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herohotline · 4 years

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We’ve Ran Into Eachother So Many Times But You Don’t Even Know My Name

Keigo Takami x Reader

A/N: I finally finished this :,/ It came out a lot longer than i intended HHGNGh

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal attempt- but that’s it, it’s a very fluffy story and that’s not the plot!

You liked a lot of things in life. You liked cats, desserts, and plants; music, dancing, and even though you hated heights, you loved airplanes. Tall buildings and their impending doom are one of the things that you just don’t agree with.

You’ve tried to quell this fear many times, and you’ve found ways around it. Every so often your friends convince you to ride the more scary roller coasters, you sit up on your apartment balcony and sit there with your music and plants as you stare down below- but you can only stomach a few seconds before you’re looking away in a fit of anxiety. You’ve even gone to therapy about it because you know that your fear of heights is linked to trauma.

You were barely a teenager when you had tried to off yourself. You were well past that phase, of course, but teen angst and the desire to end it all got the best of your young mind as you jumped off one of the tallest buildings you had access to. Thankfully, you survived, but the injuries hurt like hell and it left you with scars.

And a long-lasting fear that just won’t go away.

You suppose it's alright to have this fear- it just meant you were better. You want to be alive, and your fear was proof. But you were past that depressing teenage phase and you wanted to move on completely. It just wasn’t fair to be held back like this in your opinion.

Villains, though? You weren’t scared of villains. Well, you were reasonably scared- as you wanted to live, and they could possibly end that- but you weren’t scared scared. That’s why when there was a sudden villain attack in the mall, busting the ceiling open and trapping civilians and yourself under the damage, you weren’t scared. You kept a level head and you began counting heads.

The area you were stuck under was fairly accessible. Everyone was still standing, though some had fallen over in shock, but everyone was mostly fine. The entrance had been blocked off and some pillars broke through the small shop, but that was it. You prayed that no one was stuck under the damage somewhere else.

“There’s seven of us here,” you talk to the group, gathering the things you dropped off the floor. “We should stick together and hide in one place until the heroes get here.”

No one disagrees with you. They follow you like lost sheep as you all pile behind the cash register counter and huddle. After that, it’s a waiting game, silent beside the sound of scared breathes and quiet weeping so that the villains don’t find you.

The one who has it worse is the little girl. She’s the one crying, of course, and the woman who is assumingly her mother surrounds the child in her arms as she coos in her ear. The crying makes you uncomfortable, to be honest, so you remember the chocolate bar in your bag and hand it to her with a tense smile. The mother looks at you thankfully while it distracts the child from crying.

It truly doesn’t take the heroes a long time to find their way in the mall and cuff the villains before sending them off in police cars. That’s when damage control and civilian rescue starts- it startles all of you when the wall blocking the entrance is busted through, but bright red wings quell the fear.

It’s Hawks.

“Anyone need a ride?” He asks and you quickly stand along with the other civilians. You gently lead the mother and child his way and he grins, immediately conversing with the little girl and making her giggle before he picks them both up and flies off. Other heroes begin to make their way inside with blankets and medical gear, slowly leading all of you outside the building where it’s safe and the ambulance is waiting.

As you make your way outside, you watch as Hawks lands from his flight, two other civilians in his hold as he drops them off and then immediately sets off again, his ruby-red wings basically shining as he speeds away. You admire his tenacity and strength- how many people had he gotten out in the time of you walking from the shop to outside?

Watching him fly back again with more people than last time, you quietly thank whatever God exists that you didn’t get hurt in the wreck. You might be able to handle a broken leg or arm- but to fly in the air? Even if it was the only chance of surviving… you don’t think you’d be able to stomach it.

You leave the mall as alone and unscathed as you came.

---

The next time you see Hawks, it’s not in a life or death situation. But you still don’t talk to him- it’s really just a chance sighting at most. He had simply walked into the noodle house you frequent, picked up his order, and left with a flap of his wings, taking off into the night sky.

A part of you wonders what that’s like. To always be in the air- you suppose it’s not scary for him. But even the thought of having extra appendages seems difficult and you wonder how he learned to fly.

Was it the same as birds? Did his mother push him off a ledge one day and hope for the best? You sure hope not.

“Hey, Amakuza,” you address the cook who you were on decent terms with due to your consistent presence in his shop. “What’d the big guy order?”

Amakuza shrugs. “Your favorite, actually. Extra spicy.” He seems uninterested.

You suppose it’s not that interesting- it’s just food. But now you know that the pro-hero Hawks has good taste, though you’re unsure why you even wanted that information in the first place.

---

Your third encounter with Hawks is the one you hate the most- the one you’re most ashamed of.

He was just doing the right thing. There was construction on your way to work- apparently, they were working on the road. This didn’t concern you as you didn’t own a car, so you kept walking a safe distance away. But someone’s quirk somehow went haywire, and the drilling was loud and harsh before the road broke entirely and pieces were sent flying everywhere. The fear didn’t even register yet as it happened so fast- you were aware there was a stray slab of concrete headed your way, but before it even hit you, you were sent flying in the air.

That’s when the fear came to you, so strongly it knocked the air out of your lungs.

“That was close!” The man holding you- the man you rescued you- whistles low and casual as he keeps you up in the air.

“Let me down,” you say as soon as you can find your words. Body shaking like a leaf, you desperately grab onto his clothes- you actually look down and you can’t believe he flew you up so high. “Let me- let me down. Let me down!”

You’re so frightened that you don’t even realize you’re crying. Snot runs down your nose and tears spread across your cheeks and drip off your chin.

“Hey- are you alright? Did you get hit?”

“Let me down!” You scream, and then you start struggling against him. You’ll punch, kick, cry- you’ll do whatever you need to do to get back on the ground. “Let me down! Let me down!”

Your vision blurs with red, and suddenly you’re sitting on the broken concrete with red wings surrounding you and a blonde man looking concerned as he hovers over you. Breathing comes out short and hurried, your body still shaking so hard that it feels like you’re vibrating. The man with red wings- Hawks, you’d later realize once your head was put together- continues to hover and talk to you. You can hear the words, but they don’t process at all. He’s probably saying the things they always do- breathe, you’re okay, breathe.

Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst out of your chest as you scramble to your feet, putting a good amount of distance between you and the man who saved you. “Stay- stay away from me,” you demand as you look at him, your face scared and distraught. You continue to back away from him as if he were a threat. “Stay away from me!” And then you turn your back to him, fear driving your movements as you quickly leave the scene and scurry off to work.

People eye you the entire way. They either saw what happened or saw that you were crying in public which is already eye-catching enough, but you ignored them even as you entered your work building. Only when you locked yourself in a private bathroom did you find peace.

And you felt fucking awful, so you suppose it wasn’t peace that you found. Instead, it was a heavy, guilty heart as you were forced to go on with your day and work in a crowded office until you could retreat home, tail between your legs.

You just wish you could tell the hero that you didn’t mean it.

---

How do you tell someone you have absolutely no access to that you’re sorry?

Apparently, you go to his agency building and just hope for the best. That’s the conclusion you came to, anyway, as you walk there the next morning- being extra cautious around construction this time- with a pot in your hands.

Walking inside the building alone was anxiety-inducing. Slowly making your way to the front desk was worse. And then you had to explain yourself to the receptionist who eyed you and your plant with- assumingly- heavy judgment.

“I… um, I wanted to drop this off. For… Hawks.” You place the potted aloe vera plant down on the receptionist’s desk gently. You don’t even know if you can do this, technically, but you might as well try.

“A plant?” The woman asks.

“Yes. It’s an apology gift.” Your fingers drum on the desk. “Do you think you’d be able to make sure it gets to him?”

The woman looks unsure as she reaches forward, picking up the pot and eyeing it. She gives you a guilty look as she sets it beside her. “I’ll try. But Hawks can be rather flighty… I can’t assure you he’ll get it, or even take care of it.”

“That’s okay, I figured that. If he ever gets it… just let him know it’s from someone who is very sorry. Thank you in advance,” you bow respectfully at the receptionist before quickly leaving the building. You feel guilty for leaving her with your apology- but it’s too soon to come face-to-face with someone you yelled at. The entire walk back home you just hope that the poor plant lasts at least two months before he inevitably kills it- either because he never got it, or because he hates you.

An aloe vera plant is admittedly easy to take care of. You only water it once every three weeks or so, and it doesn’t need much sunlight. You picked it out from your collection of plants specifically because you thought it was best for someone like Hawks. Minimal care was required, it was nice and green, and if he really took care of it he could make use of its soothing gel.

You also took its meaning into mind. An aloe vera is a healing plant- as a gift, it means a wish for good health, beauty, and protection. You figure after your childish tantrum, you could at least hope he lives a healthy life.

But as you sit at home, you think it’s silly that you even bothered. Hawks probably doesn’t even want it- and the meaning of it would be lost on him. You could have at least left a card attached, but you were too chicken shit to do it.

At least you tried.

---

Ever since your last encounter with Hawks, you’ve tried harder to kick your fear in the teeth. Nearly every evening, you go up the fire escape of your building until you’re on the roof and staring at the world below. You force yourself to last at least five minutes or more before you run away. It’s easier to manage once the sun has left and the moon shines instead- in the darkness, it’s harder to see what you’re so afraid of.

It’s still there, but it’s better.

Fitting that on one of those nights you head to the top of your building is when you meet the number one hero again.

It’s a chance meeting, just like the rest. You think maybe he’s on patrol when you see him fly by- or maybe he was getting dinner, but he notices you somehow and lands on your building.

There’s a considerable amount of distance between you.

“What’s someone like you doing up here so late?” He grins- he always does. The one time you saw him without a smile was when he was trying to help you.

“Trying to overcome my fears,” you tell him honestly because he deserves at least that much. “I’m… sorry about before. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you.”

He waves his hand in dismissal, walking a bit closer to you. “Ah, it’s fine. You were scared- that’s what people do when they’re scared.”

“Still,” you frown, “I was harsh on you. I mean it when I’m sorry. I don’t like that I lost control of myself like that.”

“That’s fair,” Hawks agrees and puts his hands behind his back, the smile still coy on his face. “But you’re already forgiven. I enjoyed the plant.”

Oh. Your eyes widen in surprise, “really?” You ask.

“It wasn’t exactly hard figuring out who it was from. No one ever apologizes to me.”

“Is that because you never do anything wrong, or you’re surrounded by stubborn people?”

Hawks just hums in reply, standing next to you now as he looks up at the sky. His large wings twitch subconsciously and your eyes are drawn to them- they’re a beautiful skeptical so you’re sure he gets stared at all the time. “If you have somewhere to plant it…” You disrupt the silence softly, your feet shuffling. “The aloe vera will fully grow, and you can use its gel. It’s not really much, but it’s good to keep the skin young and for sunburns.”

The hero eyes you curiously, his smirk making you a little nervous before he looks back to the sky. “You’re a lot calmer than when we first met.”

“That’s not the first time we met,” you argue and his eyebrows lift up in surprise.

“It wasn’t?”

“No. You saved me and a few others from when the downtown mall got intruded by villains… And you also came by my favorite ramen shop, but you left as quickly as you came. So last time wasn’t the first, but the third,” you shrug, “if you want to be technical about it.”

“I’m not sure I enjoy technicalities,” Hawks laughs. “They’re too confusing to be caught up with.”

“That’s fair,” you nod.

The air is a little awkward- at least, it is for you- now that you both have nothing to talk about. You’re glad you got to apologize to him, but now you realize you know nothing about him. It’s late enough that you should probably go to bed anyway, so rather hastily you tell him that you’re going. He looks surprised as you climb down the fire escape but he says nothing other than ‘see you later’ before flying off. You halt mid-step down the ladder as you can’t help but watch- but soon he’s out of sight.

It’s amazing how fast he is. But it’s time for bed so you let out a shaky sigh as you continue your way down to the patio of your apartment.

---

The fifth time you meet Hawks, he’s the one who comes to you. You’re relaxing on your patio with a book in your hands and a stray cat that likes to hang out laying in the sunbeams when Hawks comes bustling through rather suddenly. You gasp in shock and the cat quickly scrambles away, and several of your potted plants fall off the patio.

“Hawks!” You cry, already hovering over the fence as you watch your plants fall to the concrete. A potted plant falling from such a height is already dangerous- what if it hit somebody?

But also, they were expensive and you cared about your plants very much, so you couldn’t help but sit still in shock as you watch them fall to their death. Perhaps Hawks realized the urgency in your voice- maybe he cared, because before they do, Hawks shoots down and grabs all three of the pots before they hit anyone or break on the ground.

“Sorry about that!” He apologizes as he makes his way back on your patio, a lot less rushed as he carefully holds the plants. You quickly pick them up and set them back down in their respective spots, inspecting the leaves for any damage. “You have quite the collection, huh?” Hawks looks around your tiny patio, stepping carefully around your ‘collection’. You absentmindedly hum, still looking at the Coleus’ leaves. A few of the stems had come off, but it’s mostly fine.

“It’s even worse inside,” you tell him. Hawks whistles as he looks through the glass doors and into your apartment.

“No kidding!”

“So, what are you doing here? Would you like to destroy more of my plants?” You wouldn’t lie- you’re a little peeved that they all almost died. At least he was fast enough to pick them up, but still.

Hawks makes a weird sound from his throat as he winces, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. “I really didn’t mean to. I actually came to ask about the aloe vera.”

You purse your lips, sitting back down on your lawnchair you placed out on the patio when you first moved in. “It’s fine. What would you like to know?”

Why didn’t he just look it up? You can’t help but wonder.

“When should I water it?”

“Every three weeks.”

“How much sun does it need?”

“Six to eight hours. Place it next to a window or in a backyard.”

“Does it need… vitamins?”

“Hawks, why are you asking me these things?” You interrupt his little quiz with a sigh. The stray cat from before finally comes back, eyeing the hero cautiously before laying down next to your feet. You pet it on the head softly with a frown. “You didn’t need to come all the way here for some basic plant care questions. What do you really want?”

Hawks clicks his tongue. “You caught me,” he says. “I really wanted to get to know you, that’s all.”

“Get to know me or get to know why I’m afraid of heights?”

He shrugs, that all too familiar smile coming back on his face. He finally sits down on the only other chair available, his wings spreading behind him before folding up. “Well, I wouldn’t complain if it was brought up.”

“Are you always known for being so crude?” You raise an eyebrow at him. So far, you’re not exactly impressed with his behavior. From a distance Hawks is charming, but right in front of you? Sure, he’s handsome, but he’s a bit blunt. A lot blunt.

“I am the man who’s a bit too fast, didn’t you know?” Hawks leans back in his seat, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together atop his knee. “So- why are you afraid of heights?”

You roll your eyes. “Last I checked, I didn’t sign up for a therapy session. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I do not.” He says simply, and you don’t believe him.

“What about- I don’t know- the hundreds of villains out there?” The stray cat eventually hops on your lap, making himself comfortable while keeping a keen eye on the hero in front of you. He probably doesn’t like him- and you’re pretty sure you feel the same way.

“They’ll be taken care of. Right now I’d like to relax- I want to relax most of the time. Indulge me.”

You don’t see any real reason why you should, but Hawks is proving to be a persistent insect, so you sigh and give in. “I jumped off a building as a teenager. Now I associate heights with death. It’s like a trigger.” If he’s going to be blunt, you might as well do the same. You pet the cat’s back to soothe your agitated nerves and give him a look. “I’m mostly fine now. But you caught me by surprise that one time, which is why I reacted the way I did. Are you satisfied?”

He nods. “What’s your name?” He asks rather suddenly- and that’s when you realize that yeah, he doesn’t even know your name.

You slowly give it to him. You’re uncertain why he’d want it- but it gives you a feeling that it’s a sign he won’t be leaving you alone any time soon.

“Call me Takami. I’m sick of the hero name, anyway,” The now-named Takami inspects some of your potted plants that surround him. “Would you like to fly with me?”

His question makes you laugh in surprise. “Why?” You ask him. You could ask him this question a thousand times, really.

Why is he here? Why is he interested? Why does he care?

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to help?” Takami smiles again, his eyes gleaming beneath his visor.

“Why would you want to?” You’ve had enough. Picking up the cat, you gently place him down on the patio floor before sitting upright, elbows on your thighs as you stare the hero down. “I’m serious. I told you my thing, now tell me yours. Why do you bother?”

He leans forward as well and your bare toes touch the front of his boots. “I like your personality,” Takami starts, “and I’m being selfish with you. I’d like to have someone to talk to outside of the hero stuff. So I figure if I’m being selfish-“ he reaches forward and suddenly pinches your cheek, making you jolt back with an angry look. The hero grins. “I might as well help you out while I do it. And maybe I can learn more about plants or farming or whatever, too.”

You stare at him silently as you rub your sore cheek. “It’s not farming,” you grumble under your breath. Your shoulders sag in defeat as you finally break away from Takami’s gaze and your eyes fall to the floor. It’s quiet for another moment before you sigh, lips pursed. “Fine. But I’m gonna get dressed first- I don’t want my eyes to fall out from wind pressure.”

Takami hops up from his seat, his expression somehow even brighter than before with his hands on his hips. “Great! I’ll wait here.”

You groan in acknowledgment as you open your glass door and step inside your apartment- but you only make it a short distance before you come back outside. Without warning Takami, you throw a book in his direction and he easily catches it, his eyebrows raised.

“It’s a plant dictionary. I’m only gonna let you do this if you can tell me the name of three plants on my patio.” You think that’s fair enough. “You up for that?”

He's already grinning, flipping the book open. “Fuck yeah,” he says. You laugh under your breath and finally go to your room to get dressed. It’s amazing how his charm comes back full force as he stands on your patio, eagerly looking up and down from your book and muttering under his breath.

You hum. Takami is handsome, and apparently, he’s lonely, too. You suppose his offer is a mutually beneficial one- so you quickly get bundled up and find some cheap swimming goggles you bought forever ago. Honestly, you could also use a friend.

When you come back out onto the patio, Takami bursts out laughing at just the sight of you. You ignore him and put your hands on your hips, feeling confident. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” Takami giggles and snorts, placing the book on a miniature table. “You’ll get way too hot. Lose the snow boots, first of all. Some sneakers will be fine.”

“What if they fly off?!”

“I’m not- I’m taking you in the air, I’m not flying you full speed!” He exclaims and your shoulders sag.

“Oh. Right.”

He laughs hysterically again as you take off your boots and snow hat, along with several hoodies and sweaters. As you take off your very-many layers and toss them inside the house, you ask, “what about the plants?”

“Right,” he says, his knuckles tapping on the book he just read confidently. “There’s a Coleus, a spider plant... And a succulent,” he points at each plant as he speaks. The succulent was probably the easiest one, so you feel like that one shouldn’t count, but you keep quiet.

“Good job, you’ve won. Am I ready to go?” You think you’re finally suitable for flying- down to a single hoodie with a jacket over it, a pair of jeans and some sneakers laced up as tight as you could get them.

Takami grins, giving you the ‘ok’ sign with his hand. “Perfect,” he says. He gives you exactly 0 seconds to prepare before he picks you up, his speed suddenly showing as you’re suddenly being carried- his hands under your knees and wrapped around your back. “Okay, you ready?” He steps on top of your little fence surrounding the patio, looking down at you.

You bite your lip, looking down below. He shakes you in his arms- “hey, look at me.” You do so, nervously biting your lip even harder. “Are you ready?” Takami asks again, voice a little softer.

With a big breath, you exhale and try to relax. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I’m ready.”

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blogsupitssam · 4 years

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Life After Us: The Heir Apparent

Chapter 5: “Hold You When Things Go Wrong”

Note: So since Bloodbound has ended, @drinkwinebymeasure and I be making our own continuation of BB4 whether or not it will ever come back or not. We all know MC and Kamilah are now married and living together in tapestry scene. Now what will be in store for the couple along with moving into a new era? What will they do next? What's gonna happen for the world?

Also Apologies for taking so long, we been having issues to go through and hard times, especially COVID.

If you haven’t read last chapter(s):

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

(Let me or @drinkwinebymeasure if you want to be tagged)

Tag: @kamilah-the-bloodqueen @niceangel890

A month before due date

Kamilah suggests firmly, “I should stay home.”

"Kamilah, you do NOT need to stay with me all the time!" Samantha was adamant in her protests when insisted that she needs to stay home.

"Yes, I do. Your due date is almost here and the baby could be born at any time now. Who is going to take you to the hospital when it is time?" Already her protectiveness and anxiety are clear in Kamilah’s voice.

Samantha sighed, "I can take care of myself! There’s no more morning sickness at least."

"Not if you are in labor," Kamilah would not back down, trying to shut down the argument. Samantha was so stubborn sometimes, but knew she came by it honestly and had been just as stubborn.

Samantha threw her hands up in exasperation. Just because she was pregnant did not mean she could not take care of herself. Even Kamilah had been pushing for Samantha to have Adrian or Lily stay with her.

"Kamilah, my due date is for almost a several weeks; are you really going to stay for the whole time? You should go to work to help provide more and make a living for the children." Samantha again tried to get her Kamilah to be reasonable.

"Samantha, I was with you at the doctor appointment. I heard her say that you could give birth sooner than the due date and a chance that you could not carry the babies to full term. I am here and I am not leaving until after the twins are born. No more arguments, please!" The Eyptian Vampire felt as though she was arguing with a stubborn child.

" I’ll be fine," Samantha replied and smiled weakly at her wife. She made eye contact, knowing that would be enough for Kamilah to back off from any questioning. Just then, the baby moved and Samantha let out a small gasp as she felt the kick in the ribs.

Kamilah's eyes widened for a second and stepped forward, “Samantha ...?”

"That was not nothing, Kamilah," Samantha admonished. Samantha takes her wife's hand and places it on her abdomen.

Kamilah felt the next few kicks and smiled at Samantha. "Oh, the baby is moving again. Does it hurt?"

"Only when it kicks me in the ribs or spine," Samantha smiled back, jokingly even though technically that’s not exactly true.

The only response Samantha gets is Kamilah’s eyes rolling. The Vampire Bloodkeeper sighs and kisses her wife’s lips and hugs the older vampire, effectively shutting down the argument for the night. Wanting to not stress out about the babies and just be together.

Samantha went back to their room and prepared herself for bed. As she lay on the sheets, tears softly rolled down her face. Samantha knew that her body had been through hell, and that she had been told that she could not get pregnant in the subsequent visits. From her trauma, from the horrors she had endured in the past, wanting to find peace and knowing being with Kamilah and now having children has brought her to a life of happiness.

Samantha shook her head, trying to banish the memories and thoughts. Enough of the past, reliving it would not change the decisions she had made. She sat up as a small cramp crossed her abdomen. Oh, god! Every cramp, every small pain in her abdomen, every flutter inside her had nearly sent her into panic mode. She glanced down at her swollen belly and stood up slowly. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the distinct outline of a tiny foot just below her navel. One of the babies was stretching out and pushing against her abdominal wall was the source of the cramp.

Several days later

Samantha placed Kamilah’s plates on the table before suddenly wincing and grabbing her side with a heavy breath. Her wife was instantly at her side, with concern on her face. “Samantha?”

“I’m… f-fine,” the young bloodkeeper breathed. She was hunched over slightly, breathing deeply. Her hand rubbed roughly into her side.

“You’re not,” Kamilah mumbled under her breath, reaching for her.

Samantha lifted her hand to stop her with a weak smile, “I just need to lie down… I’m fine, hun.”

“Saman-”

“Trust me,” she sighed. She turned slowly and waddled from the room to go lie on the couch. Kamilah watches her leave with a frown.

It was clear Samantha was trying to downplay her feelings since her third trimester of the pregnancy. Throughout this process, and bloodkeeper had done so, she minimizes how uncomfortable or in pain she was for Kamilah’s sake. She knew her wife was over protective and she worries too much, due to seeing how hard she struggles, making her look fragile and weak.

Kamilah let out a slight huff and finished the table, moving in slower to ensure Samantha had some time to rest before she bombarded her with questions about what had happened.

The Vampire Queen made her way into the living room, seeing her wife’s round frame laying on the couch. Her eyes were closed as her hands slowly circled her stomach. Samantha looked beautiful; her eyelids shimmers, her lips natural and slightly pouted, her hair parted down the middle with soft waves rolling over her shoulders. Gorgeous.

“My love, are you okay?” Kamilah asked, kneeling next to her resting wife.

Samantha’s eyes fluttered open and looked over at her as a lazy smile grew on her lips, “I’m okay, thank you babe.”

“What happened?”

The Bloodkeeper let out a slight sigh, “The boys was simply moving around. I believe they were ecstatic at the thought of dinner.” Samantha chuckled softly, but Kamilah didn’t share her laughs.

“Did they hurt you?” Kamilah asked. She, of course, wasn’t mad at her sons for what happened. She was more worried; babies were known to break ribs or mess up internal organs, especially most likely having traits of a vampire and that was dangerous for both mother and child.

Samantha frowned, “Kamilah-”

“Samantha, please. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Kamilah pleaded; she grabbed her wife’s hand and brought it to her lips in a short peck before wrapping it in both of her own hands and pulling it into her chest. “Please.”

“I’m sorry… You shouldn’t have to beg to get me to answer you. I am trying. I swear to you, my Queen,” Samantha responded. She rubbed her bump some more, at already 8 months it was definitely noticeable. “Yes, they kicked me and yes, it hurt. They aimed right into my ribs.”

Kamilah let go of the breath she had been holding, “Does it still hurt?”

“No, I’m fine now.” Kamilah eyed her and Samantha laughed lowly, “I promise you. It hurt when it happened, but the pain dulled and is gone now.”

Kamilah ran a hand through Samantha’s hair, a small smile on her lips. “Thanks for telling me, Sam. You can’t downplay all of it.”

“I know, Hun. I will not next time.”

The Egyptian vampire pecked her lips before shifting down her body to be near her round abdomen, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with our princes.”

“Really? Aren’t I your princess?” Samantha laughed joking, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Well if we had a daughter I would, but I say it’s better to address you as My Queen, or…. Perhaps My goddess, My love.”

All that the younger vampire did was roll her eyes with a forming smirk on her.

“Hello, my sons. I’m so happy you’re moving around in there, knowing you’re so strong like the warriors you are, but please for your mother’s sake, be gentle–” she began.

Samantha let out a loud huff, cutting her off. “Kamilah, you’re riling him up. He’s kicking.”

“Already a rule breaker,” Kamilah sighed with a slight smirk. “Where is he kicking?” Samantha rested her hand on the spot which was on her lower right side and Kamilah was thankful it was away from her ribs this time. The brunette rubbed the spot and her wife hummed in content, her eyes closing. Kamilah smiled at the little nudges that hit her palm and kept her soothing touches going.

“They love your voice,” Samantha murmured. “Always moving around when you talk.”

“Should I stop?” Kamilah asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Oh god, no,” the bloodkeeper retorted, her eyes still closed. “I think they may be settling down now.”

Kamilah nodded, she felt zero kicks against her hand. “Guess my circles put them to sleep?”

“You’re about to put me to sleep as well,” Samantha replied, opening one eye to look at her with a slight grin.

“Sorry, babe. We have dinner to get to,” Kamilah chuckled, standing up from her crouched position.

Samantha smiled up at her and held out her hand, “Would you please help me up?”

“Of course my love,” Kamilah replied, helping her wife to her feet gently and pulling her into a warm hug. Samantha kissed her chin and settled into her embrace, her bump not allowing her to get as close as she liked. “Wait… is something burning?”

“Oh God!” Samantha yelped, ripping out of her wife’s embrace to rush to the kitchen.

They ended up getting takeout due to the horribly burnt meal they had slaved over all day and all of a sudden Samantha is craving something else. Despite another one of their dates going haywire, they were happy.

Later that night

The couple lay together; Samantha was laying on her left side, one of the few positions she was comfortable in. Her brown eyes never left her wife's face. Kamilah sat up in bed, her laptop on her lap as she typed away, preparing the schedule for an upcoming meeting. Samantha continued to look at her lovingly as a hand rubbed Kamilah’s thigh soothingly under the covers.

Kamilah’s once serious and concentrated face cracked a small smile and she looked down at her wife. “You’re staring, babe. Something wrong? I was just scheduling for my incoming meeting.”

“Nothing at all. You’re just beautiful and I love you. I feel the luckiest woman ever.”

“I love you too, but I was gonna say you’re the beautiful one and I’m the lucky one.”

Samantha smiled brightly at her comment, “I haven’t been feeling beautiful as of late, so thank you for still thinking so.”

“What?” Kamilah questioned, her face filling with concern. She closed her laptop and set it on her nightstand.

The young vampire shrugged, pulling the covers up around her more. “This pregnancy has not done much for my self confidence, especially the past few weeks. The swelling, the stretch marks, the added weight everywhere. I just don’t recognize my body anymore, but I hope i’ll be able to be thin again. I’m so thankful for it and for the babies, but I feel less than beautiful, Honey.”

Kamilah listened to her wife, quietly absorbing her words. The brunette knew this pregnancy had been far from a cake walk physically and emotionally, but didn’t think of the mental toll it could take as well. Samantha’s body had changed a lot and Kamilah could see why she was feeling insecure in her appearance.

“You’re stunning, my queen. Everything about you then and now is beautiful. I’m really sorry that you don’t think you are right now, but please believe me when I tell you that every piece of you whether it not be the same size, or is swollen, or covered in stretch marks is beautiful. I love you, Samantha.”

The bloodkeeper looked at her wife with shining eyes, “Thank you.”

The Egyptian Vampire wasn’t done though; she smothered her wife’s face in soft kisses, making her giggle. She kissed her forehead, “God you’re the most beautiful flower.” Kamilah then moved her energy to her wife’s lips, “You’re so perfect to me, god.”The senior vampire breathed, capturing them in another love filled kiss. Samantha accepted every kiss with a wide smile and a laugh, feeling truly comforted by every caress of Kamilah’s lips to her skin. Her wife always knew how to make her feel beautiful and loved, even when her own mind got the better of her.

“I love you, Kamilah.”

“And I love you too. You’re so beautiful.”

“You make me feel beautiful, inside and out.”

“Because you are beautiful, inside and out,” Kamilah replied, tucking Samantha’s hair behind her ear, kissing her tenderly.

Samantha chuckled at her wife softly, placing another kiss to her lips. “You’re still so adorable, even after all this time.”

Kamilah smiled broadly, cuddling into her wife, “And I’ll be for you for many centuries to come.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Samantha sighed dreamily, holding onto her wife.

“I don’t know what I would do without you either, I am forever your Queen,” Kamilah replied, kissing her cheek. The wives held onto each other for a long while, still enjoying the feeling of each other’s skin. Their close proximity was a little cramped due to Samantha’s bump, but they couldn’t wait to have their sons join in on their cuddle time.

Next Day

“Thanks for hanging out with me Lily. It’s been a bit lonely since Kamilah has to stay in Ahmanet longer than usual today.”

“It’s all good Bestie. I was missing you so much. How could I say no.”

After an hour and a half of watching some TV shows they could find on Netflix, "I'm going to go to that restaurant near here and get us some dessert," Lily said before readying herself to leave."Are you sure you will be ok?" she asked.

"Of course, it wouldn’t take you too long anyways," Samantha responds with a nod, “Besides, I’m still really tired, I don’t feel like walking right now.”

Lily nods, “Ok, I'll just take 10 minutes.” The purple hair vampire say before closing the door behind her.

Samantha felt herself beginning to nod off for what has felt like more than 10 minutes when whispers outside her door caught her attention. Quietly getting off the couch and walking that way, she stopped when he could understand the whispers. "I swear, she just left like 15 minutes ago. We'll break in, take the bloodkeeper and leave. Piece of cake."

Samantha immediately bolted through the door while holding a hand on her pregnant belly. Desperately looking around, she had no other idea, but with seconds she had grabbed one of the hidden daggers that she kept and was gifted from her wife. There was nowhere to take cover, and no chance in a fight against more than one person if she waited for them and due to her condition.

Taking a breath with no other choice of trying to protect herself and her unborn children inside her as she closes her eyes for a second before her dark eyes turn bleeding red. She brings up her free hand, remembering her training from Kano, she readies herself with a psychic blast in her palm.

Right when the first person kicks the door open, she sees a woman dressed in black fatigues with a mask covering her face, a sword in hand and Samantha did not hesitate to throw the psychic blast, throwing the figure back, hitting a wall that formed cracks from the impact.

Two more come in, but not before the bloodkeeper uses her telekinesis, moving several objects to hit them.. They would be hesitant now, and that would hopefully buy Samantha the time she needed as she quickly gets her phone to call Kamilah.

When another figure comes in, she has a crossbow and points it at her, but the bolt was stopped before it even flew halfway by the telekinesis while quickly reaching out to get her phone with the adrenaline, trying to dial the number as fast as possible.

As she holds the phone up to her ear, she hears stomps as the figure she was just dealing with trying to resist the psychic push against her, getting closer.

When suddenly, Samantha starts to feel a very sharp pain in her stomach, “No…. No.. Not.. Now!” Clenching her jaw, her teeth grinding.

“SUrrender or else. Don’t… Make this difficult Bitch!” The enemy finally says something.

Samantha’s energy feels like she’s about to shut down. Her eyes start to blur, her head starts to spin, the arm she uses to do her telekinesis against the figure lowers down slowly while her other hand on her stomach.

Please be strong for me babies, just a little longer…

Her body falls onto her knees, but she’s trying to keep herself up from falling all the way down.

Right when her telekinesis weakens the enemy figures that she has the chance before her eyes widen open suddenly, a bolt pierce through from the back of her forehead.

The Young Bloodkeeper eyes fluttering close, about to fall on the ground before she feels a pair of arms stop her from falling and a familiar voice saying her name ”Samantha!” that she could barely hear as darkness covers her vision to black.

#mc x kamilah #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #lily spencer #blogsupitssamfanfics #adrian raines #BloodBound #bloodbound mc #bloodbound fanfic

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Communication Issues (AT:TTSIMBCMEOAYSFIL)- Chapter Two

Ao3, MasterPost, Chapter One, Chapter Three

Relationships: (eventual) Romantic Analogince

I’m finally back from my impromptu hiatus!!! My laptop, like, just fuckin broke... but now I’ve got a new one so it’s okay!!! And the first thing I did with it was make these little characters Hurt.

Warnings: Repressing Emotions (k i n d a), food mention, self-isolation/avoiding one’s friends, general angst, cursing, unreliable narrator (maybe??? by that I mean Logan is stupid and has no idea what’s actually going on.)

Word Count: 5,244

To the best of your knowledge, the three of you are close. To see the facts: you, Roman, and Virgil spend the majority of your time together, partaking in a number of activities that all of you find fun. Comparing your time with them to how much you see, say, a friend like Janus- it becomes apparent that the three of you ought to be considered ‘best friends’.

However, you had preferred to be 100% certain of this, as you like to be with all things. It was a few weeks after Roman’s New Idea when you finally gave in to this preference (more of a need, really). You asked outright the nature of your dynamic with them.

Roman laughed at you. The abashment you felt was, unfortunately, a very familiar thing.

‘Is the idea of us being best friends really so humorous?’ you challenged, masking the sting you felt with indignation. Virgil had elbowed Roman sharply, explaining to him that you were seriously asking. His laughter stopped at once. ‘Of course we are,’ he’d said. ‘I thought you were kidding, because it seemed so obvious,’ he’d continued.

All you could manage was a small ‘Oh’.

So, yes, you’ve determined that your bond is more meaningful than on average. That hardly irks you; it’s a positive thing, in fact. It’s been good for you to have some kind of affection, even if the thought still makes you want to roll your eyes. It’s what’s just beyond that affection that’s causing an itching beneath your skin when the three of you ‘hang out’, as you so often do. That itching, those crawling little mites figuratively burrowed under your skin- it’s all been prevalent in your interactions over the past weeks.

Go over the facts, then, Logan.

Fact one: You aren’t used to intimate friendships.

Fact two: You have established an intimate friendship with Roman and Virgil

Fact(?) three: Roman and Virgil’s intimacy with each other is quickly turning away from ‘friendship’.

This brings you to the evidence, which gets a little fuzzier; some conclusions might have been jumped to, but you find that irrelevant.

Evidence (?): They share these Looks. A Look when Roman says something abhorrently stupid, but when Virgil jumps to insult him he sounds nothing but adoring. A Look when Virgil comes up with a particularly creative biting remark, and while Roman is just as quick to fire back with a playful tease of his own, there’s that obvious elated expression of pride that he holds just for the anxious trait.

That on it’s own wouldn’t amount to much, you’ll admit, but you’ve always been a careful observer of body language (out of necessity, given how words fail you when there’s subtext to be found). Their hands brush frequently, to the point where it cannot possibly be incidental. They not-so-subtly lean into each other when they probably think you aren’t looking- though perhaps you shouldn’t be looking anyway. While you are well-accustomed to platonic physical affection in not only your relationships with the two of them, but with all of your ‘coworkers’ (the bulk of it coming from Patton and Remus, predictably), Virgil and Roman’s physical affection exudes such romantic tension that you’re surprised Roman himself isn’t going haywire, because of the overload of feelings that fall into his area of expertise.

Your third piece of evidence comes from just last night. You’d returned from the kitchen, arms loaded with snacks for you all to share, only to find Roman threading his fingers through Virgil’s hair while the embodiment of anxiety carefully sketched on a folded sheet of paper. Virgil’s eyes had flicked up briefly, widening when he saw you as though you hadn’t only left the room for seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted with a tiny wave. Something odd and envious and just a bit bitter simmered in your chest, but you denied it whatever it seemed to be hissing for. You gave your friend a nod, setting down the food you’d brought onto the coffee table and seating yourself a good few feet from him and Roman on the couch.

“V and I got bored waiting,” Roman explained, “So we’re doing a little art collaboration. The rule is that we aren’t allowed to see what the other one draws until it’s done!” He seemed enthusiastic about the game, and Virgil was clearly invested in his work. You saw no reason to interrupt them, quietly deeming your original plan to watch blue planet together defunct. But you could still contribute to this new activity! You knew plenty of art history, thankfully.

“There’s actually a name for that- it’s called Exquisite Corpse. The term was coined by surrealist artists in 1925.”

Roman waved his hand, almost dismissive, and your heart- figuratively- sank.

“Yeah, yeah, in Paris, I already know. Yves Tanguy, Marcel Duchamp, et cetera et cetera. Art’s my whole thing, remember? Do you wanna play or not?”

“Oh, I- I don’t care for drawing,” you have never understood and will likely never understand most forms of visual art.

Roman shrugged, but before he could respond Virgil was folding up the piece of paper and handing it to him, blank side up. The vigilant trait pushed his bangs back and shook out his shaggy hair, which stuck up at odd angles due to Roman’s tangling.

“Whatever you want, L. You can put on that documentary you were talking about now,” Virgil said, reaching for the food piled up on the table. Your first instinct had been to agree, of course, and get back to the original plan for the day. As you took the remote, however, you couldn’t help but notice just how close they sat, plenty apart from you. It felt like a fitting analogy- and you’ve always had distaste for analogies.

“That’s alright,” a lie, “I’m feeling rather restless now- I think it would be best if I got some work done with this energy,” a half-truth.

You’d left before they could respond, trying to ignore the envy seething under your skin. It didn’t even make sense- you hated having your hair touched! While the history was interesting, Surrealist art did nothing but frustrate you! You don’t like drawing games, or people’s hands on your face, for goodness’ sake.

Presently, you stare up at your ceiling and reflect on your friendship, feeling it all start to click. You do not want it to click. You push your glasses up on your forehead and press the heels of your hands against your eyelids, soaking in the ache that results from the pressure. You’re so fucking sick of thinking, thinking, thinking- but the other option is leaving your room- which you’ll have to do very soon anyway- and interacting with other people.

It’s easier to handle with everyone else around to distract you, rather than just Virgil and Roman. Easier, but not easy. You groan, pushing yourself into a sitting position and letting your glasses fall back into place. You cannot just stew here forever, much as you’d like to.

Yet- It doesn’t make sense. You don’t want to see Virgil and Roman, sitting as close as they do now, dancing around each other so frustratingly. But you want to be around them so much that you feel you can’t help it, desperate to be caught between them like usual. But, no, you don’t!

You wish they could figure themselves out and actually get together, to save everyone the headache- but is that even really what you want? For them to officially be romantically involved, thereby distancing themselves from you even further? And then you’ll truly be the ‘third wheel’, as it were?

What do you want, you ask yourself repeatedly.

For things to go back to normal, you answer yourself.

You shake your head, no, because what does that even mean? Do you want them to not have feelings for each other, just so they’ll pay more attention to you? Now that doesn’t add up at all, because first and foremost you want them to be happy. Happy, and also spending time with you as much as each other. Yes, that’s closer to the point, you think. You want that closeness to be equal between the three of you, that makes perfect sense. So, logically, it follows that what you want is-

What you want is…

God, no, God, your eyes widen and your fists clench and, fuck, you almost shake as you try to hold back the encroaching realization.

You want-

There’s a knock at the door.

You breathe shakily, your hands tensing and untensing. There’s a knock at the door. The door of your room, because you are in your room, sitting on your bed. You’re here, and now, and you can breathe.

Dazedly, you stand, moving as though you’re wading through honey. You swallow back whatever feelings had been building in you only for the moment. You aren't willing to actually harm yourself by repressing them, merely holding them at the reigns in order to actually function enough to talk to whoever’s come knocking.

You click the door open, pulling it back to see a worried Patton. You are immeasurably relieved that it is him specifically.

“Heya, Kiddo. It’s been a while since any of us saw you today. I was just coming by to let you know we’re about to start picking a movie for tonight. Do ya feel up to joining us?”

That’s something you appreciate about Patton: he keeps in tune with others’ emotions with almost supernatural accuracy. Remarkably high-empathy being a power granted to him by his aspect, he knew when things were off, and he knew when someone did or did not want to talk about it. He didn’t barge up to your room and throw the door open with the enthusiasm he might usually express if he saw how you were uneasy, knowing that such an action could be overwhelming. Rather, he was checking in, quietly offering you an out if you needed it.

But you’re about to directly contradict yourself about that appreciation! Because this means that you have to decide what you do; because you maybe kind of want to be forced to see your friends, rather than forcing yourself to avoid them. You aren’t exactly sure you have the strength to be around them on your own, but you can’t imagine a fate worse than isolation in the wake of this emotional discovery that you totally aren’t focusing on right now dammit answer Patton.

“Yes, I must have been a tad preoccupied today. I’ll be down in a moment,” the answer’s out before you think about it. You regret it, and also you don’t.

Patton grins warmly at you, obviously relieved, and promises to wait for you to head down before they start. He disappears back through the hall and down the staircase in an instant, humming tunelessly as he walks.

It’s only after arriving downstairs that you become entirely sure that you’ve made the wrong choice. Roman is practically in Virgil’s lap, his head tilted into the facet’s neck while they playfully bicker with each other. When he spots you, his head shoots up, and he waves you over. In an amazing example of self-control, you sit one cushion away from the pair.

Throughout the night, you keep your eyes trained to the screen, trying to ignore however sappy Roman and Virgil get. You need space to think about this issue and find a way to solve it, and they need more space from their little tricycle anyway.

The movies pass in a blur. You think Virgil tries to say something to you before you go upstairs, but you don’t catch it. Your ears are ringing.

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

It’s predictable as hell, considering his semi-self-isolation before The Incident, that Roman is desperate for attention. He’s, in the simplest terms, clingy as fucking fuck. Something that’s mildly less expected than that is just how little you mind it. If you’re honest, with all the hugs and brushes and small comforts, it kinda rocks. Which might be an odd way to describe emotionally and physically intimate friendship, but hey. Shut up.

You and Roman’ve become a little attached at the hip because of this- though you hold tightly onto the excuse that it’s just cuz you want Roman to get the attention he needs, and totally not because you actually like the affection, too. You know the truth, though. The truth that it all… fulfills something in you, something that’s been craving attention that you didn’t even know about. It’s weird. Not bad, just weird.

You digress; the point is that you and Roman have a Thing With Touching, and that’s not exactly a shocker. Something you’re only recently coming to notice, however, is that this preference is one shared by your other closest friend, Logan. You could’ve sworn he’d be touch averse, and while he definitely has very specific boundaries (he wouldn’t tolerate touches to his hair, neck, or most parts of his legs), he’s exactly the opposite of averse, he’s just way too stubborn to initiate anything or admit it.

Who knew that only knowing a grand total of six other beings for your entire life- most of said beings disliking each other for a good portion of that life- would leave everyone involved more than a little touch-starved?

Oh well. No time like the present to fix that, you figure. This is all just your long-winded way of saying that whenever you’re in the room with Logic or Creativity, you’re 99% guaranteed to have at least one point of contact with them.

Which totally wouldn’t be a problem, if you weren’t falling irrevocably in love with both of them. But, unfortunately, you totally are.

When everything started, it was just Logan. He was too considerate and too goddamn caring not to make you feel things, the bastard. He understands you, almost perfectly, all the time- even though people understanding you completely goes against your aesthetic- and you feel like you get him all the same. In a way, your love for him makes sense. It always has, really, all the way back when he gave you that first glimpse of friendship. It’s always been Logan.

And that all would be horrible enough on its own, but then Roman blind-sided you with his teary eyes and deeply-rooted insecurity. Neither of these are technically ‘attractive’ traits, but dammit if you didn’t find yourself sympathizing to a painful extent. You not only comprehended his (gradually lessening) pain, you’re also surprised to note just how badly you want to help him through it, if only because you knew that you really could help. You can’t bear to watch Roman suffer, because the both of you, despite all the differences, are exactly alike. You find sympathy in his sadness, and affection in his joy.

It’s disgusting.

The plan was simple; you’d keep all the feelings inside, and then one day you’d die. You’d hold them all at bay and let the infatuation fade to a dull ache against your ribcage, settling into a bittersweet friendship with the two temperamental traits. It’s easy to push down when all six of you spend family time together, hell, you hardly break a sweat when it’s just the three of you, because you can just use one to deflect off the other! You are a fucking pro at ignoring your emotions.

Then movie night happened. You have no clue what specifically did happen, but you’ve managed to track the weird behavior back to that evening. Logan was stiff as a board all night, sitting as far as he could from you and Ro. He didn’t even look back at you when you tried to talk to him before he left. He didn’t answer the door when you tried to check on him later.

To say that Logan hadn’t left his room since would be a gross oversimplification. Oh, he’s venturing out, alright, but strategically. He comes down for meals. He comes down when Patton, Remus, or occasionally Janus ask for him, indulging them without complaint. Sure, he’s conveniently busy whenever it’s you or Roman knocking, but he’s already done so much with everybody else that day. No one could be concerned, because clearly Logan wasn’t avoiding anything.

Yeah, bullshit. He’s just diverting everybody else’s suspicions, but you know him too well for that.

He doesn’t work in the commons anymore. He doesn’t rise up in the living room, accompanied with a laptop or a kindle or what have you, just to have the quiet company of someone else while he works. He doesn’t seek you out to explain something he read on Tumblr, and from the looks of it, he doesn’t attempt to infodump about poetry with Roman anymore. And the nail in this coffin is this: when you attempt to confront him, he plays dumb. Logan plays dumb.

Logan avoiding you means two things: 1. one of your most trusted friends who you’re absolutely besotted with won’t talk to you, which is its own special kind of agony- and 2. you spend the majority of your time totally alone with the other friend that you are in love with, which is obviously not ideal.

By this point, you are well-acquainted with the various personal problems of your ‘co-workers’. Statistically, at any given point at least one side is having some kind of an emotional crisis. You figure that it’s best to get a headstart on solving this one, before you can talk yourself out of it.

But obviously you can’t do it alone.

“Roman.”

The side in question shrieks, spinning around hastily with wide eyes. You don’t even blink, staring him down from the kitchen doorway until he has the sense to stop screaming. He cuts himself off with a cough, clearing his throat and returning to whatever it was that he was doing. After an appropriate awkward silence, he shoots you a sheepish smile.

“Oh, ha- I- I didn’t see you there, Virgil,” he huffs a tiny laugh, his mouth twitching. It’s such a soft little expression, a bit embarrassed but mostly- Dammit, Virgil, you’re here for a reason! Keep it together, you useless homosexual.

“I guessed that, yeah,” you trudge into the room, lifting yourself up onto the counter beside the stove. “How are you?”

He pauses for a moment. It’s a simple question, but the both of you understand its true significance. You’re expecting an honest, no-nonsense answer as to how he’s been feeling. It’s sort of a system, to help prevent all that bottling up of emotions that you’re all so used to.

“I suppose I’m… a little out of it. I got rather caught up in sculpting for a good few hours,” as he explains, you notice him absently digging clay out from under his nails, “So I figured it was time for a lunch break.”

“Good,” you tell him, because it’s important that he hears things like that. He’s staring vacantly into the water that’s beginning to bubble on the stove, but you know he will return the check-in question to you in his own time. Technically, you could have just walked in and began with what you really wanted to talk about, but this method gives the conversation a more clear-cut structure. Greeting, followed by question-response, followed by question-response; it’s properly outlined.

“What’s going on with you, then?”

“I feel like garbage,” you see him blink in surprise, but he waits politely for you to continue. “I’m worried. I mean- I'm usually worried, but in this specific circumstance, I’m worried about-”

“Logan?” He looks up when he says it, his gaze searching.

“Yeah- um, yes. You noticed it, too?”

“Oh, please,” there's an obnoxious clanging as Roman idly swings around a slotted spoon, “I may not be as observant as you nerds, but you could stand to give me some credit.”

You settle him with A Look. He huffs.

“Okay fine! I only caught on when he… ugh, it's embarrassing, but we like to write. Together. On Wednesdays. But he’s been ditching.”

You already had a hunch about your friends’ little poetry sessions, as neither are particularly subtle about anything, at all, ever. It's super dorky, but it’s a very them thing to do. This development is concerning, to say the least.

“Wait, then why haven’t you brought it up?”

Roman squirms a bit, clinking his slotted ladle against the stovetop repetitively. You regret the interrogative tone that found its way into your voice.

“I didn't want to be, you know, needy. He said he was busy- and like, it was a little sketchy when he was only busy when I wanted to hang out- but- I just assumed he’d maybe gotten bored with it. I didn’t want him to get even more distant with me, so I didn’t say anything.”

Well, okay, you totally fail at not being distracted by that. Scooching a little further down the counter, you bump Roman's hip with the side of your foot.

“Hey.”

He doesn't look up.

“Roman.”

He groans, throwing his head back and glaring up at the cabinets.

“I know! Saying it out loud, alright, I know he wouldn't do something like that- it's just- I forget sometimes, Virge.”

You don't ask him to elaborate. He doesn't need to. He shifts away from the stove and drops his head onto your shoulder, leaning against you.

“But if you've noticed it too, then something must really be wrong, huh?”

You give a short laugh.

“Yeah. He's upset about something, I can tell. It’s fuzzy, though, that’s the weirdest thing. It's like, I can feel the anxiety from, but it's being overpowered by something else in there. I have no idea what, so it's gotta be out of my jurisdiction.”

He hums curiously.

“What’s the plan then? Drag him out of his room and make him hang out with us?” Roman's voice rumbles against your shoulder, and it's so comforting that you can't help but hook a leg around his waist to keep him near you.

“Great idea, I'm sure that he’ll really appreciate that,” your sarcasm (hopefully) takes the impact out of your downright cuddly nature. Roman is unfazed.

“That is literally what the both of you did to me mere months ago. I'd say that turned out pretty well, hmm?”

He tilts his head to the side, dragging out the hum with his face pressed against your neck. It's a concerted effort to snark at him instead of purring from the feeling.

“I doubt that L would appreciate something like that, just because you- Jesus,” you cut yourself off when Roman fucking nuzzles you, ew gross- “Oh my fucking God, can you- prrr- can you st- prrrrr- stop for one second? You're- re- rerrrrrr- distracting me!” You push him off of you, feigning disgust. You don’t want to, but you have to at least try to stay on track.

He just chuckles, dropping away from you if only to take his food off the stove.

“Sorry, sorry, it's just so hard to resist. You’re a kitten!”

“I know you're God-awful at genuine conversations, so I guess I'll let it slide this time.”

You see the offended look spread across his face, and hastily hold a hand up to interrupt.

“Logan.”

“Right, yes. Logan.”

“I mean, what would he say?” you drag your hand down your face, wracking your brain for any of his advice that you could apply to the situation. “He’d be all ‘the logical course of action would simply be to confront me, Virgil, because I am a stubborn little bitch and I will dance around the issue indefinitely,’” You nod, satisfied with both your impression and the conclusion it brought you to. Roman shoots you a comically wide grin.

“That was scary, how much you sounded like him.”

You shrug, offering a hum.

“So we should just… what? Walk up to his door, knock knock,‘what’s going on with you, man?’, and see what happens?”

“As crazy as it sounds, maybe this would be easier if we didn't prolong it for three weeks and complicate it like we do with everything else?”

There's a clatter as Roman struggles to reach the top cabinet for a bowl. You drop down from the counter, reach over his head, and hand it to him.

“When you phrase it like that, I suppose it sounds obvious,” he takes the ceramic and fills it up- without a thanks, the bitch.

“Okay. We do that, then.”

“Okay.”

You hover in the kitchen, watching him grab his meal and begin to walk away. He tosses his head over his shoulder, giving you a look that you can't quite place.

“Are you just going to wait there while I eat my lunch? We’ll go up in a few minutes, but I'd rather not pass out from lack of blood sugar in the middle of what's sure to be a whole production.”

“Oh- right.”

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

At your knock, there is absolutely no response from the other side of Logan’s door. You knock again- not so much as a footstep! You push down your immediate frustration at the nerve of him, knowing that you must keep your cool (but you also know that he has everyone’s knocks memorized; he knows it’s you!).

You spare a glance to Virgil. He stares back at you, lip worried between his fangs, hands twisting themselves at his sleeves. He’s slouching so much that he looks nearly as short as you.

“Is it… is it that bad?” your knuckles are still barely pressing against the inky-blue door, lingering. He nods.

“Fuck, dude, whatever he’s feeling is intense. But, I can’t figure out what the hell it is,” he makes an attempt at whispering, but it sounds more like screeching TV static than anything.

He’s in there, and Virgil isn’t the only one who can sense it. It’s electric; whatever Virgil isn’t picking up on seems to have fallen into your domain. Unfortunately, it must be one of your non-primary side functions, because you have no idea what the specifics are. You curse the fact that you aren’t nearly as in tune with these things as he, by design, is.

“We gotta get in there, Roman.”

The use of your proper name startles you. You grind your teeth, turning his suggestion over in your mind a few times before shaking your head sharply.

“You were the one that said we needed a subtle approach, you- Virgil,” you catch yourself before a nickname slips out, trying to share in his sincerity for the moment.

He gives a shaky sigh.

“I- I know what I said, but- Fuck, Ro, it’s bad.”

Now, it may be just because you’re a contrary bitch, but you have flipped on your original stance as well, leaving the both of you at odds. The worse this feels, the more you need to hesitate. If he’s avoiding you- both of you, the mini-him in your head reminds you, mind your mental filtering- then there's a reason for it. A reason to do with anxiety and you, which could easily be the ‘passion’ part of you, and that gives the strong implication that he’s deeply angry and hurt. In which case, you know that you could easily do something to make it much worse. You are very good at saying the wrong thing.

And so. You stare blankly at his door. Immobile.

Virgil elbows you.

You wrap your knuckles against the door and send him a glare. He groans, ramming his shoulder into yours.

“Okay, Roman, out of the way-”

“I’m getting some bad vibes-”

“Yeah, me too, that's kind of the point!”

“Well, there’s no reason to get snippy!”

“I don’t need a reason anyway, now move-”

At a light shuffling from behind the door, you both snap your mouths shut. It’s dead silent as you wait, more patient than you've ever been before, as the muffled footsteps draw closer to the door. They stop just short of it, and for a moment you don't breathe.

“I can hear you,” came a muffled, barely-audible rasp.

You fall against the door at once, pressing the side of your face into its cool surface. Virgil appears beside you, his claws suspended just above the knob. They hover like he’d be burned if he touched it. His voice is carefully measured, and he nearly sounds normal when he speaks.

“L, buddy, can you let us in? Can we talk?”

You nod along, realize that he cannot see you, and then enthusiastically proclaim your agreement with the statement instead.

There's a long pause. You fear that Logan’s left again.

“Is this… necessary?”

“I’d really like to know why you aren't talking to us, so yeah,” you try not to snap, you really do, but you can tell that you’ve failed as soon as the words leave your mouth. You hope he'll understand how you really meant it.

There's a sigh, and yet another silence. Virgil makes eye-contact with you, face twisted up with concern.

“It was not my intention for you to think me angry with you, if that's what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not it, Lo,” well, Virgil can speak for himself, because you were kind of worried about that. “I know something's going on. I know you.”

“Virgil,” his voice sounds much clearer, closer, as though he's pressed against the doorframe like yourself, “Virgil, your voice.”

“Don't know if you can tell, man, but I'm pretty anxious right now. And I know that not all of it is mine.”

At the next lapse, you don't wait for Logan to speak.

“Specs, hey, listen to me: I don't have a clue what's going on-” you let yourself smile, knowing that he can hear it in your voice, “Which is kind of my usual state, really- but the point is, it doesn't matter. We're here for you, no matter what. The three of us- best friends, right? Bee-eff-effs.”

“Best friends forever,” he mutters.

“Ah! I’m glad you agree!”

“No- it’s- I was correcting you, abbreviations have no place in verbal conversation- especially in place of simple phrases such as that one.”

“There he is,” Virgil chuckles, the distortion finally edging out of his throat.

Logan sighs. You hear a bump.

“I suppose, if you two are really so concerned,” the lock clicks, “Then it would only be hypocritical of me to refuse to speak with you on this matter, given how I encourage you to do the opposite almost constantly,” the knob twists, pushes forwards an inch, halts abruptly, “Although… I can’t promise you full transparency. I don’t- I don’t think I’m quite ready for that conversation.”

Well that is ominous. But, then again, progress is progress.

You step back, and the door swings open.

You fail to stifle your gasp.

Logan stands in the doorway, his head up, spine straight, and his hands behind his back- his usual stance. The posturing does nothing, however, to hide just how bloodshot his eyes are behind his glasses. He trembles, almost, when he looks from you to Virgil, and then back again. As soon as you meet his gaze, he glances down to the carpet, tapping his foot on the floor compulsively. It’s a state you’ve seen him in plenty of times, but the knowledge that this time you were somehow responsible for it pushes daggers under your skin.

“Well,” he falters, “Come in, I suppose.”

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thenexusofsouls · 3 years

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9) Which of your muses do you identify with the most? Why?

{i am the caretaker of souls} So I actually answered a very similar question a while back, so I’ll just re-tweak my answer a bit because it hasn’t changed much. Of all the muses I write, this might surprise you... XD

Welp… time to get super embarrassing, haha. Honestly the muse I identify with the most out of all the ones I have on this blog and others is… Tony Stark. Now, I am not a genius, or a billionaire. I know nothing about robotics, very little about physics, and next to nothing about nanotechnology other than what the Metal Gear Solid series taught me (I’m in environmental microbiology, so that’s a completely different field). However, at a core human level, Tony and I have several things in common. All negative, heh. I’ll share the process of how Tony became a muse for me, even though it’s sort of an embarrassing one for me, because I find it interesting on a psychological level. The majority of my muses I wanted to write either because I thought they deserved better and wanted to move beyond and improve upon what their canon material did for/with them, or because I was moved by their story, personality, or another quality they possess. But I never wanted to write Tony. Up until recently, I didn’t even like him.

So… I had never watched the Iron Man movies at first. I saw all the Avengers and Captain America movies, even Captain Marvel, a couple Thor movies, Black Panther and the Guardians of the Galaxy movies are next on my list of ones to catch up on. Anyway, I always hated Tony. I thought he was a shallow, crass, arrogant asshole who only cared about himself. I really disliked him almost to the point of hate, and to be frank, I ignored him out of dislike or lack of interest the majority of the time when watching Marvel movies. Really loving characters like Wanda and Vision from the comics and coming to love Pietro in the movies didn’t help, because there’s a lot of anti-Tony sentiment there and bad history between them, or at least misunderstanding. But then I thought okay, this is a major part of the franchise that I’m missing, and I should just watch these movies and get them over with, for the sake of being thorough and informed.

The first Iron Man was okay. Good story. Learned a lotta stuff about him I didn’t know. He was never a character I read in the comics, so I’m not familiar with him outside of MCU. Then I watched Iron Man 2 and I hated it. But Natasha was in it, so… score. Then I watched Iron Man 3… and I had exactly five panic attacks… and my perception of Tony completely changed.

I have chronic anxiety. It manifests mostly as social anxiety, a fear of loss of control, a fear of public embarrassment, mild germophobia (an interesting thing for a microbiologist to have, but hey sure why not), and something called catastrophizing, whereby I fret, worry, mull, and stress over every possible worst case scenario and poor outcome to a situation and anything even remotely bad that could happen to me in the foreseeable future. It wastes a lot of psychic energy, lemme tell you, and if it gets bad enough, I have panic attacks. Before I saw Iron Man 3, I never considered myself a person who could be triggered by anything. I’m going with the actual real definition of triggering here, as in resulting in a panic attack, flashback, or other severe psychological reaction to something. Sure, I have topics or visual imagery that upsets me. I think everyone does to some extent. But I was never triggered by anything and never thought I could be. Apparently, I was wrong.

After watching Iron Man 3 for the first time and having five panic attacks over two hours (I average maybe one or two a month... and I’m defining a panic attack as elevated heart rate, sweating, ringing ears, tingling feeling in my scalp, sometimes tears, hands shaking, feeling cold all over, teeth chattering, and a feeling of urgency or hyper awareness), I was more fascinated than upset, honestly. Panic attacks are a weird thing for me because very often I will feel rational and calm mentally but my body is going haywire, so I’m sitting here watching this movie like… why is this bothering me? I was obviously bothered, but I didn’t know why.

So I asked a friend of mine who had gone to school for psychology, and he asked well, when did they happen? I don’t remember all of them, but for example, they occurred during the scene where Tony has a nightmare and Pepper basically calls him immature and leaves him despite the fact that he’s begging her to stay. And then again when he has a panic attack while driving and has to stop driving. And then again when that little boy kept pressing him like, “Are you on medication? Should you be? Are you upset? Are you panicking? What are you going to do now?” and he just wouldn’t stop and Tony kept getting more and more panicky.

I have always been a very empathetic person, whether I wanted to be or not. I see those starving children and abused animals on those TV commercials and I cry every time. I watch movies and cry because I see other people crying. It’s terrible. Well, apparently, my friend thought that I was empathizing with Tony during moments when he was the most not okay, and that was triggering my own anxiety. When Tony would have a panic attack, I would. When he would lose control of a situation, I would panic about it myself. When the coping mechanisms and carefully constructed social façade fell and he was actually genuine with someone only to be rejected harshly, it upset me immensely and triggered another attack. It made a lot of sense to me… both my own anxiety and my empathy coming together to both sympathize with and be triggered by this character who has some very severe mental health issues.

From that moment on, I saw Tony differently. I went back and re-watched the Avengers movies, the Captain America movies… and I was able to see him in a completely different light. Looking through the lens of my own struggles with anxiety, coping mechanisms, and trying to look and act normal when I’m not okay because being perceived as not okay is like death, I suddenly realized that I understood Tony a lot more than I ever wanted to, heh. It was shortly after that that I realized he’d become a muse for me, when I couldn’t stop thinking about and analyzing and teasing apart the mess that is his psychology and making sense of it… which is easier for me to do than I ever would have expected.

I don’t have a nice neatly wrapped ending to this rant, except to say that Tony was a muse I never expected to have, but now I am so protective of him (and don’t ship him with Pepper because reasons) and I have really come to love writing him. He definitely is the muse I relate to the most on THIS blog. On ALL blogs, I think that would probably still hold, with Wanda Maximoff being a close second.

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nadziejastar · 5 years

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There used to be a huge amount of irony in Saix and Xion's relationship. He hated her for being a puppet, but he was the true puppet all along.

Being Inseparable—A Double-Edged Sword

“Sora or Xion—it matters not. But we need one of them under our control. Bear that in mind.”

Saïx nodded, and a serene smile came to Xemnas’s face.

If that smile meant anything, it was beyond him.

Yep. I do think Isa was Xehanort’s favorite lab rat and that he had all sorts of techniques performed on him to create an obedient slave. Now if that description doesn’t sound like Saïx, I don’t know what does. There’s a reason Axel’s weapons are shaped like the chakras. They both had blockages and could not heal them until the other was healed.

Axel finally stopped sulking with his arms crossed and looked up. “Which means, if the time doesn’t come, things can stay as they are.”

Saïx glared at him. “Lord Xemnas has spoken. Obey or face your end.”

After Saïx’s warning on his behalf, Xemnas vanished from the room. The others followed suit.

The third eye controls the ability to think for yourself and your spirituality. When it is blocked, you feel like you have no purpose. There was a lot more wrong with Saïx than just lacking a heart (which is bad enough). He had mind control techniques used on him. I love Nomura’s illustrations of Saïx because they do such a great job showing the idea behind his character. He can’t think for himself. He’s cold and incapable of being tuned into emotional matters.

“But—!” Saïx jumped to his feet again. At that, Xemnas’s smile disappeared.

“Silence,” he growled, returning his attention to Axel. “Where are Naminé and the boy?”

“The haunted mansion in Twilight Town.” Axel stuck the last of the ice cream pop in his mouth.

Xemnas narrowed his eyes. “Oh…?”

“I’ll go.” Saïx started walking as if he couldn’t wait to leave the scene.

In this illustration he’s totally dominated by Xemnas. He’s had his mental faculties forcefully shut down. He’s literally not capable of higher-level thought processes like the others are. Saïx lives in total fear of Xemnas and he cannot think for himself. He also is another Xehanort and doesn’t even realize it.

“You are to discover the identity of the outsider,” he told her. “Those are direct orders from Lord Xemnas. Failure is the same as insubordination. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Wha…?”

Xion had no idea that Xemnas had chosen her for this mission. To the best of her knowledge, Saïx was the one in charge of assigning tasks.

“I assume I’ve made myself clear. Keep looking.” With that, Saïx turned his back on her and left.

The causes of blockage with the Crown chakra involve spiritual abuse—-things like being forced to have blind obedience, and having no right to think for oneself. Like growing up in a cult. Ignoring this aspect of Saïx destroyed everything that made him such an interesting character. I’ll never forgive KH3 for ruining him so badly. Ugh.

Some kind of pressure was gathering between his eyebrows. He walked down the hallway, and when he arrived at the lobby, no one was there.

“Axel…?” He murmured his friend’s name without thinking, then touched his mouth at the outburst.

They had told him that Axel might have been terminated. He remembered that part.

And being terminated meant there was nothing left, nothing at all, according to Xigbar.

The whole idea behind Saïx is that these chakras are blocked. Both of these are governed by the pineal gland. Since he has the Recusant’s Sigil on his forehead, I’d say his pineal gland is dead. And I think I know how it happened. Grief and personal pain is the major cause of blockage of the third eye chakra. This actually happened to Roxas when he was afraid that Axel was terminated. He passed out in Agrabah and felt pressure between his eyebrows.

Riku gently cradled Xion in her sleep.

His head hurt, and his brows tightened in pain. Why did it hurt so badly…?

He’d first noticed that faint headache a little while ago after recalling what Zexion said to him. Now it was getting much worse—from bearable to excruciating. He had nearly blacked out for a moment, struggling with the worst headache of his life. What was going on?

It also happened to Xion when she remembered what Zexion said to Riku. And he also felt a headache at that moment.

Roxas hadn’t expected to sleep very well, and he was right. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The center of his head felt heavy, like something pressing from the space between his eye brows all the way back.

But yesterday… Yesterday I saw Xion.

Why was she avoiding me? Why was she running away from me?

This is 100% without a doubt referencing the pineal gland. It is right between the eyebrows, in the back of the head. Roxas had issues with it when he was worried about his friends, and had trouble sleeping. This part of the brain controls the waking and sleeping cycle.

Roxas looked up, surprised to be receiving orders. But of course, it was Saïx.

And he didn’t seem any different from usual.

“Is it true about Castle Oblivion…?” he asked, not looking his superior in the face. Saïx’s response was icy.

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“What about Axel?” he pressed. Hearing that name, Saïx narrowed his eyes faintly, not even enough for Roxas to notice. He wasn’t attuned to such subtle changes.

“Who knows,” Saïx finally said. “Perhaps he is among the lost.”

I would suspect that Isa was so traumatized and afraid that his third eye basically went into total shut-down. I think Isa was traumatized so severely by having Lea threatened.

And yet, Axel couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his response. “Well, nice to know where I stand.”

He said it with a grin, but the hint of a frown tugged at the scar between Saïx’s brows. Apparently, the joke wasn’t very funny. “You made it back in one piece, didn’t you?”

Were you worried I wouldn’t? Axel almost said, but he didn’t want to deal with putting him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage seemed to linger closest to the surface of Saïx’s memories.

He was so worried and grief-stricken, his pineal gland went haywire and he had a total mental collapse. He went to the Realm of Sleep and he was marked with the “X” on his forehead. Essentially, Saïx was brain damaged and severely mentally compromised after this happened. He’s an even better tool for Xemnas because of this, and it’s why he rose to be his right-hand man. Being reminded of this is very unpleasant for Saïx, even though the memories are Isa’s.

Saïx: Something at Castle Oblivion changed you. Does the past mean nothing to you now?

Roxas: Are you worried about her, Axel?

Axel: Of course I am.

Roxas: Doesn’t seem like you.

I think it’s why he was so disappointed at Axel for not being as focused on their goal as he is. Of course, that’s because Axel is suffering from damage to his third eye as well. He’s been traumatized severely, and I think watching Saïx exist in his miserable, emotionless, and robotic condition is a constant source of trauma.

“He worries too much. Thinks he has to help Sora do everything…” Axel grimaced in irritation.

“But, Axel, aren’t you the one worrying about Riku and Sora?” Naminé giggled softly.

“Me, worry? You think I need to be worried about those two?” He stretched backward and rocked the chair back and forth, like a restless child.

Axel has severe anxiety regarding the people he cares about. He was so worried about Riku and Sora he rocked back and forth like a child.

“You’re not wrong…but don’t let your guard down,” Axel told them, bringing up the rear.

“Quit being such a worrywart, Axel.”

“Maybe I could if you two would quit giving me so much to worry about,” he retorted.

Xion and Roxas exchanged a look and laughed.

He constantly worried about Roxas and Xion, too.

“Genie sounded really worried about his friend–some guy named Al. But, I guess you can’t always jump in and do everything for your friends–even if you want to. And then he said that you have to respect your friend’s wishes.” Xion bit her ice cream, swinging her feet. Axel leaned his head to one side.

“Your friend’s wishes, huh…” It feels like I have heard that before, a long time ago, when I was human.

And I think he was worried about Isa, even when he told him not to.

“Well, I think you can be inseparable, even if you’re apart,” said Axel.

Roxas and Xion shared a look. “…Even if you’re apart,” Roxas murmured.

They trailed off, and this time Axel finished his ice cream. So he started talking again. “It’s like, if you feel really close to each other. Like best friends.”

The weapon shaped like the Third Eye chakra is called “Double Edge”. If you say that something is a double-edged sword, you mean that it has negative effects as well as positive effects. I think this is referring to Lea and Isa being inseparable. Lea felt really close to Isa, even when they were apart. It meant they were always felt connected as friends. But…there’s a down side. When the experiments were happening, I think he worried incessantly about Isa. If Isa dissociated due to his extreme worry and fear over losing Lea, this damaged his pineal gland. So, it only is natural that Lea also has issues with this chakra as well. He feels the same pain Isa does, due to constantly worrying. They are inseparable.

“Sheesh. Would it kill them to give me a day off? I’m exhausted,” Axel whined. “I need my beauty sleep.”

There’s a recurring theme about Axel’s inability to sleep and his constant fatigue. It’s mentioned CONSTANTLY in the novels.

Every time he tried to wake up, all Axel could think was how badly he wanted to go back to sleep—although he was getting enough rest.

He just wished he could have a day to himself and do nothing but sleep. It was probably some remnant of his human memories.

Besides, this world was always dark, even in the morning. The deep indigo sky and its heart-shaped moon outside the window might as well be a night sky.

Axel rolled over. He still had a few more minutes. But then he began to think about yesterday.

Even when he gets enough rest, he’s still tired. And he says that this desire to do noting but sleep is a remnant of his human memories.

Axel finished the report, hardly getting any sleep in the process, and figured he might as well get back to the Grey Area.

To be honest with himself, he had been sweating bullets the entire time. It wasn’t simply writing things down. He had to decide what to include and what to leave out, where he could get away with fudging the truth—it made for a grueling project.

The lobby was still empty. With an enormous yawn, Axel collapsed on the sofa. Even Nobodies needed sleep. He crossed his arms and let his eyes close. Just a little catnap…

“That is not a bed.” A sudden rebuke cut through the peace and quiet, and Axel startled awake.

“What…? Oh. Saïx.”

He can’t sleep because he’s always got something troubling him. And he startles easily.

“You just do what you want,” said Axel.

“What I want…? I don’t know what I want to do.”

Axel let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. Sleep. And then maybe have a catnap and a snooze after that.”

“But you do that anyway,” said Roxas, still confused.

“Hey, I’d nap six times a day if they’d let me.”

How could anyone sleep that much? Roxas thought. I’d just have dreams that wear me out even more.

“Speaking of, I’d better get to it. Enjoy the break.”

Roxas can’t understand why he wants to sleep so much.

As he turned to go, Roxas grabbed his sleeve. “Wait, Axel…”

“Hey, c’mon, let me get some sleep.” Axel yawned, stretching his arms to emphasize his point.

That was when Xion happened to turn the corner, stopping in her tracks to stare at them. “Uh, what are you two doing?”

“Did you see that paper?” said Roxas.

“Yeah.”

“What are you gonna do, Xion?”

Axel yawned again through Roxas’s question. “If anyone cares, I was just getting back to bed.”

“Wh—? Oh. Okay.” Roxas nodded uncertainly as Axel sauntered off without another word. How can he be that sleepy…?

He finds it very unusual how sleepy Axel is all the time, and the novel makes a point of emphasizing this.

“Does going to sleep count?”

“What?! Axel, you wasted your whole day?”

“Hey, I needed the rest! I work hard on the job, unlike some people.”

“It’s not our fault you get tired so quick,” Xion shot back, and the three of them cracked up together.

He gets tired very easily.

“Doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything. Everybody’s got secrets.” The smirk hadn’t left Axel’s face, but his voice was low and solemn. “Got it memorized?”

“Secrets…?” Roxas repeated to himself. Do I have any of those?

Xion’s gaze dropped, as if her thoughts were wandering, too.

“Geez, you two. I’m kidding!”

The day he chose to sleep all day was their vacation. It’s the same day Axel brought up his “dark secrets”. He smiled, but his voice was low and solemn. His dark secrets are connected to his memories, and are the reason he doesn’t sleep well.

There was no one here yet. Guess I’m actually early…He was only up at this hour because he’d never gone to sleep, working through the night on his report of the mission in Castle Oblivion. But pulling an all-nighter to finish a report did not gain him a reprieve from missions. He twisted to look up at Kingdom Hearts shining outside the window.

“You’re here early,” said Saïx.

Axel waited a second before rolling over to face him. “So are you.”

“No, I’m not. You’re just usually late.” Saïx took up his usual post.

Saïx tells him he’s always late. Just like Roxas did on the clock tower.

Axel had barely gotten any sleep when he headed in early to the Grey Area. He might as well do his negotiating with Saïx about today’s mission without anyone else to overhear.

He’s torn between Saïx and Roxas and Xion. It’s why he sleeps so poorly.

Axel barely slept a wink thanks to all the thoughts turning in his head. He scowled at the throbbing pain in his temples. These sleep deprivation headaches were awful. Rather than going back to sleep and getting a lecture, he went to the Grey Area before anyone else and claimed the sofa to keep thinking.

Dealing with Saïx not only causes him so much worry he can’t sleep, he gets migraines, too.

Axel walked the hallways, trying to sort out his thoughts.

Another sleepless night. He shook his head slowly to dispel the grogginess, but it persisted as he combed through yesterday’s events.

The Organization wanted to have either Roxas or Xion eliminated. But what could he do about it? That was what Axel had to figure out.

He wanted to find a way to save both of them, to respect both of their feelings. He’d spent most of the night poring over the possibilities, but of course he hadn’t found the answer.

He pulls a lot of all-nighters because of his constant worrying over his friends. If this insomnia goes back to his human days, he probably worried over Isa constantly.

“Ugh, I’ve got enough on my plate.” He groaned, imagining Saïx’s face if he reported all this.

Those days as a trio had been so wonderful. Why did this have to happen?

The memory of his heart twinged. Had the breakdown of a friendship always been this painful? It was hard to tell when he didn’t have a heart anymore.

“Don’t wanna get up…”

But he dragged himself out of bed, taking a huge stretch and cricking his neck. He had to get to the Grey Area early if he wanted to talk to Saïx.

Most likely, today would be another bad day.

I think his inability to sleep was connected to his memories of the experiments, which were directly connected to his worrying over Isa and the pain of his friendship breaking down after Isa changed. He doesn’t want to get out of bed when he remembers how that felt. He tells himself he can’t tell if it was always this painful to lose a friendship, because he has no heart. He does that a lot. But I don’t think it’s that simple.

That means, the nobodies gathered as Organisation members once held strong hearts.

Really? Axel wondered to himself.Did that self in my memories really have a strong heart?Don’t really know.And then, nobodies without hearts wish for only one thing. A heart. If I was asked if I wanted a heart, I guess I’d answer that I did. But, do I really want a heart? Can a heart really fill this hollowness I’ve carried since I fell into existence as a nobody?

The chakras are deficient if they spin slowly. Its why Axel’s Ultimate Gear is called “Rapid Spinner”. His Crown chakra was definitely blocked along with his Third Eye chakra. It’s why he was so indecisive about his true purpose, lacking in joy, and had such limiting beliefs about everything. His problem with this chakra also related to Saïx and his memories of the past.

Shards of emotion, fragments of memory. So alike…but they’re completely different things.

Even if we can hold on to a few fragments of memory, we can’t have the smallest shard of emotion.

Nostalgia… And memory.

We are the ones who lost their hearts—the ones who are no one. Nobodies.

Not light nor darkness—we live in the twilight.

Axel stopped outside the crystal ball room and took a deep breath.

Why are we here? What are we doing?

No—why am I here?

Still asking himself that question, he opened the door.

He asks himself why he’s here when he starts reminiscing about the past. And he is confident he cannot feel any emotions.

The set of his shoulders told him plainly what the answer would be.

Axel realized how great the rift was between how he remembered their past and what he saw now.

Why am I even here? I don’t know anymore. What am I trying to do?

He feels so lost all the time.

But those connections were no more than memories of the past—Axel had never cared about anyone since becoming a Nobody. What was happening? Why was Roxas so important to him? Why was Sora?

He hadn’t cared about anyone since becoming a Nobody.

“Fear’s an emotion. It doesn’t exist for us.”

He truly couldn’t feel anything until he met Sora and Roxas.

“It’s because I don’t have a heart,” Axel went on. “I don’t want to disappear, but I’m not upset or sad about it.”

Naminé tried to say something and failed.

Nobodies aren’t supposed to exist. Nobodies don’t have hearts, so they can’t feel anything. No… We couldn’t feel anything. Until we met Sora. And Roxas, his Nobody. Why can’t the rest of them see that?

Watching Isa suffer was the main reason he was so emotionally dead inside. He couldn’t feel anything for so many years. Because is friend was so fucked up. If Isa hadn’t been so messed up, he would have been able to nurture a new heart right away, like he did with Roxas and Xion.

After watching them go, Axel stretched and turned to Saïx, expecting to see a scowl. But the expression had left Saïx’s face, leaving him as dispassionate as usual.

Of course, he had been faking it in the first place. Nobodies had no hearts; they only imitated what emotions they remembered. The very proof of their emptiness showed how desperately they each longed for a heart. Axel probably did the same thing himself without noticing, and yet, for some reason, when Saïx did it—or actually, any of the others—it seemed so out of place.

Maybe because it makes me realize how much effort we put into acting like we’re still human, Axel thought. It’s pointless.

Whenever Saïx acts emotionally dead, it makes Axel feel emotionally dead, too. He denies all of his feelings. He does it in the novels all the time. I think he’s being honest. He really has a hard time feeling emotions. He cannot differentiate between emotional numbness caused by trauma, and the lack of a heart as a Nobody. When he grows a heart, his depersonalization is still there because he’s been traumatized so badly. But he doesn’t realize this. He thinks he has no heart and is a bad person.

Roxas slumped over. “Why does he hate her so much…?”

Axel was a bit taken aback. Out of habit, Nobodies might say they liked or hated things, but none of them really had those emotions—not the way Roxas meant.

“What d’you mean by that?” Axel laughed. “You just can’t stop talking like a real person, can you?”

Then Roxas turned to him. “What did I say?” He seemed uncertain, his gaze wandering, and he hung his head again. “I don’t know how real people talk…,” he mumbled.

Roxas must feel like he doesn’t know anything, Axel thought. Well, I don’t have the best handle on things myself, but I’m slightly less clueless.

When the subject of Saïx’s lack of emotional capacity came up, he goes into a dissociated state and his feelings truly are numbed out.

Lea handed over some munny and took the two cones from Scrooge, one of which he gave to Isa.

“It’s cold…,” Isa muttered as he took a bite.

“What’re you talking about? It’s ice cream; of course it’s cold. Got it memorized?”

“Salty, too.”

“But sweet!”As Lea went on, Isa smiled just a bit. It’s rare to see Isa smile. But, well, friendship means eating ice cream together, talking about stupid things, and laughing like this.

It’s why he was so addicted to ice cream. I think it was significant that Isa smiled while complaining it was salty and Lea thinking to himself that Isa smiling was rare. He associated sea-salt ice cream with friendship and Isa being happy and smiling.

He’d never deluded himself that tracking down Riku would be easy, and neither had Saïx. It was just that if he went back and reported that he couldn’t find anything, he would have to deal with those attempts at “personality”—the sneers, the snide remarks, the only trappings of human emotion that Saïx ever showed. Not that Saïx was even capable of annoyance or disappointment, of course, what with the lack of a heart and all.

Heading up the slope to the station, Axel bit into the ice cream bar. “This stuff is so salty,” he murmured to himself, as he often did.

Something he never does anymore. He thinks it’s too salty, but eats it anyways. It helps him deal with Saïx’s lack of emotional capacity.

“Yo.”

Axel moved shakily up to Naminé, a hand pressed to his chest, and with a glance up at Riku, bit one of the ice creams she was still holding.

“Now that’s salty…,” he said in a small voice, and sank heavily into the chair. His breath was coming jaggedly.

Naminé rushed over, dropping one of the ice creams in her hand onto the floor.

More ice cream, and more dissociation from his feelings. He eats the ice cream after Saïx tried to kill him. He comments how salty it is here, too.

“Oh. Right… You really can taste the sea salt in this, huh?” Axel turned away, his shoulders shaking.

If he had no heart, then what were these feelings welling up in his chest supposed to be?

Sorrow and…happiness?

Axel didn’t have a handle on it. But maybe not understanding these things was part of having a heart.

I understand why he was so confused and thought he had no heart, despite the fact that he had emotions and was often aware that he did.

His only good friend—his best friend—Axel had arrived with two sea-salt ice cream pops.

During the scene where Axel says goodbye to Roxas, it mentions how he was his only good friend. If he’s thinking that Roxas was his only friend, he was obviously thinking about Isa in this moment, too. Roxas was not his only friend, lol.

Axel’s eyes crinkled as he remembered his own best friend—the only friend he’d ever had, in fact.

“If your best friend goes away, you’re sad, and if you get to be with them, you’re happy,” Naminé added. “Isn’t that how it is, Axel?”

“…That’s about the size of it.” Axel nodded and sat down on the remaining empty sofa, staring at the sea-salt ice cream he held.

“So you are capable of sincerity,” said Riku.

Axel only shrugged at the jab and finished his ice cream pop.

He did it here, too. He responded sadly and stared at the ice cream in his hand. Axel couldn’t get over his issues until Isa did. They were inseparable.

#leaisa #isalea

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kegareki · 6 years

Text

sometimes you write a 4500 word crossover between your naruto au and someone else’s. that’s just how life goes.

so here’s my 4500 word crossover between my naruto au shionverse (minato/oc, fix-it fic with gratuitous amounts of dimensional travel side-stories) and @crescentmoonrider‘s turtle au (kakashi dies; obito and rin say “fuck the system” and end up helping out at least two separate revolutions; meanwhile, in konoha, minato and orochimaru are science bffs)

“Being Shion’s apprentice will be fun,” he thought. “Space-time shenanigans are the most hilarious shenanigans,” he told Kakashi sagely. “I’ll be fine,” he assured Rin.

Obito would like to go back into the past and punch himself for being so fucking stupid.

“This is the third time this month!” he whisper-yells, tugging at his hair in despair. “Why am I so bad at sealwork?! /Why?!/”

Shion is peering at his quick rendering of his beautiful, dysfunctional seal, because sealwork is never kind enough to just follow them into another dimension. At least this time they’re in the same spot as they were before, in their own dimension, but that’s a questionable blessing, considering it’s Tobirama’s backyard. He had barely been born when Shion brought Hashirama and Tobirama back; he has no idea if the house looming behind them is actually Tobirama’s or if he appropriated it from another Senju Clan member.

/These/ things are what he has to concern himself with, now. Gods. Kakashi’s going to laugh at him as soon as they get back.

Tobirama had been /watching them/, too, from the safety of his kitchen. Obito bets that he’s going to finish his breakfast before meandering over to the Hokage Tower to tell Minato that his /spouse and almost-child/ have landed themselves in an entirely different universe.

Shion finally leans back onto their haunches, their forearms resettling on their thighs, and look at Obito. “It’s a very nice design,” they begin, because they /always/ begin with the compliments. “Incorporating the shape of your Mangekyo into the design, while remaining conscious of the Uzumaki spirals—it’s inspired. If you can make it work, it’s going to be a pretty piece of sealwork. However…”

Obito tries very hard not to sigh as he crouches down next to them to see the flaws that they’re pointing out.

Maybe he should have asked to shadow Minato during his Hokageship. That’d probably be easier than /this/.

- - -

After Obito has copied out the corrections onto his Correction Scroll, which documents his many failures, they wander out of the Senju Clan compound. It’s been half an hour, or nearly, and no one has come to investigate the presence of two people who should definitely not be here; it’s sort of disappointing.

Though, he thinks, eyeing the overgrowth on the path that in their dimension is kept tidy, maybe that has less to do with shitty security and more to do with an empty compound.

He makes a mental note to talk to Minato about it, just in case it really /is/ shitty security. With all the time they spend criticizing alternate universe Konohas, they really need to make sure that they have room to talk.

The landscape of every Konoha is a little different, even the Hokage Mountain: most of the time, it’s the four that he is familiar with—Hashirama, Tobirama, Hiruzen, and Minato—but sometimes there are additions, like Jiraiya as the Godaime, or substitutions, like Orochimaru as the Yondaime.

(No one talks about those dimensions, much. After hearing about how /their/ Orochimaru cut open Shion’s resurrections to see how close they are to real, alive people, Obito thinks that he understands. There are some things that you don’t want your mind to dwell on—things that you thought you knew would never happen, but did.)

In this dimension, there are no surprises on the Hokage Mountain. As they walk through the streets, passing from residential to commercial, Obito can pick out the familiar structures: there’s the convenience store with Saki’s favorite pudding cups; there’s the Mokuton-flush park that Kakashi’s pack loves so much; there’s the bakery that sells Yondaime cheesecakes.

He wonders if they still sell them, here. The current Hokage might not be the Yondaime.

As if sensing his thoughts, Shion nudges his ribs with an elbow and nods their head at a mysticism shop. “They bought the property from candlemakers two months ago.”

So Minato made it past his usual time of death. Obito perks up, at that: it’s always kind of fun to see Minato a decade into his Hokageship. It was alarming, the first time, to see him so overworked and /old/, and it’s still kind of sad to look at him if he’s a widower, but the dimensions where Minato is Hokage are usually better than dimensions where Hiruzen is.

That’s not really that hard to do, though, when compared to the guy who lets someone experimenting on Konoha’s clanless orphans go and who allows his old friend to continue recruiting children into an army sealed into obedience to someone other than the military leader of Konoha.

Honestly. Minato would actually have to /try/ to be worse.

- - -

He just /had/ to jinx it, didn’t he?

They’ve entered some weird dimensions, but this one is by far the most unsettling: Minato is Hokage, and that doesn’t actually seem to be a good thing.

As per their usual protocol, Shion and Obito snooped around a bit to check on the status of Konoha before deciding whether or not to approach the current Hokage. Konoha didn’t appear terribly beleaguered, in spite of several important missing chakra signatures (Obito isn’t here, and neither are Rin or Kakashi) and in spite of Orochimaru apparently being a jounin-sensei, so they went, “Eh, looks good enough,” and went and booked a meeting with the Hokage.

Obito is really, really regretting it.

It’s not that Minato thinks they’re actually very terrible spies instead of dimensional travelers. It’s that Minato’s grief is—weird. In most dimensions, where Minato’s ability to demolish an entire army by himself only happens once and only then during a war, Minato carries his grief with him like a smothering shroud, weighing him down. This dimension’s Minato has tapped into the more active side of grief, like it’s a path that he’s digging with other people’s graves.

Minato looks at him like a ghost, like he’s something lost, like he would kill the Shinigami to bring him back. It’s the sort of expression that’s at home on Shion’s face, during their darkest moments, but Obito has only ever seen Minato wear it once, during the Third War and speaking to a gore-covered Shion.

He doesn’t know how to feel about this look being leveled at him now.

“You saved him,” Minato says, to Shion, without taking his eyes off of Obito. “How?”

Obito sneaks a glance at his shishou. It’s a difficult question to answer without sounding callous—/I went back for him/ is tough to swallow when nearly every Minato they’ve met hadn’t.

Shion’s eyes shutter, for a moment, in the barely-longer-than-a-blink way of closing their eyes that Minato does, but it’s the only real sign of their discomfort. “You want to know if there was something you could’ve done,” they say, their voice even, measured. “There wasn’t. You do the same thing, every time.”

Minato’s face does a funny thing, like he wants to make an expression but doesn’t know which, and he rubs his cheek with his palm, finally looking away from Obito. Obito lets out a breath that he didn’t know that he was holding. “And the others?” Minato asks. “Kakashi, Rin—they’re safe, in your timeline?”

“Our timelines diverged much earlier than Kannabi Bridge,” Shion replies after a small pause. “Certain events may remain constant, but the players and outcomes vary.”

Obito has never been in a dimension where all three of Minato’s students die. It’s far more likely that this dimension’s Obito is out there somewhere, plotting the end of the world under the early guidance of Madara, but when he opens his mouth to tell Minato so, something stops him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Minato—even if this isn’t /his/ Minato, it’s still /a/ Minato—but…

But he has the feeling that if he tells Minato that his dimension’s Obito is still alive, it will be tantamount to signing that Obito’s death warrant.

Minato would never hurt him. He /knows/ that. That doesn’t stop his skin from crawling, and it doesn’t stop his danger-sense from going haywire.

He is a shinobi before he is Minato’s student. He listens to his instincts. So he shuts his mouth and lets Shion keep the lead on this one, because if anyone’s an expert on Minato, even a Minato that lets Orochimaru have a genin team, it’s them.

(He still can’t shake off his anxiety until they are allowed to leave his office.

There is something /wrong/ here, and he is afraid to name it.)

- - -

They’re not slammed into the T&I cells. They’re let go after Minato is done interrogating them, with the implicit knowledge that they will be supervised for the duration of their stay. It’s reasonably lenient; Obito tries to pretend that it isn’t a hidden noose.

In their hotel room, after clearing it to make sure there are no bugs of any variety and slapping down a silencing seal, Shion sinks onto the corner of their bed and puts their face in their hands. Very quietly, they say, “We should have remembered that anyone can be an enemy.”

Obito’s nerves, already frazzled, leap straight to fraying. “But it’s /Minato-sensei/,” he insists, pushing off the chair at the desk to pace. “He can’t—he wouldn’t—”

“Minato does not always arrive on time,” Shion reminds him, “and anyone outside of our timeline is not an ally just because our version of them is.” They run their hands through their hair, fingers meeting at the nape of their neck, and let out a breath before sitting up, hands dropping to their lap. “We’ve gotten complacent. We need to be more thorough about information-gathering. If all three of you are presumed dead in this world…”

Generally, when people are assumed dead, they /are/ dead. Madara and Obito are the only consistent exceptions to that rule. Obito doesn't know how to feel about the idea that Rin or Kakashi might be playing dead, too. "I'll find their files," he says, feeling out their game plan. "It would've had to have been when Rin became a jinchuuriki, so... find out if their bodies were recovered." He pauses, then, with a kind of perverse cheer: "Oh, man, do you think Bakashi joined the Akatsuki with me?" Shion's mouth tugs at the corner. "It's gotta happen /sometime/. Maybe we'll get lucky and that'll be all this is." "Or maybe," Obito continues, "it's Rin who survived and turned me off the track of evildom, and we're, like, wandering monks who help people wherever we go! And we just avoid Konoha because we… didn't have you to get the compulsion seals off our hearts." His enthusiasm dampens, at that, and he sags against the wall. "Oh, man. Alternate versions of myself are so fucked."

“I would assume that an Akatsuki Kakashi and a wandering monk Rin would also be fucked,” Shion remarks, gently teasing. They crook their fingers at him in invitation, and he goes, lying across their lap with a gusty sigh. Shion makes a soft noise of amusement and begins to card their fingers through his hair. “Who knows? Maybe in this dimension, /you’re/ the good guy.”

Obito closes his eyes, tilting his head toward their hand. Kakashi would make fun of him for seeking positive touch, probably, if Kakashi didn’t do the exact same thing when stressed. “Guess I’m a wandering monk with Rin, then. Bakashi would never be able to convince me to be a good person. He /litters/.”

“I don’t think not picking up dog poop is littering.”

“He doesn’t find trash cans for his water bottles.”

“Oh, is /that/ who it is? Saki’s been complaining about the trash in Senju Park. Kakashi’s going to get himself banned if Saki catches him at it.”

Obito lets out a breath and relaxes. They’re going to figure out what to do and get out of Konoha before any traps are sprung. Everything will be fine.

- - -

In this, at least, he isn’t wrong. Over the course of the next few days, he flicks through a bunch of files in several different offices, committing the contents to memory, and all it takes to escape is a Kamui portal opening into a Uchiha safehouse thirty miles outside of Konoha.

He is never going to be able to thank his long-dead ancestors enough for their relentless paranoia. Uchiha safehouses are a /godsend/.

“Bakashi’s body was the only one recovered,” Obito explains. “He was missing his Sharingan, which points to either a very opportunistic thief or, uh, you know, me taking my eye back. It was definitely me, though, ‘cause…” He grimaces. “There’s, uh, research? On Madara’s body? Which was recovered from his super secret cave after it exploded?”

Shion stares at him for a long, uncomprehending moment. “They… Orochimaru has Madara’s body?”

“It’s all sanctioned, too, as far as I can tell,” Obito affirms. “I got the idea that they’re investigating, uh, death? And how to… delay it? Or stop it altogether?”

Shion’s mouth opens, as if to say something, but they close it without speaking. Their brow creases, and they turn to Konoha’s direction.

“Orochimaru took Team Seven to the Land of Waves,” Obito adds, quieter. “They signed out of Konoha the same day we got there.”

That’s a good thing: if Minato is endorsing Orochimaru’s death-defying research, Obito wants Shion to be as far from Orochimaru as possible. Even in other dimensions, where no one would have reason to know of Shion’s kekkai genkai, it worries him that one day someone /will/. The ability to raise the dead and to mold them into any shape they like—it’s a powerful kekkai genkai, and it’s not one that he wants Orochimaru to know of.

Maybe it’s silly, to be anxious about Orochimaru and Shion in the same place, but—their own Orochimaru played with Shion’s kekkai genkai when Shion was a chuunin, younger than Obito is now, and Obito would really like it if that never happened again.

The line of Shion’s shoulders is tense. They press their lips together, hard, before turning their head away from Konoha. “We should go farther before we stop,” they say after a moment.

Obito nods, accepting the unspoken request to move on from this subject, and opens another portal.

- - -

Moving on from Konoha and Orochimaru means that they’re on to this universe’s Obito and Rin, which is—well. Getting information on them would be easy, if they could figure out where to /go/. Neither Obito nor Rin have Shion’s Hiraishin seals inked on their bodies or Minato’s Hiraishin kunai on their bodies, and they have both been outside of Konoha for over a decade.

“This would be so much easier if our Kamuis led to the same dimension,” Obito complains. “We could’ve just hopped in there and waited til he needed something.”

Shion snorts. “Because /that/ sounds like a good idea that wouldn’t get us mauled by his jinchuuriki teammate.”

“I never said it was a good idea,” Obito points out. “I just said it’d be easier.”

“For a given definition of ‘easier’, sure.” Shion rolls their shoulders back and turns back to the map laid out in front of them, the set of their mouth falling into a grimace. “If you were going to avoid Konoha, where would you go?”

“The Dead Wastes,” Obito replies promptly. As a desert and as an oasis, people can go into the Dead Wastes and never come out. It’s pretty much the best spot for a villain lair, though alternate dimension Obitos never seem to think of it. “Failing that… probably Kiri, or I guess one of the smaller nations. Ame is pretty good at taking in fleeing shinobi, isn’t it?”

Shion hums thoughtfully. “It’s known for taking in refugees, yes. Why Kiri?”

Obito can’t say that it’s because the Mizukage is apparently very susceptible to genjutsu, if the various dimensions they’ve traveled to is any indication, which would be incredibly helpful if he ever wanted to make someone of extreme political import his pawn, so he instead says, “Um, obviously if I was a villain I’d want to have a great first appearance. You met a baby Naruto on a mission to Wave, right? And people almost died?” He doesn’t trip over the name of the Land of Waves, but he does frown, a little, remembering that that’s where Orochimaru is. Still: “That’d be such a great scene for villain-me to orchestrate. It’d really hammer home the kind of life a shinobi has. They’d probably cry.”

Shion lifts their head partway through his explanation to level him with an unimpressed look. "What? You /asked/," Obito defends. "I did," Shion agrees dryly, “though I wasn’t expecting such an /effervescent/ response.”

Obito rolls his eyes. “It’s not /my/ fault that I’d make a fantastic villain.”

- - -

It /is/ his fault that they go to Wave.

They travel most of the way through warp, but they make several stops to bury a Hiraishin tag. It provides a sense of security, Shion says, and Obito gets it, sort of: in order to warp using the Hiraishin, an anchor is needed.

After having Minato as his jounin-sensei, and now a few years into his apprenticeship under Shion, Obito is mostly used to them setting down tags like they think they’ll need to warp to a remote village in the Land of Hot Springs.

Mostly.

“It’s like a trail of breadcrumbs,” Obito groans once they hit the edge of Wave and Shion, predictably, puts down another tag. “All anyone has to do to find us is follow the trail of tags.”

“Are you /sure/ you got your tracking certification?” Shion wants to know. “I don’t think putting down a tag every few villages in a vague diagonal really counts as a trail.”

“A vague diagonal is still a diagonal. It’s a pattern. It’s a trail.”

“You seem very concerned that people are going to discover a dozen tags scattered across the Land of Hot Water and immediately realize that we have gone into Wave. We are going to be out of this dimension altogether by the end of the week.”

“We could also be /dead/ by the end of the week because you /put down a trail/.”

“Maybe if /this/ universe’s Obito ever learned to appreciate trails, we wouldn’t be hoping that he will be enough of a twelve-year-old villain to want to make his grand entrance on Zabuza’s coattails.”

Obito throws his hands into the air with a frustrated /augh!/ “Fine! Whatever! I give up! Leave as many trails as you want! Twelve-year-old villain Obito will be alive because he /didn’t/!”

“That is not necessarily a point in his favor, you realize,” Shion says, amused.

Obito jabs a finger at them. “You say that now, but just wait. We’re gonna be trampling everywhere, leaving Hiraishin tags, and he’s gonna sneak up on us and then we’ll be /dead/ because he’ll assume that Orochimaru made, like, test tube clone babies of him or something! /Just wait!/”

- - -

What actually happens is this:

After ten minutes of inspecting the impoverished village, Obito and Shion come to the conclusion that killing the rich and corrupt is a fully acceptable course of action, and after three days of observation of Gato’s men, they make their move—at the same time as this dimension’s Obito and Rin.

All four of them stop several feet from the entrance of Gato’s hideout and stare at each other in surprise.

The adrenaline has to go /somewhere/, so Obito blurts out, without thinking, “Holy shit, you really /are/ wandering monks!” and claps his hands over his mouth.

He is a little horrified at himself, but he’s not /wrong/. This universe’s Obito has /two/ eyes and one of those monk staffs. This universe’s Rin has a sidecut! Some part of his brain makes a note to bring that up to his Rin when they get home, just in case that’s something she’d be into. It looks good on, like, thirty-year-old her, anyway.

“What,” two-eyed Obito says.

“Oh my god,” sidecut Rin whispers, “he’s, like, sixteen.”

“I’m /seventeen/,” Obito corrects automatically. Kakashi and Rin’s birthdays are months before his, so he endures every winter stoically weathering their teasing about being a year younger than them. He /really/ does not want /alternate selves/ to do the same. “Uh—wow. Are you /avenging/ wandering monks? Are you here to kill Gato for being a corrupt piece of shit?”

Hesitantly, sidecut Rin nods. She is wearing one red glove, and pulls at the end of it, yanking it tighter against her fingers. “I assume you were going to do the same?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Obito confirms. “Cool. Now /this/ is an Obito I can get behind.” He doesn’t /look/ like a villain who wants to destroy the world with the moon. He’s more like the vengeance of the night, sneaking into rich people’s homes to slit their throats while they sleep. Or, he guesses, bludgeoning them with his monk staff.

Shion makes a vague annoyed noise. “I could have sworn I told you not to assume everyone is an ally less than a week ago,” they say, tugging Obito’s sleeve so that he falls back behind them.

He complies, but he huffs about it. “He’s /me/! If I can’t trust myself, who /can/ I trust?”

“Your shishou?” Shion says dryly, which, okay, point.

“Was I ever that peppy in my /life/?” two-eyed Obito whispers to sidecut Rin.

Sidecut Rin leans a little towards him to reply, bemused, “Oh, you /were/. You were /absolutely/ this peppy. Maybe even /worse/.”

“You’re lying,” he accuses her. “I was never that bad. Right? … Right?”

Instead of responding to him, she straightens and, with a clearing of her throat, redirects her attention to Shion and Obito. “We wouldn’t mind your help with Gato, if you’re still interested. Afterwards, we can…” She pauses delicately, sweeping her gaze over Shion (who probably didn’t become a shinobi in this universe) and Obito (who is very recognizably Obito, if a decade younger). “... talk.”

Shion gives them a long look before nodding. “That sounds reasonable.”

Obito sends two-eyed Obito and sidecut Rin a double thumbs-up. Being an avenging wandering monk is a dream that he didn’t even know he had until today, and now he’s /fulfilling it/.

Rin is going to be /so/ jealous when she hears about this.

- - -

Three hours and two dozen dead bodies later, they relocate to two-eyed Obito and sidecut Rin’s camp. It is not especially remarkable, except for how it has a barrier seal and a silencing seal. Sidecut Rin activates both with an ease of familiarity that their Rin lacks; although she wears tags on the strings connecting her overskirt, it still comes as a surprise. Two-eyed Obito nudges the pile of wood in the center of camp with his foot and adds another few branches before blowing fire onto it.

“I /told/ you that looks cool,” Obito tells Shion, feeling strangely satisfied.

Shion rolls their eyes. “I’ll try to be more impressed with your dragon-fire.”

Sidecut Rin smiles briefly, like that exchange is something nostalgic, and gestures for them to take a seat around the fire. “So,” she says, “you look like Obito, you talk like Obito, but this never happened in our past.”

Obito glances at Shion, who shrugs a go-ahead because apparently killing twenty-odd people without turning on each other is enough of a sign that they can be trusted with this much, and shrugs back. “Yeah, our timelines diverged, like, ten years before I was born or something. Tobirama tried to narrow it down to an exact timeframe, but I think he got fed up with the variables and quit.”

“He doesn’t /quit/, he delegates,” Shion corrects. “I think Saki’s cousin is figuring it out now.”

“Right, my mistake.”

“I’m sorry,” Rin says after a pause, “did you say Tobirama?”

“Yep.” Obito nods. They’ve moved easily into Obito’s favorite part of the explanation: the other party’s incredulity, growing until they hit a stage of suspended disbelief. “Senju Tobirama, you know, the Niidaime? Wears the funky faceplate? Looks like he’d sunburn in a second?”

Sidecut Rin and two-eyed Obito exchange a /look/.

“Did… did he not die in your timeline?” two-eyed Obito asks, sounding like he’s regretting the question even as he’s saying it.

“Oh, no, he did,” Obito assures them. “We just brought him back.”

“You what now,” two-eyed Obito says.

He and sidecut Rin exchange another look, longer this time. It’s an entire conversation with only facial expressions: two-eyed Obito’s eyes demand /what the fuck is happening/ and sidecut Rin’s equally agitated stare says /I have no idea, don’t ask me, ask your sixteen-year-old self/. This is, apparently, not what two-eyed Obito wants to hear, because he lets out a breath and runs a gloved hand through his hair.

“Okay, say that we believe you,” two-eyed Obito says, even though it’s obvious that they kind of do. “Why are you /here/? Are you avenging wandering dimension-travelers?”

Obito’s eyes widen. He turns to look hopefully at Shion.

“No,” Shion denies immediately, then amends, “Not until you’re a jounin. /I’m/ not going to be an avenging dimension-traveler, but you can take Tobirama along with you when you’re a jounin.”

Obito pumps his fist into the air. “Yesss. He’s gonna /love/ kicking Madara’s ass again.”

“So you travel dimensions… regularly?” two-eyed Obito tries to clarify.

Obito pulls a card out of his pouch and hands it over. On one side it says KONOHA’S TIME-SPACE DIVISION, with the members’ names below, and on the other side it lists major events that may make it differ from other dimensions.

“No Kyuubi Attack, no Naruto,” sidecut Rin reads aloud from over two-eyed Obito’s shoulder. “All members of Team Minato are…” Her voice trails off, and she reads the rest of the card in silence.

Two-eyed Obito’s eyes flash red, for a moment, possibly checking for genjutsu but maybe memorizing the contents of the card. He looks over at Obito and Shion, mouth pulling downward in a frown. “So you’re… Iekami Shion? I’ve never heard of you.”

Shion lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m usually a civilian or a member of ROOT.”

“Of… what?” sidecut Rin asks.

Obito breathes out an “oh, /man/” and laughs. “Wow. It feels really weird, now, to talk to someone from Konoha who doesn’t know about ROOT. It’s, like, Shimura Danzo’s underground army? He steals kids from orphanages and from their clan grounds and, like, brainwashes them.”

“What,” two-eyed Obito says flatly.

Obito looks at Shion. “You explain. You’re better at it than I am.”

Shion elbows him in the ribs. “You won’t get better if you keep passing it off to me.”

“I’m still your apprentice! You’re /obligated/ to take over when I’m in over my head!”

“/Itachi/ could do this, and he’s /eight/. Do you really want to be outdone by an eight-year-old?”

“That doesn’t count! He’d be a genin if he was allowed to graduate!”

“Am I supposed to agree that a genin should be better at giving reports than a jounin hopeful?”

“Well, when you put it like /that/…” Obito groans. “Okay, jeez. Turning on serious mode.” He takes in a breath and composes his expression into what he has termed his Serious Face, which looks a lot like Minato when Minato has his hands folded in front of his mouth and his elbows on his desk. “Shion-shishou was supervising my sealwork, since I was fiddling with dimensions—I’ve been trying to translate Kamui into sealwork, which is /so hard/, you have /no idea/—and, like usual, I fucked up and we landed in this dimension…”

#noriwritey #shionverse #turtle au #naruto #obito makes the 'konoha's time-space division' cards himself. sometimes he looks at all the shit he has to put on the back and just goes #'wow. life's really fucked up huh.'#kakashi (who has had to sit thru yrs of minato & shion's space-time shenanigans & now has to deal w obito's too): *sighs* it sure is #shion and obito are apparently physically incapable of not bickering or bantering with each other #it's even worse with kakashi in the mix #but . yeah. turtle au obito and rin listen to obito's entire long and embellished tale #(which includes a tangent abt the evils of man- and alienkind. turtle au obito nods along like yes u are so right #plant monsters are in fact the devil)#and if they end it without even once being like 'wow i want to adopt you plz be an avenging wandering monk w us' i will eat my hat #this also assumes that root is uh. a konoha secret? so people who left konoha wldnt know abt it if they didnt know before they left #what good is a secret underground army if its not actually secret ya kno #plz ask us about our aus we love them #i left this open-ended because. well. obito wld absolutely love to be an avenging wandering monk.#shion: we ? need to go back ? to our own universe ????#obito: then we just need to make sure we can come back *starts working on a seal to pin down this singular dimension*

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sleepy-and-anxious · 6 years

Text

Good For Something excerpt:

Seen as people had an interest I’m gonna post an out of context scene from the beginning of Good For Something <3 Keep reading to read the scene. Please be kind bc its still my first draft lol

Tag list: @tawnywrites @seraphicscribbles @danafaithwriting @mademoiselleink @thekingsstudy @hawksnbooks @elliewritesstories @lachiffon @hpsinspo (sorry It wouldn’t let me tag your writing blog)

Hepton: Where are you?

Me: Work

Hepton: Come home. I need to talk to you.

Me: I’ll be back later

Hepton: It can’t wait. Cato, Please.

Me: I’ll be back when I’m back.

Frustrated, I logged off my port screen and zoned back into what was happening in The Lounge. I’d managed to finally change out of Hepton’s coffee stained t-shirt and into my usual work wear; A large black long-sleeved button up shirt, leather pants and a pair of thick boots. I’d slicked back my short hair with hair gel, calling attention to my sharp features. As usual for these kind of meets, I kept my tattoos covered with either clothing or makeup. I didn’t want to give away too many features that would have me easily identifiable by the Noble Policing Union if the meet was a bust or if the job ended up going south.

I was stood with my back to the office’s closed door, I had a good view of all possible exits, and the many love-seats and chaises around The Lounge would make useful barriers if it came to any form of attack. The room was bustling with patrons happily drinking with girls on their laps or watching one of the many dancers on stage. Other patrons were nicely occupied in a room of their choosing with a partner of their choosing. The amount of nobles in the room, as usual, set me on edge, but I knew some of these northerners were the reason a lot of the girls could afford to live a healthy and comfortable life. I didn’t like it but as long as they didn’t come any where near me, I pretended they weren’t here. The Northern Noble accent makes me skittish.

It was usually a mutual dislike. Northerners didn’t like me either.

But, this was the South and this was my home ground. I had the advantage here. Always.

I had my eyes fixed on the entrance that I’d come through a few hours ago, thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong, when a pale palm waved in front of my face. My head snapped to the left to find a tall blonde trying to get my attention. Fabienne Osrund was one of the newer girls, had probably been with Raven since the end of last year. She was a pretty lass, just a bit too quiet for my liking. I always felt like she could stare right into my soul.

“Sup, Fab.” I said, quiet enough for just her to hear. I looked to the clock to see I had three minutes before the anonymous requester arrived, my skin had started to feel as if it was covered in tiny paper cuts and I had to stop myself from searching for my necklace. I was still wearing it, it was just hidden - I never took it off.

“Sup, 1.” She whispers back. She always refused to call me anything other than the number on my left forearm. It was an odd thing to do, but I didn’t mind too much. Occasionally, Hepton and I refer to each other with our numbers and apparently, according to him, the boys still did so too.

“What needs met?” I quietly gave her the Common’s standard greeting, with a tense smile.

“Be calm. You’re pushing.” She said making sure to look me in the eyes - something she didn’t do very often.

Eh?

“What do you mean?” I asked, looking her over with my brows drawn. Though, I did take note of her request to calm down and made sure to let my muscles relax and let the edgy feeling fade. Much to my confusion, she just gave me a small smile.

I was still paying attention to Fabienne when the guest of honour walked in, but I knew when they’d arrived. I heard the small twinkle of someone coming through the beads and the relaxed mood of the room instantly changed. I couldn’t explain it. It was as if the entire room’s hair stood on end at once. As if the entire room, but me, held its collective breath. My gut told me something was wrong instantly. Every single self preservation instinct went haywire.

My eyes quickly found our visitor and I wasn't really surprised by what I found. Still stood in the entrance, proud as a peacock, was a middle aged lady. A middle aged lady whose clothes were typical Noble business lady fashion - a violet midi skirt, blouse and brief case - with her obviously dyed black hair tied back tightly in a ballet style bun and her lips painted a deep plum. She shouldn’t have been causing the anxiety that she was. Her face was plain and non assuming, but as she looked around the room and viewed the now frozen employees and clientele, her eyes held an amused glimmer and her lips turned up in the snobbiest smirk I think I might have ever seen. What a bitch.

The violent paper cut feeling had come back, but this time I welcomed it over unease.

Her hazel eyes quickly found me in the sea of people and, if I hadn’t have been watching her like she was my prey, I would have missed the deep swallow she took as looked me over with wide eyes. The lady’s lips pressed into a tight line. I tipped my chin up in challenge.

Yeah, Bitch, you say shit about my turf and I’ll make you wish you never stepped foot over the fucking border.

I felt a tight pressure on my left wrist. I broke eye contact with the snobby woman and, as nonchalantly as possible, I turned my head to look back at the blonde clutching my wrist like a life-line.

“One…” Her quiet voice trailed off. Her face had blanched and her eyes were wide and watering but her lips were pursed in anger. I’d never seen such a variety of negative emotions on her face. The concerning thing was that she wasn’t the only person in the room to react this way.

Across The Lounge, most of the girls and even a few of the Noble men here to enjoy the entertainment were having similar reactions. I spotted Raven across the room, perched on a love-seat with Momo, both seemed to have forgotten their wine in favour of desperately clutching each others hands. Though not obvious to most in the room, I’d known them long enough to know that was definitely a fear reaction. Self control has never been one of my strong suits but in that moment I managed to keep my face as neutral and emotionless as possible.

I needed to handle this now and I needed to handle it quickly.

I tilted by chin up sharply again letting my brows rise high on my forehead before slowly, and as patronising as possible, gestured for her to come towards me making sure the woman understood that this was a command and not a request.

I had no idea who this old lady was, but I’d make this a damn hard pissing contest if she was going to come in here and scare my girls. The room was slowly coming back to life around us, with only a few of the girls remaining panicked and looking to me.

With her head held high, she slowly began walking towards me and I let a manic grin take over my face. Her poker face had fallen back into place and her gaze hadn’t strayed from mine. I knew this was going to be fun. Beside me, Fabienne had begun to hyperventilate, so without breaking eye contact with the visitor, I reached up and gently tugged on her ear until her attention snapped back to me.

“Go and get a drink, Fab.”

Fabienne didn’t need to be asked twice as before the sentence was finished she took off towards the bar, admirably maintaining her composure.

When the lady was a few feet away I reached back and opened the office door, to let her in. She walked in without greeting and sat down on the red velvet armchair I was sat at only a few hours before, evidently she had no issue with having her back to me.

Stupid or arrogant. Jury was still out.

Ravens's office was now free of paper stacks and holo-screens, revealing her large metal desk and rows upon rows of shelves stacked with thousands of tea light candles, that she'd helpfully lit before vacating her office for me. Raven liked the vibe that the candles gave the room and insisted that electric and neon lights and lamps killed her work ethic. I watched as the shadows danced along the walls along to the beat of the flickering flame.

Taking my place in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, I kicked my boots off and crossed my feet on top of the desk, maintaining my own poker face. Her top lip curled and her nose wrinkled in distaste before she raised one perfectly painted eyebrow. The waiting game. I knew this game well; I had learnt this game from Saintly long ago. I raised my brow back. The candle light made her plain face look angular and sharp, it elongated her nose and sharpened her nose. I presumed it was doing equally scary things to my own face.

"Mr. King, My name is-" she started, breaking the silence.

"I don't care" I interrupted quickly, being sure to keep my voice emotionless.

Her mouth tightened into a thin line once more at the sound of my voice. I don't know what she was expecting of me but I knew a South Commoner wasn't it.

"My name is Desdemona Snow." She began once more and this time I didn’t interrupt her, "I am here on behalf of my employer."

I blinked. Employer? It was a rare occurrence that I worked through middle men. Usually, people who felt strongly enough to pay for my services wanted to meet me to talk the details in person. You know, to build trust, or whatever.

"Who's your employer?"

"My employer would like to keep his anonymity, ergo, why he sent me." She replied.

Fair enough. I tilted my chin up for her - an order to continue. I watched as she ground her molars together giving me a tight closed mouth smile. She really didn't like taking orders from me it seemed. It made me smile something wicked.

"My employer heard that you're the person Southerners come to in order to get rid of problems. They say you are the best." She said, shifting to place the brief case she brought with her on top of the desk.

Well, that was one way of putting it.

"Lady-"

"Ms. Snow." She interrupted me, her North Noble accent a hiss in the room.

O-hoho. I really was getting under her skin.

Taking my feet off the table, I turned so that my body now directly faced hers.

"Ms. Snow," I started, finally getting to business, "I'm who people come to, to kill criminals." I shifted to place my elbows on the cold metal of the desk-top and leaned forward before clasping my hands together in front of my lips.

For a snap second, her eyes widened at my admission before she quickly reverted back to her.

Interesting. It seemed she wasn't exactly comfortable in her employers decision but she was doing it anyway.

She reached for the briefcase and nimbly undid the clasps to open it. From inside of the case, she produced a small information file that seem to only contain a few pieces of paper. This paper, I knew before looking, would be a profile. Gently, she slid the file across the table towards me.

"Then, this is your criminal." She said.

I'm not sure what I expected to find when I opened the file.

But it certainly wasn't this.

The file was filled with three sheets of paper. That was probably about the only normal part of the profile. Quickly, I sifted through the short pages and the first thing I came across was a picture of a crime scene. The image depicted the aftermath of an attack in what looked like a barracks. It was a savage scene; blood covered practically every inch of the area photographed. No inch of wall or floor was left clean. Limbs had been roughly torn from torsos and strewn across the scene. This wasn't just a messy kill. This was a massacre like no other I'd ever seen. It looked as if it was the leftovers of a rabid animal attack.

"Blood curdling, is it not?" Desdemona mused, her expression neutral.

I didn't respond, instead I chose to move onto the next item in the profile.

The next piece of paper was an info profile, it contained a variety of basic information about the killer. I skimmed the information quickly, without taking anything in, then looked to the last item in the folder. A photo.

My mouth felt dry, all of a sudden. The guy in the photo obviously had no clue someone was taking his picture. The image depicted a young man, sat atop the hood of quite an expensive looking car smoking a cigarette. If it had been a posed photo it would have looked incredibly pretentious, but there was an air of dark realism that I couldn’t help but drink in. Cars weren't my strong suit, I'd always preferred bikes, but I appreciated motors enough to know that the car was a modern com-tech muscle car. State of the art, fast and famously hard to handle. The car seemed to be parked in some hidden underground garage that was common up north, due to the northerners rejection of modern tech in favour of more archaic forms of transportation.

But, even though I registered all those things, it was the boy I couldn't take my eyes off. He was around my age with messy dark hair. Even with the candle lit room and soft focus image, I could make out the strong line of his jaw, the heavy ridge of his brow and his almost feminine nose. His clothes showed a noble twist on the more Common goth-grunge look. He wore a fitted black dress shirt that was left unbuttoned to show a black vest top, dark ripped jeans and a pair of black shiny brogues. The picture was taken from too far away to me to get anymore details so I went back and kept flipping back and forth between the glossy image of the boy and the information sheet. His profile told me that he was in fact my age, he was only five foot six inches tall, weighed 177 pounds, had 9% body fat, 20/20 vision, blood type was AB Negative, wasn't allergic to anything. Apparently, his eyes were blue.

Tearing my eyes from the glossy image, I lifted my head back up to look directly into Desdemona Snow's hazel eyes.

"So, who is Mr. Short, Dark and Handsome?" I asked with an unimpressed smirk. Her face didn't move from her cold poker expression as she answered,

"The boy is known as Fire Demon." She stated simply.

Say what now?

“Okay.” I respond, feeling my eyebrows draw together. I looked back to the photograph. Fire Demon, huh? I got the picture of the crime scene back out and spot something I didn't notice on my first observation due to the mass of blood. Scorch marks. "He some kinda pyromaniac?" I asked.

Snow blinked.

"Yes." She replied.

Okay then.

I did a Saintly, and silently waited for her to carry on with my brows high.

She evidently wasn't used to someone my age demanding things from her, but she broke again after a few minutes.

"As you can see from the crime scene, he is a dangerous individual who needs to be gotten rid of."

"Okay." I said. "Is there proof that it was him that did this?" I asked.

"He was found at the crime scene, covered in blood. He also readily admits it." She admits, looking me straight in the eyes.

Fair enough.

"Why wasn't he given to the police, then?" I enquire, curiously. She remained quiet for a beat too long.

"My employer believes the police wouldn't be able to handle him." She finally said. Her word choice was careful and calculated in an obvious attempt to not reveal information. Little did she know that I'd find out anyway.

"Is this a vendetta on behalf of your boss? Who're the victims?" I ask, carefully trying to gauge the motivations for this action. Usually the people who come to me openly admit that they believe that the mark would pay off police or that they have no chance of changing their ways. But this didn't seem like that kind of situation to me.

She shakes her head, breaking eye contact.

"My employer wishes to take this course of action in order to protect more innocent people from being savagely murdered." She said, her voice void of emotion.

I nod in understanding but before I can ask anymore, she continued.

"My employer is willing to considerably compensate for any trouble you will go through." She states, carefully.

That caught my attention. My average monetary charge was around 2,000 RC; sometimes a bit more, sometimes a bit less. It really depended on the difficulty of the job, whether I felt killing the person would solve a problem and whether I felt it would benefit the Commons.

So, I played the waiting game, leaning casually back in Raven's chair.

"My employer is willing to offer you fifty thousand republic counts if you can make the boys death look like an accident."

My jaw dropped.

What the fuck.

#writing #my writing #writeblr #wip #work in progress #oc #original characters #fantasy #urban fantasy #cyberpunk #good for something #first draft #Im going to run and hide now

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evilpenguinrika · 6 years

Text

More Detailed 2017 Year Review

2017 has taught me a lot about things, but I think the one prominent subject is the relationships I've formed and have/had with people. Some of the relationships really gave me some insight about myself a little bit as well. And then there's the relationship that really made me focus on myself a bit more.

...

The beginning of this year I got a girlfriend (despite being lithromantic lol). It was my very first actual relationship with anyone, so it was really exciting but a little scary because I didn't really know what to expect. But I was extremely happy even though it may not seem like I was. Then we broke up and I honestly don't know how I felt throughout that period. It was a mix of indifference, relief, sadness, and contemplating everything from the beginning to the end. Later down the road, we got some closure about our relationship that things became okay again and we returned to being just friends. This part of my life in 2017 made me realize that I still have some personal issues I have to deal with and get over (like trying to force myself to actually talk about my feelings and emotions and not brush it away. and then there's the whole growing up in a broken family that really affected how I saw relationships in general whoops). I do regret giving into my fears and anxiety and having it end, but I also see this as a sign to focus more on myself and fix whatever underlying issues I have. Other then that, I don't regret anything else at all and I enjoyed all the memories that happened throughout the relationship.

...

I finally put a stop to a long-term friendship that honestly did not seem to go anywhere anymore. I won't go into details about it, but it was not a healthy friendship that it was exhausting every single fibre of me that I was just done. And this year made me bold enough to put my foot down and leave it. This incident has also made me realize the friendships I have with other people in my life and had me rethink the relationships I have with them all, listing out the pros and cons. No one is perfect, I know I'm not. But there's also the fact that no one should ever be put through a relationship where it emotionally and mentally drains them in a negative way. And I know for a fact that if something like this happens again, I'm going to trust my gut instincts and just leave.

...

The relationships I have with my best friends has most definitely gotten better and stronger that I confide in them in almost anything, putting all my trust into them. I know that we're there for one another and will keep each other grounded when it comes to the serious stuff. I'm so happy to have them both in my life and to have our friendship remain throughout the years (from elementary/high school until now). They've helped me figure out a LOT of personal issues and incidents that has happened throughout 2017 and I appreciate their advice and comfort and again, I'm just incredibly happy to have them both with me.

...

I've also like to think that some of the friendships I've had with people have bumped up to the Close Friends department. Although not the same level as the ones I have with my best friends, I still value the relationships I have with those close friends. I know we've all shared some extremely personal late night heart-to-heart conversations that came to a bit of a shock. But it's actually nice to know that we've all put so much trust into each other that we were able to HAVE that conversation at all. It's also gotten me to think positively about the friendships I've made through my life and realize that hey, I've made some pretty bomb ass friends!

...

Finally, I think I want to touch up on the relationship I have with myself. As I previously stated before, I am lithromantic. That means I am able to form romantic crushes on people but do not necessarily wish for those feelings to be reciprocated. Or, my crush on them would slowly (or immediately, it usually depends) fade away upon starting a relationship with them. When I first found the name of this orientation, it really made me feel relieved but also disappointed. Relieved because I finally have a name to put on the troubling feelings I keep having when I crush on someone but then immediately feeling grossed out or uncomfortable when they like me back. Disappointed because it made me feel like I would never be able to have a relationship with someone (a girl technically speaking since I am gay lol). It definitely made me afraid to ever commit to relationships or act on feelings knowing that if my feelings ever did fade, the other person would just assume I was leading them on - which I would never ever do. I know I used being lithromantic as an excuse to most things and let that dictate how I approach relationships, even to the point of having it interfere with my very first relationship ever (as mentioned in paragraph 1). Being aware of how my lithromantic feelings works can sometimes bring a lot of problems for me, but it can also help me out in favourable ways. However that may be, I want to take this time to ensure that if I were to ever try dating again, that I would not let my lithromantic feelings strike at my anxiety and fear. I want to be able to at least go through with something without having that punch me in the face every single time (now, I can't help what it does when I'm on my period since that's apparently when my lithromantic feelings are the strongest for some fucking reason). It's also allowed me to try to focus more on communication and also try out different ways to approach romantic relationships that work (like polyamourous? open relationships? who knows!) and won't have my lithromantic feelings go haywire.

...

Asides from the lithromantic feelings, I know that part of why I'm so wishy-washy and so closed-off with relationships is because of the environment I grew up in. My parents have not had the greatest relationship with each other, and I definitely believe growing up and being exposed to their messed up relationship has affected how I see relationships. It's definitely made me afraid to follow in their footsteps. I never ever wish to hurt my significant other or to put them through the same things my parents went through. I know I am not my parents, but sometimes that fear impacts you so deeply that it's hard to really shake off. Especially since I've grown up with it. So this has basically made me want to try and take the time to just focus more on myself and how I approach relationships (whether romantic or platonic) so I don't end up like them. I know relationships can be happy, beautiful, and healthy. I've seen couples in those types of relationships and it always warms my heart to see them so loving towards each other. I just want to be able to make sure what I want and what my needs are when it comes to relationships so I can go about my life without that worry and fear nagging at me.

...

2017 has been full of amazing experiences, downfalls, and drama that I don't even know what 2018 will bring. But one thing I know is that I'm so lucky to have met all the people this year, whether it's from school, dragon boat, or sword fighting. I've made so many wonderful memories that I will forever be proud of (winning those 2 beautiful second place medals was DEFINITELY the highlight of my summer!!) I hope to make even more beautiful memories with everyone! I really hope I haven't forgotten anything. I'm pretty sure I've said everything that I wanted to say lol

I'm so excited to see what 2018 will bring, but also a little scared ha ha!

p.s. another thing I really hope 2018 will bring to me is to experience a helluva lot more gay stuff like, pls 2018. help a queer gal out 🏳️‍🌈

#here's to 2018 #eprika rambles

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