask, I’ll post a couple of excerpts (there’s also a Gobblepot coda that’s a bit more together, so that might come out at some point too)

From the Valeska twins backstory fic:

His hands are shaking as he lets go of the knife. Jerome stumbles back, bent over, hands wrapping around the hilt of the knife, replacing Jeremiah’s. Blood is already leaking out around the blade, spilling over Jerome’s hands and dripping onto the floor.

‘I’ve killed him,’ Jeremiah thinks, slightly hysterically.

He should be running. He should be using Jerome’s distraction to make an escape. He should be saving himself, but for some reason he’s frozen to the spot, starring in mute horror as his brother doubles over the knife Jeremiah stuck in him.

Jerome lets at a hacking cough that transforms into a grating laugh that burns Jeremiah’s ears to hear.

...

He sees Jerome’s arm move but he doesn’t feel the knife. He doesn’t feel it slice across his throat, but he does feel blood as it gushes from the wound. His hands scramble desperately at his neck, trying to stem the flow as he chokes, throat and airway quickly filling with blood. It’s useless, Jeremiah knows that, but the panic has taken over, and his body is reacting on instinct, clutching at the site of injury, trying to stop the bleeding.

His legs give out beneath him, but before he hits the ground, Jerome catches him, pulling him into his chest. Jeremiah’s hands, still pressing futilely against his neck, end up trapped between them. Jerome - surprisingly, sickeningly - gently urges Jeremiah’s head down onto his shoulder as he convulses, and over the awful, wet sound of his desperate attempts at breath, Jeremiah hears Jerome shushing him softly.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he says, rubbing a hand almost tenderly down his back. “That’s it. Just relax. Give in. Let it happen.”

Jeremiah tries to pull away, but he’s so weak that he can’t even hold his hands up to his neck anymore. His fingers are still twitching, but he can’t help but let them drop

he wouldn’t have been able to get far even if Jerome had still been human. As it is, Jerome just squeezes him tighter, holding him up.

“Just close you eyes.”

Jeremiah does close his eyes. Not because he was told to, but because he can’t bear to look at Jerome as he dies.

From the sequel (basically this au’s version of Jim’s kidnapping and beating scene):

Goodbye, James. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Galavan turns and walks away. He gets halfway across the warehouse before he stops and turns back.

“Ah, what the hell,” he says, walking back towards him. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, James. I’m going to leave you here, in the company of your esteemed colleagues, and I’m going to go. I’m going to go kill Bruce Wayne, ensure my rightful place in Gotham is reclaimed, all of that, and then I’m going to come back.”

He reaches out and takes hold of Jim’s face, fingers digging in painfully. Jim tries to pull away, as futile as he knows the action is.

“I’m going to come back, and if you’re still alive when I do, I’ll keep you.”

Jim refuses to give Galavan the satisfaction of seeing him react to the threat, using every ounce of his remaining self-control to lock down his horror, the fear born of experience and understanding of exactly what kind of monster Theo Galavan is that has all manner of images flash through his head. If the smirk on the vampire’s face is anything to go by, he’s not entirely successful.

“So, it’s your choice, Jim.” Galavan steps in closer, brushing a thumb across his cheek and dangerously close to his mouth. “You can give up, close your eyes, let that final darkness take you as these men beat you and hurt you and no doubt do all sorts of terrible and painful things to you. Or you can keep fighting, keep holding on, keep being stubborn, and spend the rest of your life as my toy. My pet. Right up until the moment I get bored. Then I’ll kill you. Or give you to my sister to play with.”

Galavan pats him on the cheek, then slaps him hard enough that it leaves Jim’s ears ringing. Eyes squeezed shut, head spinning, Jim doesn’t see Galavan actually leave. He does hear him though.

“Be creative as you want, gentlemen. Just don’t make it quick.”

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Jim doesn’t say anything else, and Bruce is glad. Jim could. He should, and Bruce would deserve it all. But he doesn’t. He just sits there quietly, stroking Bruce’s leg through the blankets, offering silent comfort. Maybe Jim just understands better than most that you can’t always help who you love.

This is from my post-Ace Chemicals fic One Hand on my Cheekbone, One Hand on the Rope (also can I ask, is it weird to cry over your own fic when rereading it? because I literally do with this one, every time. I’m just really emotional about Bruce Wayne I guess)

I just really like a lot of things about this section of the fic where Jim comes to check on Bruce. I’m all about Bruce and Jim’s relationship, and I think Jim is well placed to understand Bruce’s guilt and depression in a way no other character really can, which is why I ended on the two of them. This paragraph in particular comes on the heels of Bruce admitting, out loud, that he loved Jeremiah, and Jim acknowledging that he knew. The concept of loving someone even though they have done horrific things, even though they have done horrific things to you is applicable to Bruce in this case, but also to Jim, who can understand that particular kind of pain (I mean, pick your Jim/villain ship, but also, parts of Jim loved Barbara and Lee for long after their relationships ended, and even after they started hurting him and others)

Because it’s not even in the “despite the horror” sense. What Bruce is feeling, what Jim sympathises with is a particular grief that comes from a betrayal like that, from the loss of what could have been, from the love and the good memories that are still there. I think this paragraph encompasses this quite well.

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Partially. I write what I enjoy, what I want to see or read, what I think a fandom might be lacking (for want of a better term) in terms of content. For instance, I write predominately dark fic, or at least heavier or porny fic, because that’s the kind of fic I enjoy reading most (though I have a mostly fluffy - by my standards - fic in the works that involves Batgirl Babs, the Riddler getting his ass beat by teenagers, and some Gordon family hugs). But I will read other styles, other genres. There are certain tropes I just won’t read for various reasons, and some kinds of fics I have to be in the right mood to read, but as long as it’s decently written and it involves characters/ships/scenarios I’m interested in, I’ll usually give it a go (particularly if it’s a small fandom or ship and I’m desperate for more content)

#sunlitroom #ask replies

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 5 years

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I keep seeing something about writing three lines for a WIP? Posting three lines from three fics? Anyway I’ve seen it so many times at this point it’s become one big GO WRITE SOMETHING YOU ABSOLUTE NINNY for me, so here I am with three short-ish (~600 words each) segments from three tragically neglected WIPs that have nothing to do with each other. Very rough and rusty, but I hope you still enjoy these glimpses.

1. Bispearl week “swords” prompt ficlet I didn’t manage to finish back then, or: Bismuth and Pearl invent rubber ducking.

The first few swords were a disaster.

The Forge was rudimentary still - early days - didn’t look like much, but it was a start. Bismuth did her best: all of her hard-won knowledge, scrounged up information not meant for her or her kind, going towards building what she thought they would need to get weapon production up and running. Materials gathered at a great risk - Snowflake had chipped her gem during the last of the supply runs! Tools for Bismuth to try to replicate and experiment with, and a raided armoury with a wide variety of weapons for Bismuth to learn from, to suit every possible rebellious inclination. All arranged to enable what she judged might be a sensible workflow.

She decided to go with a simple, plain, straight-edged sword to start with - mid-length to her, meaning a dagger to some and a hefty two-hander to others. The sheer variety already present in the rebellion was half of its charm and point, wasn’t it just? And Bismuth wanted so very badly to fan the flames of it, to do everything she possibly could to see it, to see all of them, flourish and persevere and come out on top for once.

Bismuth tried, and tried, and tried again. Considered her mistakes, weaknesses, what she knew (or, doubt never failed to creep in, thought she knew) she was supposed to be doing and achieving here.

And failed.

The first blade that at least looked right shattered in her hands when she tried to force its tang through a guard and into a handle to put the whole thing together. The rest of its batch became hopelessly crooked when she quenched them.

She crushed the latest useless ingot she’d clearly gotten ore ratios wrong for in her fist and tossed it against the wall with a frustrated cry.

And of course, of course, that was the moment Pearl chose to walk in.

“Bismuth?”

Her voice was filled with concern as she inched closer from the entrance, but there was a glint in her eyes that made it clear Pearl would not be deterred.

So, figuring she had nothing to lose, Bismuth allowed her shoulders to sag and let her misery show.

“I’m not cut out for this. Literally.”

Pearl snorted, hopping up onto the anvil with a deliberate and highly unconvincing casual air. “Tell me about it.”

Bismuth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a tiredness she wasn’t sure she was supposed to be capable of, and leaned next to her.

“I ever tell you of my first actual visit to a forge?”

Pearl shook her head.

“Wasn’t that long ago. I took the chance and snuck into a weapon production plant when the hematites weren’t around. Me and the other bismuths had been working on some training grounds right next to it and I’d wanted to see one for so long, so one day I just went for it. And it was... Well. The last time that place had seen a bismuth was when it was being built. I didn’t even fit in there, Pearl. I was too big for the bellows and too small for the anvils, and I could barely walk around the quenching baths they had set up. It was all just… wrong. The whole place was screaming at me, telling me I didn’t belong there and couldn’t if I tried.”

“You’re still trying, though, despite that,” Pearl pointed out, and swept an arm out to seemingly encompass the entire Forge. “And look at all of this! You’ve been working so hard to make it your own.”

2. That HDM/Daemon AU that desperately needs updating - I AM SO SORRY - but here’s some actual (distressing) plot from the underground resistance meeting.

Pearl led Rose to a chair at an empty table near the wall, but didn’t sit down herself. Instead, she went over to the centre of the room where someone had brought out a projecting lantern and several small reels. Aristobulus stood tall at her side, stretching his long neck, and Pearl squared her narrow shoulders and cleared her throat.

The room’s attention was fully on her within moments. Pearl wasn’t what one would ever call a commanding presence, but there was an odd air of almost-imperiousness to her now that made both Rose and Neshu want to stop and listen - not their usual inclination at all.

“As you’ve no doubt heard, 37 people have been arrested by the Consistorial Court of Discipline in the last two months, including two of our own,” Pearl began. “After a cursory sentencing for heresy, all trace of them had vanished. We have now found records of the fates of some of them. I will warn you that these recordings are…” Pearl’s hands folded on each other nervously, “extremely distressing.”

At her nod, someone dimmed the lights and the projection started with the flick of a tiny switch, and all the murmuring that Pearl’s grim warning had prompted died down.

The silent scene hanging in the dusty air seemed to be the inside of a highly advanced laboratory, mostly taken up by strange devices Rose couldn’t fathom a purpose for. The only occupants of the room were a woman a little older than Rose herself, and two dour-looking men in long white overcoats, suggesting some sort of doctor or scholar.

Both the woman and her kestrel daemon were strapped into a particularly large and ominous-looking contraption, with odd metallic coils surrounding the bird. As one of the men approached and expertly plugged in the connectors on a series of cables, the coils started to vibrate and rapidly heat up - enough to emit a glow visible even in the grainy monotone of the recording.

Before their eyes, the kestrel seemed to take on a glow, too, thrashing about as much as the restraints allowed. But then its body started to elongate, its shape twisting and stretching in ways that should have been impossible, losing wings but gaining countless insect-like feet, the beak looking more like mandibles by the second.

Then- sparks, and sudden darkness, and the horrifying experiment cut short by what appeared to be a power outage, with the recording cutting out soon after.

The room was deathly quiet as the projection lit up again. The scene changed, but the same woman was the focus of the projection, now struggling against half a dozen uniformed guards.

The kestrel - back in its original form, it seemed - fought valiantly, leaving deep gouges for many of the guards to remember him by. His human kicked and bit and struggled. But ultimately it was in vain, and they were outmatched and outnumbered, and soon enough thoroughly overpowered and shoved into separate chambers of yet another machine.

Silver grates closed and locked behind both of them, while a similarly silvery guillotine shone above and between them menacingly, and seemed to hum in anticipation.

Pearl looked down at the floor - she had to have seen the recording before, and looking at her and the way Aristobulus was subtly nudging his head against her hand, Rose felt a dawning fear she, too, knew what was coming.

The blade came down.

The woman didn’t die, and the daemon didn’t disperse into so much dust. But they both looked like they wished they had as they were dragged away in opposite directions, without even a whisper of strained bond between them.

Rose struggled to force her fingers, clenched tightly in Neshu’s mane, to relax their grip even a bit.

The scene changed again, and no matter how much she wished she could, Rose didn’t look away.

3. The huge, huge Pearl/Rose fixit-ish fic that I started as an attempt to deal with the gag order mess when ASPR was still fresh. In this excerpt: some Rose/Pink sky arena angst that probably makes a lot more sense in context.

She still looks the part of the fierce rebel leader as her solid, quartz-heavy fists smash into the perfectly hewn pink stone over and over and over again (just the pink, only ever the pink). But her diamond-hard knuckles don’t bruise, don’t bear a trace even as the first floating insignia cracks and shatters into haphazardly hovering fragments.

And why would there ever be any mark left on her? She is, after all, just a spoiled, untouchable princess in disguise, playing a losing game that’s costing lives, making others dance a deadly dance to her self-indulgent little tune. And she could declare herself bored of it, give it all up and abandon them to horrible fates and go home whenever she wanted to in order to be relieved of this burden she clearly wasn’t ready for after all, such a shame... and they wouldn’t even know…!

The weight of the thoughts sends her spiralling back down to the pockmarked floor of the Arena, her landing nothing approaching elegant. A voice she knows she can’t possibly be hearing because its owner is in a (pink, always pink) bubble, hidden away, calls her a coward and a traitor.

She kneels in the ruins of her own making and wonders if Bismuth had a hand in carefully carving out what she has just smashed to pieces. If Bismuth would have cheered her on in this highly symbolic bit of destruction, in what is obviously a very defiant, political act with no practical or tactical purpose but with such a clear and pointed message. Everyone will readily believe that - why would they not?

Everyone except Pearl.

Pearl, who she has now so unthinkingly cruelly reminded of her station, reduced her (reduced them both!) to what they have supposedly been working on growing past and leaving behind. And for what? Because she was terrified, in that moment, that Pearl would find out the truth? That, inevitably, no matter how many Homeworld bases she snuck into and how many of the Moonbase’s systems she scoured, she’d find no trace of Bismuth anywhere, and she’d turn to Rose with those eyes large and shining with betrayal…

Just like they were earlier today, after I forbid it and I order you to stop.

The illusion and the beautiful make-believe are as broken as the symbol - the symbol of her - and how can she even think of considering herself any different from White now, demanding and taking and having her way, draining colour and will and personality to make way for the obedience due a Diamond? Pearl had gone so still, in the wake of the Order, all of her gestures, from nervous to exuberant, gone without a trace, posture stiff and perfect. It all seems a negligible step away from an empty smile on a newly bleached-white face and perfectly poised, outstretched arms; from being faced with an eerie automaton in the place of someone she dared to consider a friend.

She- oh, she wants to call herself Rose but she can’t, she’s not, she’s failed at that every step of the way so far. Pink curls her pristine hands into her fanciful dress nobody sensible would think to fight a war in, and cries, useless miraculous healing tears that couldn’t ever hope to begin fixing what she has so carelessly broken.

#oathkeeper writes things #steven universe #pearl #rose quartz #bismuth #yeah that's supposed to be centi/nephrite #i'm sorry #long post #in case the cut doesn't work #fanfiction #daemon au #those stars of brightest magnitude #bispearl #pearlrose #i'm alive i swear #feel free to validate me and such

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the-cookie-of-doom · 4 years

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god give me strength not to post this Steter fic…. I’ve had it for a Long Time, sitting in my drafts, looking sexy. I’m immensely PROUD of it, but it is not at all ready for posting, it’s not even half done, and I know if I post it it will be ages before I update, and I can’t give myself that stress lmao / YOU CAN DO IT *sends all the hugs, kisses and good vibes your way* In the meantime, I’ll be here, cheering you on and patiently waiting to read this beautiful, sexy story of yours! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤

Aw you’re a darling <3 here is an excerpt from the first chapter!

This far north, the land is cold and unforgiving. It is wild, a great expanse blanketed in white. Little sound travels over the ground, muffled by the sheets of snow. There is only the white noise of crunching footsteps from a seemingly endless trek.

There are few humans north of the mountain pass that Stiles had crossed through four days ago. They can't survive the harsh cold and even harsher winter, when there are no crops to harvest and no game to hunt. The spring is short. Too short for human civilizations to thrive.

This makes it perfect for the wolves, who are spread far and wide throughout the Northern Reach. The mountains cleaving the land have few passes, all of them narrow and dangerous, giving way to steep crevices and narrowing to ledges only inches wide in places. It takes five days to get through the kindest of them, if you travel light and fast. They are easy to defend, and impossible to get an army through.

Stiles rubbed his cold hands together, holding them to his mouth and trying to breathe warm air through the furs. He could warm himself if he truly wanted to but it would be better to save his strength. The many layers of furs wrapped securely around his body would stave off the bite of the frost, for now, until he could find shelter. The sun was falling fast, giving way to the moon. It hung heavy and low in the sky, rounded like the belly of a pregnant woman, days from fullness. Stiles could feel the strength of her pull, getting stronger with each passing night.

He carefully followed the stars, navigating by their shining light, always heading farther north. Deeper into the unforgiving landscape, even as the cold gnawed at his bones. His body ached for the warmth of his hearth at home. His village bordered the other side of the mountains, still farther north than most humans preferred to be. This place made his home feel warm by comparison, their tender winter practically sweltering.

When night fell, the last rays of the sun falling beneath the horizon and giving way to violet and inky blue, the howls started. One after the other, dozens of wolves echoing a cry to the moon, faithful children greeting their mother after a long day.

Eventually the howls quieten, the only sound that travels over the laden snow, and the eerie quiet settles around Stiles once more. It's peaceful, in a way. Looking out at the vast expanse of glittering fractals, reflecting the moon's light so that it is never truly dark, even to Stiles' human eyes, he feels small. The world and sky is vast, more than anyone on the Earth truly knew.

When the moon was directly overhead, casting her light and her love over the world, Stiles found suitable shelter for the night. It was a cave carved into a cliff face, the entrance glittering with jagged icicles like a wolf's teeth. Undeterred by the reminder that he was in hostile terrain, Stiles made his way inside. The cave quickly narrowed, to the point Stiles had to get down onto all fours and crawl to get deeper, barely able to fit with his pack dragging against the low ceiling.

It opened up at the end, after several minutes shuffling forward almost on his stomach, and Stiles was grateful. It wasn't a large room, but it was secure, and deep enough that the severity of the outside cold was lessened greatly.

Stiles didn't dare start a fire, for fear of filling the small cavern with smoke, which meant he would have to make do with only his furs for warmth. He pulled off his pack and set it aside, then reluctantly removed his thick gloves so that he would be able to rummage inside it with more ease. His fingers quickly reddened once exposed to the cold, stale air, and Stiles rubbed them together, creating just enough friction for them to stiff. He untied the straps securing his pack and opened it, reaching inside for the bundle of cured meat and dried fruit he brought with him. His rations were running low, and in the midst of this winterland, there was little Stiles could do for game or foraging. It would be a lean few days, then, and hopefully he would come across a forest. That would be more likely to have woodland creatures than the flat plain Stiles has been crossing for the last two weeks.

He picks two strips of venison and half a handful of berries to serve as supper, before wrapping the bundle backup and returning it to his pack. After he drains his water skin, with thoughts to melt some of the snow in the morning to replenish his water supply. After his pack is once more closed and secured, Stiles gets up and walks to the far corner to take a piss, relieved now that he doesn't have to worry about freezing his prick off in the freezing wind. He'd only made that mistake once while he'd been crossing the mountain pass. After, Stiles returns to his pack and pulls on his gloves, fingers feeling numb and stiff. They reach past his wrist, perfect to be tucked into the sleeve of his furs and ward off the cold, giving it no place to get in.

Stiles laid down and pulled his pack closer to use a pillow, tugging his cowl down closer around his covered face, and went to sleep, knowing he would need as much as he could get for the next weary day of travel.

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batbirdies · 4 years

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NaNoWriMo 2019 Batfam fic Part 7

I’m posting rough excerpts from my NaNo project this year which is a fanfic centered around Jason Todd eventually agreeing to dog sit Titus while Bruce and Damian are out of town. Involving some deep seated issues, unintended animal therapy, snarky text messages between robins and eventually, some reconciliation between father and son.

Takes place in a murky in between time sometime after Damian was resurrected.

A NOTE: These are very rough drafts, I’m copy and pasting from my google doc, I switch tense all over the place, so apologies. WARNINGS: content includes PTSD flashbacks of sorts, violence involving humans as well as animals, references to dog fighting, lots of swearing.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

“Mind telling me what the fuck this was all about?” The guy raised his eyebrows, seemed completely unphased by Jason’s poorly veiled threat a moment ago.

“Just an accident. Here, take my info.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card that he held out, nothing printed on it but a phone number. Jason stared at it. “I’d be happy to cover your medical bills for that arm.” He nodded to Jason’s left forearm, still held tightly against his body. Jason plucked it out of his hand, eyeing it for a split second before tucking it into a pocket, he’d throw it away later.

“Real generous of you.” The guy smirked. Jason squinted at him, waiting for some kind of hint. “We met before?”

“Oh I doubt it.” He took a drag off the cigarette. “I’d remember your dog if we had.” He looked around Jason then, at where Titus was standing, tight up against the backs of his legs.

Jason took a step forward, fed up. “What the fuck do you want? You think I’m stupid? Your friend there sicked that dog on us, I saw it. You-“ Jason cut himself off, felt Titus nudging at the back of his leg, he gave a low bark, quiet but unhappy. He didn’t want to make any hints if the guy didn’t know anything.

Hell this was Gotham. Nut jobs did insane shit like sick their dogs on people all the time.

They however didn’t usually seem so casually unrepentant and unafraid of the police showing up.

Tall Guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey now, if you hadn’t jumped in, I promise you he never would have bitten.”

“Oh, cause you’ve done this before? Is that it?”

“I don’t know what you mean, didn’t do anything, this was all just an accident. Crusher can get aggressive around other big dogs. And that is one big dog.”

“Is this seriously about Titus?” Jason was recalculating the idea that this idiot might know who he was. He chuckled.

“Titus, good name for him. He looks tough.” Jason stares at the guy, feeling a muted sort of astonishment at the idiocy in the world. Whatever this was, he wanted no part in it.

“You know what, you can get lost.” Jason started to turn away, he didn’t need to tug on the leash, Titus was happily leading the way.

The sound of rushed footsteps had him turning just in time to see the guy reaching towards Titus head, he saw the flash of a red tip of a cigarette tucked near the guys palm and lashed out before he could think better of it.

Leash still in his hand, he struck with his bad arm, snatched up the guys wrist, twisting it hard and fast until he couldn’t keep up the nonchalant act anymore.

“Ok, ok, shit man.” He sunk to his knees in an instant.

“Were you just gonna fucking burn my dog?” His arm was throbbing, the crushing grip he was keeping on the guys wrist making the pain flare like a bitch. Blood was dripping drown his arm in thick rivulets, down his hand, ruining his jacket and the assholes alike.

“Hey, hey, I just thought he looked tough-”

“So you thought you’d test your theory?” His grip was entirely too tight, he could feel the Lazarus bubbling up in him, everything in his vision taking on that vaguely green tinge.

“Hey, honestly man, I’m trying to do you a favor-”

“You fucking-”

“You like to bet? I can make you a fortune if he’s as mean as he looks.” He was on his knees, gasping out the words, gripping the wrist Jason held in his fist with his other hand desperately. Eyes wide in obvious fear. He choked, color crawling up his neck. “Please man-”

Jason didn’t make the decision to break the guys wrist, but it happened just then, his grip so tight that when he tensed at the statement - it was enough.

He gasped, “fuck man!”

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you.” Jason was shaking as he hissed out the words, skin hot, he felt the urge come up, the pulse rack through him.

Titus let out a high pitched whine, drawing back on his leash hard.

Jason let go. Took a hard step back, breath heaving, blinking away the green clouding his vision.

“What the hell man?” He was crying, clutching at his broken wrist with his good hand. Titus whined again, pulling on his leash enough to make Jason stumble a step after him.

He stood his ground for a second more, staring at this - this - “If I see you or your friend here again, you’ll leave with more than a broken wrist, you hear me?”

“Man why would you-”

“I said do you hear me?”

“Ok man, ok!”

Jason relented, letting Titus yank him around until they were walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction. He was still fuming, filling his lungs with deep heaving breaths, trying to rid himself of the feeling of hornets buzzing around inside his chest.

It took him too long to realize that Titus was leading them the wrong direction, away from his apartment. When he finally blinked back into awareness they were two blocks away and his bloody arm was throbbing with every step he took.

Jason directed them all the way back around the block they were on instead of turning around. Feeling like he could use the exercise even while his arm hurt so bad he was hissing through his teeth. They were leaving a dripping trail of blood down the sidewalk as they went, every person they met crossed the street when they saw them coming but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He feels so tightly wound it’s a miracle he doesn’t snap like an old guitar string.

By the time they’ve traveled all the way back to Jason’s apartment Titus has gotten decidedly more exercise than required or planned and Jason feels no less angry than he had twenty minutes ago. He unlatches Titus’ leash and goes hunting for his first aid kit, stashed under his bathroom sink.

He’s pissed about his jacket, the sleeve is completely torn up and their blood all down it. It was a nice freaking jacket and an expensive one and when he tears it off in a huff and slings it over the edge of the bathtub he wonders briefly if Alfred could fix it….get the blood out, stitch up the torn pieces? Maybe that was asking too much but the man could be a miracle worker sometimes. Not to mention Jason was feeling almost a little like he owed him after the stunt with the gift, even if that was a little ridiculous and he’s never say it.

Getting a good look at his arm he’s definitely not happy. The skin is punctured to varying degrees of depth in large crescent shape, on his forearm as well as the tender skin on the inside of the arm. There’s enough blood that it takes a while for the warm water running in his sink to even rinse it away enough to tell. Following with antibacterial soap hurts like a bitch but dog bites are known for causing infections and Jason does not wanna mess with one.

He dabs it all dry with a clean dust rag he has stashed in the hallway closet, not wanting to ruin one of his actual towels with blood. It happened enough already when he came home after patrol with injuries, he was down to two good towels that didn’t have unfortunate stains.

Then he plasters a good layer of antibacterial ointment on the whole mess and covers it with two large bandages.

He still can’t calm down and he’s not totally sure why. At first he thinks it was just the confrontation, the audacity of two assholes to sick their dog on him and Titus but it’s not just that. It’s the dog fights.

Nothing should surprise him anymore.

Jason grew up on the streets. He started fighting crime before he was even a teenager. He’d died, he’d come to life, he’s been raised from a Lazarus pit, been through training like no other, done and seen things that could barely be believed.

But somehow the depravity of the human race could still shock him.

He remembers the fighting pits. The fear, the pain, the terror and violence. Remembers the twists, the random handicaps to teach him how to keep going when he was on his last leg. Remembered never really knowing what would happen if he lost, just the vague dread that it would be worse than this, worse than the constant fights and the surprise attacks and the complete lack of human connection.

Jason thinks about those dogs and he can’t fucking let it go.

He finds Titus in the living room, just standing in front of the couch like he’s been waiting for Jason to come out, his tail hanging low but wagging slowly, like he’s unsure. He huffs out a low sigh and throws his head back, stretching his neck and wondering, for a split second, if any of the shit he does, that any of them do, in costume ever makes a damned difference.

“Hey boy.” He says quietly as he shuffles back into the living room and sinks down onto the couch. “I’m not mad at you. You can relax.” He scratches at his ears when Titus follows him, and the dog lays his big ol’ head in Jason’s lap and makes a happy little snuffling noise and inspite of the morning Jason feels the edge of his mouth twitch up.

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amilynh · 5 years

Note

Okay, let’s try this again. I’d love a DVD commentary on Leia and Hera’s conversation in “War Orphans.”

Excerpts included from “War Orphans.” [I hope you’re happy...this is longer than the fic itself... LOLOLOL!]

Before she even touched him, the princesspulled him away, holding more tightly if anything. “I’ve got him,”she snapped.

“I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t.”

I knew from the time I got the promptthat I desperately wanted to see Hera and Leia interact, and I used Jacen asthe catalyst, having Hera need to do a job and Leia casually volunteer to watchJacen (to everyone’s surprise and Hera’s embarrassment). I did a bunch of assembling ofinformation…that Hera is about 10 years older than Leia, that Leia (likeLuke) is only about 3 days younger than Ezra, and that neither of them has everlived in a time where the galaxy was not at war (even though there is a lull inopen hostilities on the Core Worlds after the rise of the Empire). We knew by the time I wrote this that Leiaand Hera were both on Yavin IV, that Hera flew at the Battle of Scarif, thatshe was likely to have been on Yavin again when Han and Luke returned from theDeath Star was a Super Compartmentalizing Leia, and that Hera flew against thesecond Death Star.

I thought quite a bit about how wellthese two women would know each other, and I decided that they would know eachother by name, reputation, and from planning meetings, but that, sadly, sincethey move in different circles–by social standing and, in particular, by rolein the Rebellion–they wouldn’t be friends.

I believe Leia was prickly from themoment she was captured on the Tantive IV until, well, after Han’s rescue fromTatooine. I think that was most noticeablein the period between her imprisonment on the Death Star and the evacuationfrom Hoth; I think Leia was just…existing then, and I think that the Leia weseen in ESB very much did not expect to survive the war. In many ways, I think she considered herselfa dead girl walking; she’d cheated death already (on the Death Star, by notbeing on Alderaan, in countless raids and on countless missions, in dodgyspacecraft….) and everyone she’d ever loved died in front of her eyes aftershe’d been relentlessly tortured. I thinkher prickliness is entirely a self-protection mechanism…and a side-effect ofher depression, survivor’s guilt, rage, grief, and single-minded vendetta againstthe Empire.

I liked having everyone surprised at hervolunteering to take care of Jacen because ALL of the above would lead anyoneto believe that the workaholic princess who is the Face of the Rebellionwould…be too busy, not like kids, have no capacity to deal with a child’semotions, etc. However, I believe Leiais 100% a pragmatist, and if Hera was more needed in the air than Leia was inCommand? She’d volunteer in aninstant. I do think, although she doesn’tthink this way about herself, that Leia believed in the need to keep in mindwhat they were fighting for: children,customs, loved ones. Leia only eschewedthose because hers are all already gone; she doesn’t HAVE anything left to livefor when she thinks about after the war (not yet…)…but Hera does, and Leiacan safeguard that.

Even so, she’s prickly with anyone whosees her “weaknesses,” and with anyone who questions her. Having her refuse to hand over Jacen, havingher refuse to accept comfort or sympathy from Hera…she can’t. She just absolutely cannot let anyone touchthe depths of her grief, not even kindly. She packed it all away before comforting Luke, before saying “We have notime for our sorrows,” looooong before this, and she’s not about to look intothat box herself; I believe she feels, at this point before ESB, that if sheever looked–really looked–at the gaping, yawning maw of grief that is thedestruction of Alderaan…she would never, in her mind, recover or climb backout of that chasm. Grief that great isbottomless and it’s daunting to look at. So, here, she has this child with her who fears losing his parents theway she has already lost hers, this child who never saw and will never seeAlderaan, this child who reasonably could die or lose his mother (as he’salready lost his father even before his birth), this child who is already makingmilitary plans because that is what his entire life is immersed in…and theutter trust in a child who will ASK Leia if his mommy is going to die(something Jacen can’t ask *Hera*…), and to whom she couldn’t bring herselfto give a harsh answer to (because, let’s face it, we’ve seen Leia with Wicket:she’s a sucker for kids), but to whom she can’t quite fully outright LIE…andyet…she might be wrong. And so thiskid melds into her, sobbing, and falls asleep on her **like she’s a realperson**…not a princess or a leader or a figurehead or a mascot…and all ofthose things she has tucked away…she can’t deny their realty as they press ather in the form of a warm little kid, treating her like the kind of real personSHE can no longer see herself as. And,of course, a kid who is openly grieving and crying over the very losses andfears that Leia tries to pretend she doesn’t notice in herself…that’s a toughsituation NOT to cry in. And I reallywanted Leia to dissolve into that emotional place she denies herself for thefirst three years of time in which we know her.

Then Hera comes in and sees her, sees theversion of her that NO ONE WILL SEE, DAMMIT…the version of her she tuckedaway and boxed up deep inside herself when Vader was rifling through hermind…and it is almost as much of an intrusion as the torture…or so it seemsin that first moment. And NO WAY is shegoing to hand off the child who is her one tether, her one lifeline in thatmoment, and the catalyst for her own emotional outlet: the ONE person who hasever treated her Just As Leia in the past 2+ years (without the weight of allthe knowledge of the Death Star and Alderaan and Who She Is and What She StandsFor…because Han treats her Just As Leia, too, but he does so as someone who onlyknows Post-Alderaan Leia)…because Jacen knows Bail is dead, that it wasbecause of the Empire, but, to him, it’s just a simple fact without the WEIGHTthat is attached for the adults. So Leiasnaps at the poor kid’s mother.

“It was no trouble. You hadimportant work to do.” Leia swallowed audibly. Breathed. Breathed again.She gestured to the scattered toys. “He’s going to be a great general,like his mother and grandfather. He planned an entire assault on that tooka ofhis.” Her voice grew less damp with each word.

“Princess, I can take him if…” Heraleft the offer hanging.

Leia tightened her grip on Jacen. “It’sLeia,” she said, voice even. Her small, gloved hand stroked Jacen’s back.“I got him to call me Leia. You should too.”

Then Leia starts to try and pull herselftogether: act like a Princess, act likea Diplomat, comment on someone’s skills, give an assessment, give orders. Shestill can’t let go of this child, but she can put her façade back together, onecool, calm compliment at a time. And,simultaneously, I want so much for Leia to have some *women* around her, so sheopens herself up, just a tiny bit, by encouraging a first-name relationshipbetween her and Hera. I think Leianeeded women around her so badly, and Hera, along with Shara Bey, are two ofthe few named women we knew were part of the Rebellion at this stage.

Leia peered around Jacen’s head thenleaned back. “Your son led his troops to victory over his tooka. Then heheld up three X-wings told me, ‘These ones died fighting the Empire. Like mydaddy.’”

“Why would you tell him that?” Leiademanded.

But…that leads straight back to the cruxof the matter…who this child is, what he knows, who this child’s parents are,and the reality of being a child who knows their parents might die at any timebecause, well, just like Leia and Hera, Jacen has already lost a parent to theEmpire, too. And Leia, who is AllPragmatism, oh, she Just Cannot with the idea that this child might know fartoo much, even though it IS pragmatic and realistic. She has this momentary break with her abilityto can because can’t they have just one thing that is not touched by theEmpire? Can’t there be SOMETHING that theEmpire hasn’t tainted?

“After he said his father died, hesaid, 'Like your daddy.’ Why would you tell him that?”

And to make things worse, Jacen knowsabout Bail…he knows SO MUCH MORE than he should, and Leia, used to being the subjectof gossip, can only assume that someone is talking about her EVEN WITH THISCHILD. So, as much as she admiresGeneral Syndulla’s piloting and leadership skills, part of the reason she won’trelinquish this child is that she now has serious reservations about the otherwoman’s judgement in terms of parenting skills. AND she feels that, not only has Hera seen her cry, seen her “weak,” butif Hera will gossip to her small child, what else might Hera tell about thiswhole day…Leia babysitting, Leia crying in a distant tunnel… And, of course, when Hera, who sees that thisis a manifestation of the Force, starts to say so, it sounds like the worstkind of assumption-making and victim-blaming, and Leia goes right back on thedefensive…and lets one of her most closely-held secrets slip in the process.

“I didn’t tell him anything,”Hera said. “It’s possible someone else did, but I think it was you.”

Leia turned, her eyes flashing and dangerous.“I told him nothing of the kind.”

“I don’t think you,” Hera paused,bit her lip. “I don’t think you told him on purpose.”

“You think I just accidentally let slipto a toddler that the Empire blew up my entire planet before my eyes?”

They’d made her watch, Hera realized. Becauseof course they did.

One of the questions that I like to askpeople for their head canons about is, “Who do you think knows that they madeLeia watch the destruction of Alderaan…and when do you think they learnedabout it?” In my head, it’s Han, Luke,and (probably) Carlist Rieekan, and (probably) Mon Mothma. I don’t actually think that Hera is on thatlist in canon (even my personal canon), but the idea of having her find outhere was tantalizing, and gave me the chance to talk more about how much thesetwo women, these two mothers (one current in the story and one, at the time ofthe story, a future mother), these two leaders…how MUCH they have in common, and,simultaneously, how differently those similarities have presented. This is particularly and additionallypoignant given that it’s possible that Jacen might have been among the Jedistudents slaughtered by a four- or five-years-younger Ben Solo, which wouldeven more horribly link their stories. But this line “because of course they did,” is one of my favorites. I like giving Hera the information notbecause Leia made a decision, but because she’s ripped open, and although she’sreconstructing her shields and walls…she hasn’t got them really working, andshe forgets to filter herself. I likehaving Hera’s stomach drop because she knows…she KNOWS how the Empire works;she’s been tortured by them too, as was Kanan, as have been others Hera knowsand loves…and yet, she was a) too preoccupied to think about this at the time(see: having a baby) and b) this is pretty low even for the Empire. But Hera, like most of the Rebellion, doesn’treally believe ANYTHING is too low for the Empire, and although she hadn’tactively thought about what must have happened, I know that she wouldimmediately recognize that OF COURSE.

Leia scoffed. “Luke doesn’t even knowthat. I never told him. And he says he can’t see into people like that.”

“Kanan could.”

Leia scoffed. “If Darth Vader couldn’tget something out of my head, I doubt–”

“You had to protect yourself fromVader.” Hera had no idea how Leia–a kid Ezra’s age–had managed that, butapparently she had, and without the Force. Hera shook away the thought. The wellof feeling there was too deep. Focus, Hera. “Not many people feel aneed to protect themselves from a 3-year-old.”

I wanted Leia to be on such a tear that shedidn’t even realize until after she blurted it out that she was giving more informationto Hera than she’d probably given even to High Command…and certainly morethan she speaks of. I want so much forLeia to have more people who KNOW how badly she’s been hurt, and who will talkwith her or listen to her or give her a place to crash, judgement-free, if sheneeds. I want her to have comfortingwomen around her…and for them to do that well…they need to know things thatLeia Organa Very Much Does Not Talk About. As I questioned how Jacen could get past Leia’s(impressive) shields, I realized AS Hera was about to say it that, well, ofCOURSE Leia wouldn’t be powering up Super Shields around a 3-year-old…and Ireally liked getting to let Hera say that, letting Hera remind Leia that thereis nothing WRONG with her, that different circumstances call for differentresponses.

I also liked lampshading Leiahaving the Force by having Hera (who, again, is FAR too concerned and FAR toopreoccupied to examine it closely…and FAR too impressed by this amazing youngwoman) think about how it seemed odd and even unlikely that Leia could have enduredthat kind of extended torture without giving something up AND without the Forceto use as part of her self-defense. Little does Hera know that Leia WAS using the Force…just unconsciously(another of my headcanons) and passively; if it were otherwise, Vader would havesensed it. There is nothing I love morethan Force-using Leia, so I had to have at least a hint at it, even though itdoesn’t fit in this story to have it be explored more fully…of course, this also allowed me to highlight how LITTLE they know about the Force. EACH of them has known next to NO ONE who is Force Sensitive and all of what they know about what is possible is from that limited, limited source.

Leia chuckled mirthlessly. “If you heardHigh Command, you might see otherwise. When Shara Bey’s son was born, you’dhave thought an acid lizard had got loose on base.”

This line was merely because I wanted tomake a joke about High Command being FREAKED OUT about having babies/childrenaround…even though it’s the reality of a rebellion this size; they MUST allowchildren in order for their parents to be able to be there…but it doesn’tmean that these folks who still remember and want to restore the Republic are*comfortable* with that. Of course, tothat end, I spent 2-3 hours searching for a critter that is canonical and thatI could use as an example of what they’d imagine might have got loose in thebase.

I really enjoyed having Leia’s hard-edgedvoice that could cut transparisteel, the description of Jacen asking if, sinceLeia’s mama died in the war, if that meant his mama would die; that is kidlogic, and I still like it. I likedhaving them end up crying together. Iliked having Leia point out what Hera feels she should have known…but whatJacen has been hiding from her…and I like that both women understand thatthere is no alternative, no way to honourably pretend they don’t know thesethings because, well, they are simply real, and no grief or fear from any ofthem or this toddler can change the fact that they are both utterly committedto this being the only option: to fight.

Leia’s jaw hardened. “Don’t you daredie.” Her eyes bored into Hera’s. That glare was sharp in a way thatreminded Hera of Kanan.

Hera nodded.

“Just…don’t you dare. I promised him Iwouldn’t let you die.”

“I always fly to come home.” It hadto be enough. It was all she had.

“Fly safe, General Syndulla. Don’tmake me a liar.”

And then I loved getting to drop anotherhint–that fiercely sharp otherworldly stare of Leia’s that reminds Hera ofKanan–about Leia’s Force sensitivity. ANYTHING I can do to play with that makes me happy. And I love Leia exacting a promise from Herathat Hera can no more keep than Leia can keep her promise to Jacen. Of course…there is a little more to thosepromises than there would be without the Force behind them…but it is just alittle when the Greater Good of the Force is flowing toward the destruction ofthe Empire. I know, of course, that Herasurvives the second Death Star assault, so I like planting this conversation,knowing that it will turn out well, but knowing that it is fraught for both ofthem.

I love this scene and this story somuch. Thank you for asking about it!

#meme #asked and answered #star wars #fanfic #my fic #my fanfic #meme me one more time baby #director commentary #commentary #leia organa #hera syndulla #lajulie24

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harrybridgers · 5 years

Text

Writing Self Evaluation 2018

i genuinely can’t believe it’s been another year and its time for another one of these things,,,,,,wth,,,,thanks so much to @pattern-pals and @iamasphodelknox for tagging me!!

All answers should be about works published in 2018. (Skip any questions you don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can answer them if they want.)

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: five

2. Word count posted for the year: 185,552 (!!!!!!!!)

3. List of works published this year:

purple rain

dissolve

when the city shines (like the sun at night)

moon river

shelter as we go

4. Fandoms I wrote for: one direction

5. Pairings: larry + zarry

6. Story with the most…

Kudos / Bookmarks: when the city shines

Comments: when the city shines/shelter as we go

7. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

100% shelter as we go. that thing took me over a year to plan and write and i genuinely think it’s the peak of my writing in this fandom so far. it’s also filled me with the confidence to continue writing stories in that style and really just fucking go for it in terms of tackling big themes and things i’ve been apprehensive about touching before. i’m so proud of the characters and the setting and the story - it feels like a real milestone for me! honourable mention to dissolve, too, i love that fic with all my heart, it’s such a treasure and i can’t wait to work on more zarry fic in future.

8. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

when the city shines. i genuinely would delete it if it wasn’t so popular...ugh. looking back and reading over it, it just doesn’t feel like me. i still like it and i’m glad others have loved it, it just sticks out like a store thumb amongst everything else i’ve posted in terms of the quality.

9. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

oooh no this is hard.....here have a few because i’m indecisive

from dissolve:

“I don’t want to go to New York,” Harry said. “I hate it there. I want to go with you.”

“We can go another time,” Zayn said. “We can go whenever you like.”

“Right now?” Harry said, so softly. He finally looked over, and the vulnerability there was a kick to Zayn’s chest, made him reach out without thinking, to press a warm kiss to Harry’s forehead in a way he hadn’t before, cupping his cheeks in his palms and just kissing him there over and over, down along his brows and his temples and along his chin, tasting the salt of tears, his heart threatening to break through his ribs.

“I’ve already booked the flights,” Zayn said, lips pressed to Harry’s warm cheek. “We’ll stay at the Ritz. We’ll cruise on the Seine and I’ll take pictures of you on film and I’ll get them developed right there in Paris. We can pin them up on the windows and smoke on the balcony and I’ll get up before sunrise to bring you fresh croissants for breakfast. I’ll wake you up with my mouth on your cock–”

“Perfect,” Harry said, breathless as he laughed and cried all at once.

“We’ll walk around for so long that everybody forgets who we are. We’ll walk around for so long we forget ourselves. Just a little couple walking around in a big city. I’ll write our names on a lock and pin it to that bridge. I’d swallow the fucking key if you asked me to, Harry.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, just that he couldn’t stop, that he felt frantic and light-headed and flushed with heat from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes, and Harry was staring at him with this look in his eyes. Zayn brushed away another stray tear and tried not to shake, tried not to think about the way he’d just called them a couple, the way Harry kept staring.

They weren’t a couple. They were friends. They were friends who kissed and fucked and fucked each other up.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, and his voice hiccups, fingers wrung together. “There’s no way I could ever understand what you went through, because I never even asked. There’s no excuses for anything. I can only say that I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t ask you if you were okay as often as I should have, sorry that I just let you drift away without holding on. I’m sorry I never said anything until it was too late. I was selfish, and I loved you, and I didn’t want you to leave me behind.”

“Harry, stop,” Zayn chokes out. He can’t look, can hardly breathe. I loved you. I loved you. I loved you.

“No,” Harry says, chin lifted. “You have to know, because I didn’t tell you back then and it ruined everything. This is me trying to fix it.”

“It can’t be fixed.”

“Then we throw it away and start again,” Harry says fiercely, eyes shining. “I’d throw everything out the fucking window if it meant I could touch you one more time.”

from shelter as we go:

It’s sterile and cold inside. When he flicks on the light, he freezes.

There’s a mirror hanging above the old basin, and he catches sight of himself before he can duck his eyes away to the faded shower curtain or the faded tiles, the faded bath-mat, the faded towels. He’s confronted instead with the faded image of a person he hardly knows anymore, that he hasn’t known for a very long time. There aren’t any mirrors in the other house, and he can’t remember the last time he saw himself in anything that wasn’t the disfiguring glaze of a window, some type of shaded reflection, but he’s faced with it now.

He lets the door fall shut behind him, then approaches the vanity slowly, regarding himself like a stranger.

The gauntness is what startles him most, the sharp hollows of his cheekbones, the tired, sunken circles beneath his eyes, the sickly shadows that cling to his jaw. There was a time, when he first shot up and started to grow, that he’d been broad and lanky. Now, his frame is slight, collar bones protruding, shoulders thin and sharper than he remembers. Everything about him seems frail, and he hates that, he hates it so much that his lips curl up when he stares at his reflection, at his greasy hair and the purple shadows, at the man he doesn’t recognize, a man who still feels like that boy who never got to grow up the right way, the boy who was tiny and clung to his mother’s fingers with a vice grip, the boy that suddenly wasn’t allowed to be a boy anymore.

“You’re good at that.”

Harry pauses, fingers still looped in the fine little string. When he glances over, Louis has shifted slightly onto his back, watching with hooded eyes.

“At what?” Harry says.

“Taking care of other people,” Louis says.

Harry holds his breath, and he doesn’t say anything in return, can’t. Instead, he pulls the blinds firmly closed and stares at the dusty pane, the way the lamp casts shadows, the dewy honey they’re stuck in.

“‘S funny,” Louis says, a breathless, broken chuckle. “When we do that, y’know, care so much about someone else that we stop giving a shit about ourselves.”

He sits forward and tucks his hands under his thighs, gaze lowered. “I feel like we all have this fire in our bellies when we’re kids, this passion to explore things and get obsessed with these fantastical ideas. And to keep carrying that fire, to cradle it and keep it from going out, it’s hard, y’know. And even if you keep it burning the candles got to melt away some time. Nobody ever shows you how to replace the wick.”

Harry thinks of his own little flame, snubbed out before he even got a chance to play with the fire. There’s something that makes him so inexplicably sad, picturing that puff of smoke, the moment it dawns that there’s nothing left to keep the chest warm. He can’t pinpoint it now, but it washes over him slowly, this realization that he couldn’t nurture that flame, that Louis did everything he could to try and keep his own alight. It feels like an ending point, this transcendence between the fuzzy innocence of everything childhood is supposed to be, and the strange, brutal truths that start to overlap into a life whenever the world deems it time.

“You have to understand,” Louis says, pulling back now, hands on Harry’s lapels. “Everything about this town exists in a time capsule. In one big cycle. Nothing changes. And the people that try and make changes, that start to drift out of this perfect circle that’s been made, there’s no room for them. I was one of those people, Harry. I still am, despite everything. I should have just stayed in my place.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry says, however naive it may be, however superfluous a thing it is to say. His own hands find Louis’ coat, the two of them holding on to each other. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“But I do,” Louis says, eyes shiny. “I always will.”

They stare wordlessly at each other. Cape Breton is waking behind them, the low curl of the swell flushing up the beach, children playing in the sand as they watch the silhouettes of the trawlers through the spring mist. All of that feels far away right now, every familiar thing Harry’s come to know about this place like a vague memory as he looks at the hurt in Louis’ eyes and feels this strange sense of understanding wash over him, that flush of anger and frustration fading to something he’s felt before but couldn’t put a finger on, that very first night at the bar, standing out in the cold snow and not being able to say a word.

and in lieu of spoiling things, for those who have read it, that entire last bar scene and confrontation between louis, sully, and fergus is hands down i think the best/my favourite thing i’ve ever written!!

10. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

oh there are always so many....i truly get the sweetest and most heartfelt comments, they make me cry. there are a few comments on shelter as we go in particular that touched my heart completely.....so thoughtful and lovely

11. A time when writing was really, really hard:

i fell into the hardest funk for the first half of the year. i was indecisive and uninspired with literally everything i did, i had so many wips i wanted to tear my hair out omg. then in the second half of the year, i was finishing my uni degree and honestly....was just so depressed lmao. i was in a terrible creative cycle and never wanted to get out of bed. 2018 has been the toughest mentally for me, it took a lot to get over certain things, and forcing myself to believe in my ideas and get a long fic done was no easy feat.

12. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

both fergus and sully from shelter as we go - they feel so layered and real to me even though they don’t have much actual scene presence within the story itself. they just kind of feel omnipresent to me, and the parts they’re involved in are, to me, the most important and symbolic parts of the fic itself. i’ve fallen in love with writing original characters thanks to those two.

as for a scene, it would have to be the bar fight, again from shelter as we go. i was unsure if i’d be able to pull that off in the way that i wanted it to feel, but i’m honestly so proud of that entire scene and everything that follows.

13. How did you grow as a writer this year:

i think i’ve found my place and style. obviously writing is always changing and you grow as you go, but i honestly feel like i’ve found this part of myself that is holistically who i want to be as a writer - i know what i want to say, what i want my work to feel like, what i want my characters to portray. writing and finishing shelter as we go opened up this whole new world of possibilities to me, as did writing dissolve. i just have so much passion inside me at the moment and i cannot wait to get through the wips i’ve got going.

14. How do you hope to grow next year:

the next larry wip i have is the most ambitious thing i’ve ever attempted, so i really hope i can grow in the same way i did with shelter as we go, bridging fanfiction with original fiction and just giving it my all!! and also to write more zarry because i feel like in that genre i have this whole new voice to explore

15. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer:

my harrie gc babies!!! particularly liz + nina......love all of u

16. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

not to be cliche but shelter as we go honestly became this like....physical embodiment of my mental state and just needing to get so much shit out of there. i always channel my personal feelings into my writing but that was a big one.

17. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

don’t attempt to write four 50k+ wips all at the same time. just don’t do it. 0/10 would recommend. side affects include poor mental stability and constant rage at the google docs app.

18. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting or finishing in the new year:

my new larry wip.....shits gonna be wild. also zarry because i love the angst

19. Tag writers whose answers you’d like to read:

im gonna taaaaaag @this-onegoes and @crossnecklace ily guys

#i know 2018 is officially OVER but ive been off the radar sooo #this is my contribution to the goodbye 2018 posts #answered #long post

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