#only tiny hand mirrors and distorted reflective surfaces | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritchamy · 23 days

Note

A question for Uneiverse (to give you an excuse to talk about it, only if you wanna. Since I also just really hearing about it). What's a detail about it that you really enjoy but haven't gotten a chance to use anywhere story related or otherwise just don't get to play with much (silly or serious)

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for over 5 months.

It's time.

And so, we begin with a question of my own.

What IS time?

We're off the map now. Come with me. Take my hand as we walk through the valley of the shadow of time. We're going to uncharted waters, and I'm going to put the fear of god into you. I'm going to make you ask yourself (and me) Amy, how the fuck does you brain WORK like that?

Let me tell you about time and fate, and about what it means to "predict" the future.

And you will begin to understand the scale of what lives within me, eternally gnawing at the inside of my skull, begging for release.

If I asked you to conceptualize time, what would you say? Is it the neat and rigid tick-tick-ticking of regular intervals on the clock? Is is the fluid, indivisible space between?

Is is all just an illusion conceived by the animal brain to account for the changing shape of the universe as one dimension passes through another, which our three-dimensional eyes are too flat to see all at once, and our souls have concocted for us a comforting lie, that we may pretend to know the universe in its whole, by knowing it piece by infinitesimal, grinding piece, seeing the pan-dimensional amalgam of existence as an endless, continuous sequence of cross-sections in a number of dimensions our meat-circuitry can pretend to process?

Time is shadows.

Imagine, if you will, a sphere.

You hold it up against the light. Suspend it in the air, perhaps, for simplicity's sake. And the sphere casts a shadow.

Is the shadow still a sphere?

Far more importantly, is it even a circle?

At even the tiniest fraction of an angle, the sphere casts a shadow that no longer perfectly represents a cross section of the sphere. It has ceased to perfectly capture the nature of the object that cast the shadow, even accounting for the wrong number of dimensions. It's skewed. You can never unskew it. The distortion is irreversible.

And the floor isn't flat.

The sphere casts a shadow at an angle at a surface that ranges in distance and direction from the object casting the shadow. Is the shadow still an oval? Has it become a shape you can't name?

But the shadow isn't cast upon a floor, even an uneven one.

What shape is the shadow of a sphere cast at an angle upon a field of grass blowing in the wind? By now there's no pretending you know the answer. And even if you could snapshot a single instant of a single shape, the very next instant that shape would change in the breeze as the grass shifts.

The world is not a field of grass upon the ground. The world is endless variation of leaves upon trees, forests upon mountains, birds in the sky, hunting for the bugs that crawl on the branches of the trees. Massive floating pools of water churning in the low atmosphere as humans decide whether that one looks like a mouse or a sheep. So many humans walking, their clothes flowing behind them as they talk, eat, buy goods, shed tiny particles of skin and hair into the wind, their breath adding chaos to that same wind and a hundred miles away a leaf turns slightly more to the left than if that human had said nothing.

What is the shadow of a sphere cast upon that world? Twisted by its unfathomable complexity of shapes and movement?

And now, to make things worse, imagine if that shadow were a tangible thing that you could pick up. That could cast its own shadow not on the floor but up against the wall.

And all of that is if the shadow is cast by a perfect sphere.

Imagine you are a being that can see the shape of time. Could you look at the echo of a shadow of a shadow of a reflection in a fun house mirror, and recreate what it once was?

Could you look at a crooked set of lines upon the wall and know the meaning of cause and consequence? Could you predict what consequences of which actions would lead to favorable outcomes when realization dawns on you that

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖔. 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞. 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖞.

Time is an ocean of possibility. Each possibility has consequences. Each consequence a sea of new possibilities. How can you hope to understand the shadow of a shadow of a shadow, and not only know what's coming, but how to stop it?

Nothing is fated. But I said something important that bears repeating. Time is an OCEAN. We'll come back to that.

Time MOVES, at least the way we perceive it. I don't like the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I prefer something of my own creation: for every effect, a cause. To achieve a desired effect - a desired outcome - you must change the circumstances of cause that lead to that effect. But there are limits to your influence.

The time to change the course of a river is when the river is still small. The longer that river runs its course, the deeper it shapes and erodes the ground around it. The larger and faster a river the harder it is to redirect it. It will go where it's going, and there's nothing you can do about it. There is an element of momentum that must be accounted for. An element of inevitability.

The path of one person's life, one set of choices available to them in one specific context, may feel perhaps like the current of a river, when you look back on it. But if different changes were made during its formation, it could have taken a completely different path. Ended in a completely different place. And influenced the formation of completely different paths in the future as a result.

But I'll say it again, and you'll know its significance now: time is an OCEAN. It is not a river, but an IMMENSE network of currents with no clearly defined borders, flowing with or against or around each other in an unimaginably complex churning of possibility and consequence and cause and effect. A shift in one current may brush up against another. The second current may shift with it, or crash violently into it, or ignore it entirely.

For every effect, a cause. But for every CAUSE, many POSSIBLE effects.

So time becomes a series of choices beyond number. Each choice leading to fathomless changes in the flow. As the earth turns, some currents flow inevitably in certain directions. If not here, then somewhere else. SOME CHANGES ARE INESCAPABLE.

The universe must be dynamic. If nothing changed, the universe would not need to exist at all. Change is the point. Variance is the point. Choice is the point. The universe exists to know itself, and it knows itself through change.

There is an endless sea of currents flowing in various ways with, beside, against, around each other. Some directions of flow are strongly influenced by the shape of the seafloor and the rotation of the earth. There are changes in the world that are virtually guaranteed to exist, whether because the nature of the universe has made them inevitable, or because changes long past have created the currents that are now too old and too deep to change.

Picture a river again. What happens when you throw a stick into it? The stick is swept up in the current and carried along the river.

Throw in more sticks. Same thing, right? You can make small changes without affecting the overall outcome. Within one large shadow of a sphere, the details of a hundred blades of grass whose shadows are lost within the larger shape.

Anchor a large stick to the riverbed so it can't get swept away. Now, it's just one stick. The water will flow around it. There are small ripples. Tiny changes in the river, micro-currents that will affect a localized area. But on the whole? The river still flows. You changed something. But you didn't change the course of the river.

Add stick after stick after stick until the river is obstructed completely, and the current is forced to change shape.

Which stick built the dam?

Which straw should the camel's back blame?

Back to the ocean. Can you dam the sea? Can you build that dam one stick at a time, by throwing sticks into separate currents, hoping the currents bring them where they need to be in time?

There are patterns borne out from the endless flow of possibility as the ocean of time churns. With all those ancient currents running together, what difference does the wake of a boat make on the shape of the waves? How many breaches from how many whales would it take to turn a current south instead of north?

What if you could make a bigger change? What if an avalanche altered the shape of the seafloor, so the rotation of the earth forces new waters to resist the old currents? So the inevitability of the dynamic universe drags forth a new set of possibilities?

There are a LOT of currents. They've been turning for a long, long time, ebbing and flowing with a billion tides and ten thousand quintillion waves. Choices can make new currents. BIG choices, with a lot of consequences, may even change existing ones.

But the ocean still has a geography to it. There are places where water is forced through the gaps between landmasses, or forced into the shallows, or freed to dive into the black beyond a continental shelf. There are places where, no matter how many changes you make, many currents are still guaranteed to meet.

There are fixed points in time.

What if one of those points is a whirlpool, threatening to swallow everything drawn into the place those currents meet?

What about a whirlpool on the scale of worlds and gods?

How do you keep from drowning?

How do you give yourself the best chance, not of AVOIDING the whirlpool of inevitability, but of entering it at the farthest possible edge, where the right momentum, the right decisions made in the moment you are caught in its gravity, may carry you through to the other side, so you still remain when time marches on?

Is it better to see things coming at all? Or is the ability to see time, to speak a language of the universe that no one else can speak, one of the greatest cosmic horrors you can imagine?

youtube

Imagine the burden of time on those who can see it.

Imagine the WEIGHT of being able to see those currents. Of knowing which threads of fate to pull. Of knowing which ripples to make, which waves to break, which currents to shift. Of knowing.

Imagine the complexity of figuring out WHICH changes to make. And the great leviathan of guilt left on your shoulders when the decisions you made - even in pursuit of the best possible outcome - bring harm to the ones you love most, the ones you're most desperate to protect.

Even if you're right.

Even if you played 17-dimensional chess with the wizard-addled corpse of god and knew, with certainty, that if a single problem you had a hand in creating had been resolved more neatly by even minutes, the sticks would not have fallen into place within the dam, and the entirety of creation could have been swallowed piece by piece by the horror you were trying to stop.

Imagine the horror. Imagine the responsibility. Imagine the unending, agonizing pain of the burden of Knowing.

Because what time is, most of all, is a nightmare.

And there's no waking up.

#Uneiverse #worldbuilding #a sufficiently clever person who has meticulously read all of my Uneiverse posts #MIGHT be able to make some pretty reasonable guesses about the plot of the first book by now #is it likely? nah #is it possible to get a CLEAR idea of how any part of this will go? oh not a chance in hell #no matter what shape of shadow you can see .... remember there are blades of grass #is this the most horrifying answer I've ever given?#please scream your incoherent cosmically garbled thoughts into my inbox so I can enjoy your mental breakdowns #I feed on the knowledge that I have changed you on a neurological level #and yes this is the shit I have to live with inside my brain at all times #I mean is that fucked up or what #I haven't even scratched the surface of what god is

15 notes · View notes

jing-yuans-wife · 1 year

Text

Lonely heart-Broken Soul:part 3

Triggers: minor injuries and anxiety as well as PTSD and anxiety attacks

Ruriko was staring at herself in the mirror. Last time we saw her, she was stuck in between fascination and shock at her reflection.

As she traced her fingers on the cold glass, her claws accidentally left tiny hairline scratches on the surface. She turned her hands over a few times, her hands had human like features. The only difference was her nails were no longer human nails, she had claws now that extend and retract. The feel of her hands was that of a cats paw now."What the fuck am I to do now?" She whispered to herself before some anger at herself surged so powerfully, her one fist just bashed against the mirror once and it broke into a good few pieces. Her reflection distorted as the mirror shattered into large shards.

Once that was done, she observed her hand that had a few shards in some minor cuts. Simply taking the shards out herself, she cleaned up the bathroom with handheld vacuum and had to tend her hand. After a tending her hand she had this urge to keep looking out her window, however she realised since her appearance is no longer that of a human it would be wise not to attract any unwanted attention to herself. Ever since the accident, she had this nagging feeling that someone will find her and the freedom she once knew would end.

Her heart rate started increasing, making her thoughts race all over and the logic she usually had tossed out the window. All she felt at that moment was her world around her coming to a standstill, the pounding in her chest and ringing in her ears. This was enough to make her head ache, her bed was her sanctuary at this time. Making her way under the covers, she had to get herself under control and calm down completely. The last thing she wanted was a full blown anxiety attack.

The hours ticked by and thankfully calmed down fully, she ended up falling asleep after at least two hours.

In the background a radio was playing with the news.

News reporter:"And on other news, the car-pedestrian accident involving a single young female was a crime of an unusual kind. The substance that the truck was carrying was the dangerous chemical known as Mutagen. The female disapeared from the scene, she is thought to have come in contact with this chemical. Now for other news, the big basketball game is coming up-."

Without Ruriko's knowledge her apartment was been watched, however by whom was rather unexpected.

@tinkabelle19

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #fanfiction #bayverse #raph #donnie #leo #mikey #new-series #to-be-continued #OCxTurtles

4 notes · View notes

trustamuscat · 1 year

Text

Guide To Choosing The Best Dental Mirrors: Everything You Need To Know

Everyone worries if they face any dental issues, like bleeding gums, tooth pain, or whatnot. In that case, your primary option will be visiting the best dentist. While examining the teeth, dental instruments play a big role. The dental mirror is one of the crucial instruments in that case, with the help of dental mirrors, dentists and hygienists can check a patient’s teeth and gums from a variety of angles and observe different parts of the mouth. These mirrors fit comfortably in the clinician’s hand and be tiny enough to manoeuvre inside the patient’s mouth. Nevertheless, you can’t just go out and get this instrument anywhere, we all know a dental mirror is an inevitable part of your mouth examination, you deserve good, comfortable retraction when necessary, clear vision from all angles, and both.

Quality dental mirrors are really needful to do the right examination, as the best Dental Mirror Manufacturer & Supplier in Muscat, Oman Trusta offers high-end dental instruments that deliver maximum quality and output.

You must focus some crucial points while choosing the best dental mirrors.

* The first point you must consider is it’s Mirror type, examining a patient’s mouth can be accomplished with different mirrors. There’re three types of mirrors are mainly used. Front-surface mirror, concave mirror, and double-sided mirror. The front surface mirror aids in producing a distortion-free image because it is just a reflection. The curved surface of these mirrors magnifies the portion of the mouth that is reflected. Double sided mirrors offer a reflective surface for seeing the required area and are ideal for retracting soft tissues like the tongue or cheek.

* The size of the mirror is another one point you must focus. Mouth mirrors are available in sizes ranging from No. 0, which measures 14 millimeters, to No. 10, which measures 55 millimeters. The No. 4 and No. 5 sizes, which have diameters of 0.18 and 0.20 millimeters, respectively, are the most widely used sizes. Smaller areas typically employ option number 2. Several sets offer every size in their selection.

* The material of the mirror is another one crucial point, it is made of two types of materials, i.e., plastic and stainless steel. Depending on your needs, you can choose plastic or stainless steel mirrors. Disposable plastic dental mirrors are an option for those who lack the resources or inclination to sterilise medical equipment.

* The coating of the mirror is another one factor, if the mirror coated on the front side means it provide a clearer image, so the image is reflected on the front side of the mirror. Mirrors with coatings on the back provide less exact reflections because light must travel through the entire thickness of the film in order to reflect.

* The next thing is handle type, typically, mirrors have a shorter lifespan than handles. Finding the handle type that best meets your needs is crucial, therefore. Because to their roughness, they have a variety of uses, including ergonomic and anti-slip. It’s also critical to understand the kind of thread being used to attach them to the mirrors, as this will reveal whether or not they are compatible. Cone Socket and Cone Steam are the two types.

These are some of the crucial points you must follow before buying a dental mirror. You can follow the above guide while selecting the best dental mirror for your practice.

Getting a clear view of your patient’s teeth and gums is one of the crucial points to provide top-notch service. Trusta offers Dental Instruments at Best Price in Oman we only offer high quality dental mirrors that support your dental practices. We are always here to top-notch dental tools together with excellent customer service. ‍

Connect with us to know more in detail.

0 notes

gnxshxt · 2 years

Text

they came to me again. another visitation. or if it's a dream it feels real enough. and if it's real there's enough strangeness about it that you'd hope it was a dream.

anyway, it goes like this:

you're back at the għasri markets. you're young and everyone that is usually there is there, except there is a large poster on the brick wall by the fruit stand with a picture of the queen mother. a few people walk past and remark how great she's looking, isn't she? and you try to ask them if she's okay - it looks like a memorial - but they move too quickly. like they're in a hurry to be anywhere else. and you're stuck there shopping like you usually do when you look up and see it, just below the sun there.

at first it looks like a plughole in the sky, a bottomless metal circle like you'd find at the end of your bathtub. and it moves easily enough between the clouds that it seems like it belongs there. like you'd probably not notice it if you weren't looking for it. but then it stops abruptly. it rotates in a way you've never seen, never even considered. like no bird or plane could do. like it's looking back at you looking. the longer you look the more you're convinced that it looks like a german bomber from the war. only it doesn't strafe it just floats there like a curious stranger in a crowd and the more you look back at it the more you realise you cannot perceive its true shape. it's is like nothing you've ever seen before except in the movies. it starts to falter, moves crabwise. then smoke rises from the back of the saucer as the image of it grows and grows and grows as it approaches and you scream out for everybody, everybody take shelter, quick!

the children of the town are lighter on their feet and they wait behind you as you all hide around the corner of the brick wall by the fruit stand. split prickly pear and melon juice on the limestone. after a deafening commotion it becomes quiet again. so you look around the corner. where the fruit stand used to be is the saucer. it's like looking at nothing, like the top of a metal spigot polished clean how it distorts the reflection of everything else around it into a perfect bulbous mirror image. an orange dust hangs over eveything and the nearby dirt is alight with ankle-high flames. before you know it you're moving closer and a sound like static on an old television rings in your ears. the closer you get the louder it becomes. and soon there is a great blue light pulsing from the centre of it and the children are screaming as the light gets bigger and bigger. you tell them to stay back but of course it's no use; the light has them. and you, you're running at the saucer. as you get closer you see inside the clear dome is a pale man, tiny and naked, with a giant head and big black eyes like a shark. he's no larger than the size of your palm but when he looks at you you can't think. his eyes and the sound of static overcome you. you can't move, you can't hear the children anymore. you could be anywhere. you try to rip the lid off the dome to make it stop but it's like you're underwater and your arms have no strength in them at all.

the light continues to expand and soon it is all you can see. so you kick and kick at where you remember the saucer to be. madly kicking like a mule. and on the third or fourth try you feel the dome pop right off and you dive your hand in and tear the pale little man out and everything stops. the light, the static sound, everything.

you're no longer in the marketplace. you're standing hip-deep in dark swamp water, surrounded by spiderlike trees, grey and black in colour, stripped of all leaves. a smell like a dying fire and the taste of tin in your throat. all you can hear is the water lapping. you're completely alone, even your reflection is missing in the surface of the water. you look down at your hand and you're holding the pale little man, but now he looks more like a child's toy. plastic and obtuse, his beady eyes deep as blackholes in his bulbous head and when you look into them you realise you can hear his thoughts and him yours. all of a sudden you understand: it's okay.

your mind races but you try to keep it simple for him. you think: i have a few questions. the first, obviously: are you going to hurt me?

quickly you understand that he won't, or at least he doesn't intend to.

next you think: so why are you here?

soon it becomes obvious that if you let him go, everything will be okay. it's like a thought but it's more than that. stronger, like belief. so you lower him into the water. like a bleeding baby fish with a hooked smile you can't safely fix. and once submerged, he immediately takes the form of a guppy, just as the saucer had shifted its image in the sky faster than your eyes could question. in this new shape he easily escapes your grip, swimming out in a quick wriggle and dash. but the way it happens, for some reason, you know you can't just let something like this loose. even though doing it feels better, feels like relief. you feel flashes of memories. not yours; ours maybe, but not yours. you take a step and the riverbed kicks up mud, makes the water thick and disguises his new scales. but you can still see the light reflect off him just so and you leap forward, reaching into the water. he manages to wriggle out once more but you catch him again, and a few more times like this until you have him tightly in both hands. when you lift him out of the water the guppy is again a pale little man. he's in your head again too.

you think: why am i here? please tell me.

he makes you understand: just let me go and everything will be okay.

and you genuinely believe it. it would be easier than deciding what to do with him and what to do after you're done with him. but after considering it a while you look down and realise you've been holding on too tightly. you've crushed his little head. it feels like hot mush in your hands and instinctively you let go. when the body hits the water this time it doesn't become anything. it just sinks to the bottom. you look around, guilty. it's just you in the water. and that's okay. you know you have to stay here now.

#original writing #writers on tumblr

1 note · View note

helenazbmrskai · 3 years

Text

More Than Just Glass

This is the continuation of the one shot that I wrote recently: ’With Glass Between Us’ (if you haven’t checked that out please do to understand the references) on a side note you can thank SHINee’s comeback for this as the song Atlantis made me sit down and write this and bring back Merman Kook sooner than I thought I will. There will be a third (and last) part in the future but I have to warn you that this story might not have a happy ending. Let me know what your thoughts are I love seeing you guys shout in my inbox and ask story related questions.

Title ‹More Than Just Glass›

Pairing ‹Merman! Jungkook x Reader›

Genre ‹merman au, fantasy, implied romance, angst, fluff›

Summary ‹The glass might separate your bodies from touching but what’s more frustrating is the emotional barrier between you two that’s far more meaningful than just glass.›

Warning(s) ‹nightmare(ish) dream, tiny blood mention (but there’s nothing really worth mentioning), maybe cute Koo because that’s a legit warning and maybe suggestive themes(?), also Jungkook might seem a bit possessive, cameo merman Jin *wink wink*, y/n gets a little touchy at the end›

Word Count ‹5.4k›

@yn-the-reader and @ggukkieland I hope you will like this part too!

Masterlist

Your breathing is loud, reverberating through the open space. It looks like your room but something seems off as you look around, your head is pounding all your senses are off as if you’re breathing underwater. It makes your chest feel as if hundreds of rocks are trying to crush your ribcage that only ebbs into a slight discomfort when you see a big mirror on the opposite side of the room.

You don’t remember owning something like this, the only mirror you have is inside your bathroom, intrigued by this, you step closer until your reflection greets you. Trying to clear the surface you rub the edge of your sleeve on it, hoping that it will clear up the fog that seems to distort the image. It gets even more blurred until there’s another figure.

The silhouette of a person looks oddly familiar until you see those dark eyes. You aggressively rub your eyes, thinking that it must be an illusion. The man, your merman who looks at you through the mirror is not the same you know that’s inside the tank just right next door. Jungkook has legs. You forgot over time what it felt like the first time to have eye contact with the creature. The discomfort that comes from his predatory looks chills you to the bone. You shouldn’t be afraid, he had plenty of opportunities to hurt you but he didn’t.

”Jungkook?” His name sounds foreign coming from you even though you call his name all the time, your throat feels dry. A rush of air is escaping your lungs when he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak – tell you something, the background of your room changes into the vast depth of the ocean.

You see his huge tail flick behind him and the mirror gets drenched by the saltwater that suddenly surrounds you, the heavy object falls to the bottom where it stirs the sand, the reflection of Jungkook placed his hand on his side of the mirror almost look like he’s waiting for you to do the same. He opens his mouth but his image gets blurry again, his face remains expressionless as the mirror seems to get farther away from your frozen statue.

Your body suddenly jolts up getting a shaky grip on reality, there’s no more water as you frantically look around the room, it’s past midnight, shadows are cast on the objects as the moon shines through the open curtains.

It was just a dream you try to calm your erratically beating heart. Sweat gathered around your hairline and your top clung to your back like you just woke up from a nightmare. You feel sore all over when you’re finally able to sit up tossing the comforter to the side you take a moment to calm down your nerves.

You fill up your cup with cold water and take a big gulp, the feeling of unsettlement that you just can’t shake off encourages you to check on your creature. It’s the first time that a nightmare left you so disoriented.

He’s sleeping soundlessly when you tiptoe into the room, he always uses the same rock to lay on. The moonlight decorates his ebony dark hair and indigo scales with a healthy shine, highlighting his dangerous beauty but sleeping like this. Appearing so vulnerable as he lays on his back, unconscious, makes you drop your guard around him.

In order to get more of your attention and time, Jungkook worked hard to make himself seem as harmless as he could get.

He continuously touched the glass with his hands and smiled with his sharp teeth, you’re not sure but you think he can hear how loud your heart beats every time he’s close. Jungkook wants to gain your trust. He eats well and you realised just a few days ago that he likes to have your attention, he always wants your eyes on him.

You have so many questions. The articles you read about merfolk only offered you a bit of the information that you’re so desperately looking for to make sense of his behaviour. If only he could communicate with you somehow but your language is too far apart no matter how intelligent Jungkook is, his throat was not meant to form words in the first place.

With a clear head, now it’s obvious what that dream meant. There’s repressed frustration on both ends here, you know Jungkook feels it too, it’s hard to convey your message and you know your merman struggles with the same problem. The glass might separate your bodies from touching but what’s more frustrating is the emotional barrier between you two that’s far more meaningful than just glass.

The language barrier is a big problem that none of you could overcome. Jungkook is stubborn though, he tries, again and again, no matter how many times he fails. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you two could never have that healthy relationship pattern that he sees in movies or perhaps learned over his years of living. The answer might have been easy a month ago, maybe even two weeks ago. Merman and human can never be together, there are too many things that keep your species apart. So it leads to that, you need to let him go, but can you? If you give him up there’s no guarantee that he can go back to the way he was living before you. Even if a miracle does happen and he safely goes back to the ocean, what will secure his safety, after all, someone somehow captured him. Nothing seems right, torn between the options you keep watching him sleep.

He looks ethereal even though he’s far away from the glass his massive body proportions are impressive and his tail is even more beautiful than when the sun shines on it. The moon makes it more mysterious, just like his expression he’s hard to read. It would be great to have a glimpse of what he’s thinking. Spending time with him made you be inside your head more, your thoughts are all over the place and it begins to make you feel crazy.

If there’s anything that this dream made you realise is that You’ll need to find the author of that article. Your first guess is to contact the man who sold Jungkook to your father, perhaps he can tell you something where you could go from there. You need to learn more about him so you could figure out what to do next.

Somewhat feeling at ease with him sleeping in the same room you decide to rest your eyes a little here, you know that counting sheep in your bed won’t make sleep come as easy as before the dream so you make yourself comfortable on the floor with a blanket draped over your body and a cushion placed under your head.

His eyes are on you even when your eyelashes flutter open he stares at your relaxed figure until you meet his eyes jumping at least five feet above the ground as you almost bang your head on the glass. If he would be human, there’s no way he won’t laugh at your clumsiness but he’s not human and he’s not even close to laughing. Maybe it’s because there’s no one above him in the food chain or he can’t comprehend how humans show their emotions to make someone feel at ease around them but his gaze is always a bit distant and cold. The only emotion he expresses well is curiosity.

You tell yourself he was probably surprised to see you here and that’s why he was staring at you so intently. Far from well rested you step under the showerhead and try to wash away last nights events.

It feels like he’s still watching with his alluring but dangerous eyes, you wonder why you were never able to shake off this carnal fear when he did nothing to make his presence appear threatening. He didn’t do anything violent after the day he was first brought in when he bit out a chunk of flesh from one of the poor worker’s arm.

Too much to think about you decide to keep your focus on one thing at a time. There’s a call you need to make but first, you need to ask for the key to your father’s office. The maids probably have a copy as you remember you saw them before tidy up in there. The harder part is to locate the shipment documents, your father is a well respected businessman he renovates houses and recently he expanded his repertoire to interior design and wood export. He’s good at what he does but he’s the messiest person that you know and you have first hand experience of how messy his office tends to be.

It will take some time before you can find what you need. You try to keep your excitement at bay before you wake up the whole house and with slightly shaking hands you grab your phone from your pocket and type in the contact number of who your father transferred a large sum of money on their bank accounts. His name is on the shipment papers as well that why you think he was probably the seller the document only entailed the details of an aquatic animal, not that you expected to see the word merman anywhere. If they could handle such an intelligent creature they must be smart enough to keep their business under tight lock. It makes you wonder if there are more merman out there just like yours.

”Good morning, it’s RBC your first class quality Global Shipping Company, how may I help you?” It’s a woman’s voice who picks up the phone, seemingly the receptionist as she sounds very professional. Your eyes scan through the page one more time before you decide to speak up.

”Good morning my name is L/N Y/N and I would like to talk with the District Chief if it’s possible who supervised the shipment for container 21556.”

”Ah, you’re lucky he’s normally not here this early but we expect an important shipment so I see no problem with that. I’ll transfer your call right away Miss Y/N.” There’s a beep you hear from the other side that informs you of the call that’s being transferred and the next time it’s a deep voice of a man who picks your call up with the same professional word set. Slightly feeling more nervous than before you bite down on your tongue.

”I heard you have questions about our recent shipment that Mr L/N requested. I assume you’re his daughter?”

”Yes. I’m L/N Y/N and I was wondering if you could tell me more about the shipment. More precisely about what was in there.” The other line went quiet for a moment before the man’s voice changed as he spoke the next words.

”Container 21556 is under high security discretion so there’s not much I can tell you but there’s someone who might have the authority to help and answer your questions. I can give you her number if you’re interested?”

You quickly grabbed a pen and one of the sticky notes from your father’s desk to write down the details. The conversation soon ends and you feel slightly closer to learn more about your merman. It could be nothing but there’s hope that this woman could tell you something or guide you to take the right path. You call her next and you’re glad that she agrees to meet you without questioning your intentions.

Jungkook waits for your approach patiently when you open the door and peek inside to see what’s he doing. He’s swimming around but stops as soon as he sees you and places both hands on the glass it’s easy to tell he’s getting excited as his tail swishes behind him at a slightly faster pace that makes tiny bubbles appear in the water. You decided to bring your lunch with you today. These past few days you were thinking of ways to get closer to him emotionally and it looked like a good idea to share a meal and ’sit’ together while doing so, you only know the human ways so you’re not sure if you’re heading in the right direction with things but maybe after tomorrow’s meeting you will get a clearer picture of him.

Going through the same motions you take two buckets full of fish up to the opening and change the lid with the remote so you could easily drop everything into the water without doing it the old ways with the rod. You see him stare at your lunch instead of consuming his so you offer him an apple that’s next to your kimchi fried rice. Jungkook takes it from between your hand and swallows down half of it with a single bite.

Your smile is evident as you watch him munch on the fruit, it’s better to look at than when he bites the fishes in half and blood gets everywhere. You're surprised to see him give the other half back, it catches you off guard as he makes biting motions with his hand just like you often do to tell him it’s time for his feeding.

”Do you want me to eat the other half?” You ask him with confusion written all across your face, instead of answering he does the same movement again, imitating what he had seen before – that you guess probably the only reply you’d get so you take a small bite out of the fruit and wait for the merman’s reaction.

His whole face lits up with delight, you don’t know why but his reaction makes you blush and hide your cheeks behind your palms. He rarely makes sounds but the ones that you’re familiar with are his eating noises and when he grits his sharp teeth together that mostly means you did something he dislikes or wants you to stay longer as he often makes that sound when you open the door to leave.

He stops as you reveal your face again and then you see that there’s a fish in his hand that he holds out in your direction but you don’t take it. You know he wants you to eat it but you’re not going to eat raw fish just to impress your merman.

Trying to say no you shake your head and pick up your fork to dive into your own food as if letting him know to do the same. It’s your first time seeing a pout on his face. It’s not a full on pout but his lower lip is jutting out and his eyes are pretty round with a sad expression. By now you think he’s doing these expressions on purpose. You stopped avoiding him when he mimicked human facial movements, your heartbeat tells him when you feel relaxed or slightly alarmed by his presence he uses the things he learned from your body language to continue to gain your trust and his strategy is clearly to make you swoon over him. You admit that he looks pretty cute right now if you ignore his weirdly arranged teeth in his mouth, on a superficial side his skin is flawless and his eyes are big and beautiful.

The girl inside of you likes the attention and it’s flattering to know he considers you harmless or precious enough to show the different sides of him that’s not just the big bad predator of the sea who could probably rip you in half just like he does with his food.

He did make you feel like you’re in danger but Jungkook never did threaten you outwardly and the feeling of uneasiness keeps fading, it’s being less present in your body language as you progress and spend time with him. The date your merman arrived looks so far away now, when Jungkook first got here you had no idea things will become so complicated. It was easier to avoid him, to treat him like the fish he eats.

He didn’t try to pull you into the water after you hit your head on the sharp edge of the glass and a small amount of blood got into the water from your cut. Jungkook looked really guilty about it too, he kept grinding his teeth and do anxious circles while you put a bandaid on your tiny scratch. You know it wasn’t his intention to hurt you. You’re still not sure why he wanted to pull you into the water in the first place.

”I hope the meeting goes well tomorrow. It would be nice to know more about you so I could get a hint of what you want to tell me.” Jungkook listens to your voice with his elbows propped up on the edge, it’s very sharp but it doesn’t break his skin.

Even though you know he couldn’t make sense of what you’re saying he always listens. It’s rare to have him so close, you normally like to keep the glass between your faces as you talk to him and share tiny bits about your day but today you feel brave enough to linger on the top of the stairs.

”I know it’s wrong of me to think like this but I really want to touch your hair. I wonder if the texture is similar to how our hair feels like or it’s entirely different. Your hair is always wet too so I wonder if the colour would be the same when it’s dry. I’m just really curious about you, you probably feel the same way but can’t tell me.”

It’s silent when I run out of things to say but sometimes the silence is nice. The sound of water has a calming effect on you as you keep eye contact with your merman. He likes looking at you, what he probably doesn’t know is that you like looking at him too. These staring contests are quite intimate in a way, to you at least, it makes you feel in a certain way that’s the farthest from fear or uneasiness on the spectrum of emotions which is quite funny as his eyes are the ones that made you feel those things before.

You’re significantly more calmer to meet with this woman the following day. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are to realise the address she gave you over the phone leads you to a laboratory specializing in marine biology.

The room that you’re led to has a difficult security system installed that prolongs your journey to her section. You didn’t see any tanks on your way but you swear that you heard moving water from somewhere inside this building.

Your question gets answered when you step foot into a giant room that has the biggest tank you’ve ever seen. The girl appears small next to it, an ant in comparison to the size of the object that swallows up the most space inside. She sees you stand by the door and beckons you closer, it doesn’t help that you’re getting crazy scientist vibes from her.

Well, it doesn’t matter if she’s crazy or not you think, it’s crazy enough that merman exist. Things probably can’t get any weirder than this. The tank inside your own living room gives you enough courage to approach the girl.

”Let’s get over with the introductions, shall we? My name is Suzy Lu and you’re probably here to know more about your merman companion I assume?” Slightly dazed by her straightforwardness you could only nod. Seeing her up close she has a really petite body, the white coat she wears can easily hide her curves and the sleeves reach beyond her painted fingernails almost like a child who wears her parents work clothes for the first time. She looks quite unique.

”Yes. I mean, I’m Y/N. I guess there are more mermen out there if you assume I have one? Mermaids are real too?” You can’t even try to fight the urge to just dive into the unknown part of the world and absorb as much information as you can about merfolk. This is what you needed all along, to meet someone who can give you advice and hear you out. None of your friends would understand you and your companion can’t speak. Even though Jungkook always listens to your rants it’s nice to get feedback once in a while.

”I haven’t seen a mermaid yet but I assure you they are as real as you and me. To answer your first question, there are 5 other mermen’s existence that I know of who were sold, if you look closely you could get a glimpse of Jinie here.” She theatrically gestured to the tank next to her and soon enough you got a glimpse of a light blue tail cutting through the strong aquatic vegetation. His tail’s colour is a lot lighter than Jungkook’s and it doesn’t have that purplish tone to his scales.

”Jinie?”

”Hmm, his full name is Seokjin but I like to call him Jinie.” Almost like he senses you two are talking about him his full body appears, the tank’s tall frame reaches the high ceiling he’s just as huge as Jungkook but Seokjin’s tail looks a little shorter but it could be just the illusion created by the glass.

”Do you experiment on him?” It’s logical to think that considering you’re inside a marine life research laboratory. However, it doesn’t seem like to you that he’s mistreated, Seokjin looks like he’s well-fed and lively with his constant swims across the water to reach each end without much of a hassle.

”We could say that. Jin is with me since I bought him fifteen years ago. You probably read my rough outline on the internet, that’s how merman owners like you find this place.” She drags another stool to face her table probably to set up the space to chat. You accept the invitation and take a seat knowing that you’ll be here for a while. You have so many questions. She spent fifteen years with her merman, there’s no one else who could understand your struggles better than her.

”I do read the articles but I got your number from the shipment company.” Lu lowly hums distracted by her thoughts she grabs a water bottle and pours you a glass to offer that’s when you see the roughly healed tissues of an old scar that curls around her elbow and meets with her inner wrist. It does look like a nasty cut.

”What happened to your arm if you don’t mind me asking?” It’s fairly rude to ask something this personal but your curiosity got the better of you.

”It’s from an accident. I did all different kind of things when I was younger to complete my research on merfolk. I’m a retired scientist though I spend my days with Jinie and enjoy life. Write about mammal reproduction, you know all that jazz.” You take the water that’s in front of you to stop yourself from prying more than you already did, it’s none of your business anyway. You’re here to ask Jungkook related questions.

”I recently gave Jungkook a bracelet and he’s really fond of it but after that, he kept doing strange things.”

”Did he get clingier and gets restless whenever you’re not around?” You nod to both of those questions and she starts digging around in one of her drawers to retrieve a document that seems to be five pages long.

You take a look at the front page and now there’s no doubt left in you that you’re indeed in big trouble.

It says: Study about the traditions of merfolk mating (unfinished)

Signs that mermen make to attract their mate and behavioural changes:

· courting circles (to indicate they are interested in making you bear their children for further race preservation)

· always in sight (to make sure no one tries to steal their mate and to hide them from other predators, they get violent if they think someone tries to take their mate away from them)

· safety (once their mate is chosen they will never try to hurt her even if she tries to leave them; if their mate dyes they starve themselves to death)

· food stock (merman starts to eat more than usual when mating season comes ensuring that they are nourished enough to keep their mate safe and have plenty of energy for reproduction purposes)

· scenting (they use their saliva as a form to scent their mate, they usually lick at a spot they like and then smear their saliva all over the skin with their fingers to ensure it stays on)

”How do you know all of this?” Your eyes only skimmed through the first page but you’re already overwhelmed with new information.

You witnessed some of it with your own eyes but didn’t think there’s a connection between the actions also the descriptions to some parts are very vague to the point that there’s no real information on mating itself.

”From other researchers and my own experiences. The problem is there’s no real research on reproduction yet. We have no idea how merfolk mate as no one witnessed it before and the human anatomy is very different from theirs to just guess.”

You look at the tank where Seokjin swims around, it seems like he doesn’t even care we’re in the same room as him, he keeps himself entertained while Jungkook always watches you from the moment you step into the room. Same species but very different personalities just like there’s no two perfectly identical human on Earth.

”The biggest problem we had to face in the past and the future as well is that we can’t say it for sure that what we wrote down reflects the reality. As you probably know by now mermen can’t talk like we do. They are considered the most intelligent mammals of the sea but they’re more animal than human. Driven by mostly instincts they’re not always in control over their bodies.”

Lu walks up to the glass and gently taps it while she tells you her true unfiltered thoughts, it’s obvious that the uncertainty of everything that’s known about merfolk is not something a scientist is used to.

It could be the reason why she gave up on her research but you don’t want to pry anymore, it’s as clear as the glass in front of you that she has her own set of doubts. She spent more time with her merman than you did but it looks like things won’t get any easier over time. At that time you had no idea that this relationship was doomed from the moment that you laid your eyes upon him. The emotional attachment changed everything that you want to fight for the things you managed to build with him. He can’t give you a lot of things that are normal for you – for example, a decent conversation, the most basic thing in the world is to hear and be heard.

The gentle tap against the glass gets the merman’s attention, he swims towards Lu and surprisingly he taps back. It’s similar to how you first connected with your merman by placing your hand on the glass, it makes a small smile appear on your face to recognise the natural need to communicate. If you can’t express yourself with words there are so many other options to do the same.

You wonder if she sometimes feels the same way as you do. There are times when it’s suffocating to watch him behind the glass it feels wrong to have him displayed inside a tank as people do with pretty goldfishes. With Jungkook it feels different, he’s not like anything you’ve seen before.

You had no idea how much you needed to talk to someone about the things that weighed you down.

For the longest time, you were torn between two options but there was one thing that you didn’t consider. Jungkook chose you as his mate even if things are forced to be somewhat platonic he wouldn’t want to be separated from you. It’s clear that you can’t give him a child, your bodies are too different and he’s probably not aware of this fact, for now, you have no idea how those things work but you can cross that bridge when you get there.

There will be a time when you need to say goodbye to him, you can feel it in your bones but until then you should live your life to the fullest with your new companion on your side. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel guilty about wanting him to stay.

Your smile gets bigger when you see him, he looks excited. He could feel your body relax as you approach him, it’s the first time that you feel completely at ease by his presence. His face is squished on the glass as he tries to feel you despite the barrier separating your bodies, he always looks so happy to see you.

You failed to see before that he might be a dangerous predator by nature but he turns into a soft goofball when you’re around. Jungkook accepts the fish from your outstretched hands, he has one large palm gripping the edge of the glass to keep his head above water he developed this habit of holding onto something to keep his body close to where you sit on the highest part of the stairs close to the open water. Curious to what his reaction might be you place your hand on top of his, the contact makes him freeze between bites while his eyes stare at you with a glint of surprise and something else in them.

”Your hand is really cold.” You murmur the words and without thinking your actions through one more time you bring your intertwined hands up to your lips and kiss his knuckles one by one, you feel how his arm shake slightly with the contact but he doesn’t try to pull away. His head falls onto your thigh soaking the material of your jeans but you don’t dare move as it’s the first time you two made so much skin to skin contact.

Your other hand goes to his hair, touching him gently as if you’re afraid he’ll find your touching repulsive or threatening. It’s obvious that it’s his first time doing this, you don’t know much about merman and mermaid relationships but they probably don’t show affection the same way as humans do. You could only hope that you’re not doing something wrong.

Jungkook has really thick hair, it’s not as soft as you anticipated it feels quite different under your fingertips but your hair is used to all the products that make your hair softer and healthier while there’s no merman shampoo out there so the difference in texture is normal, it looks pretty either way.

You’re not sure what was his initial goal to touch but you yelp when his wet hand makes contact with your chest, you pull away immediately.

”You can’t just touch my boobs like that.” He almost looks sheepish with his sharp teeth on display and eyes round after your noise of surprise as you scold him. Jungkook holds up his hand waiting for you to do the same, you assume it’s his way of saying sorry so you comply and hold his hand again.

When he pulls your hand you think he’s going to try and pull you into the water again but he presses his lips to your palm instead, mirroring your previous act. His pink tongue licks his teeth before it peeks out to taste your skin. You’re so distracted by the disturbing texture of it that you don’t realise as his thumb rubs his saliva onto your skin.

Turning two shades darker your face flames up with embarrassment as you realise it’s his own way of scenting you. Lu was right that mermen are driven by instincts as Jungkook has his eyes closed and looks rather distracted by his motions as if he’s under an inner influence that clouds every other thought that he might have. He has the strength to keep your hand in place but applies just enough pressure not to hurt you.

Jungkook only lets you go once he’s satisfied with his handy work and goes back to eating like nothing happened.

The Last Hand On Glass - The continuation of 'More Than Just Glass' check out the last part here!

280 notes · View notes

enbyonmandalore · 3 years

Text

Issues

Tech x gender neutral reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: NSFW 18+

Word count: idk man

Warnings: body image issues and graphic description thereof, nudity, implied adult activities

Summary: You work in the cloning facility's medical center, when The Bad Batch returns from Skako Minor. Tech is your sweetheart and he missed you.

A/N: This is my take on the TikTok (TechTok) sound "Can you turn the light off? 'Cuz I don't like the way my body looks..." - "No, no, it's all good. See? *takes glasses off* I can't see shit no more!". Enjoy!

Issues

"Clone Force 99 is back!"

All you hear is rushed footsteps and yelling - the people sound worried and angry. A stretcher is wheeled into the medbay and on it lies a clone with no hair and pale skin. At first you don't even recognize him, he was thought to be dead, but there he was. Alive and barely conscious. Echo.

The shouting only increases when the mutilated trooper attempts to move and you need to act fast so he doesn't hurt himself or potentially others. You give him an intravenous sedative and he sinks back down onto the stretcher. Together with your superior, Nala Se, you transfer him to an actual bed, chase the spectators out of the room and then analyze what is left of his body. Both of his legs have been replaced by mechanical ones, his right arm is now fitted with a computer docking module and a foreign control device is attached to his head. The separatists truly mangled his body.

After the original panic died down, you take a moment to just stand there and look at the poor trooper. In that moment you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hello", says a familiar voice and you turn around to look at Tech.

In all the hurry you completely forgot the Bad Batch had also returned to Kamino.

"Thank the stars you're back safely!", you exclaim and wrap your arms around him tightly. "Shit, I was so worried."

"Do not worry about us, we're...fine.", Tech responds and adjusts his glasses. You see him glance at Echo's limp body behind you and quickly step away from the bed, pulling Tech along with you.

"Tech, what the hell happened?", you ask, not even trying to hide the worry in your voice anymore.

The clone sighs and begins to explain the entire encounter with the Techno Union on Skako Minor beginning to end. You listen with wide eyes, fidgeting with your hands every so often. Terrible things happened on that planet and you are glad you only get to see part of it.

Later that evening you feel like you need to take a shower. After everything that happened today, it feels more than justified. On your way to the shower your eyes catch onto your reflection in the mirror.

"Oh stars", you whisper to yourself as you look at yourself. The person you see in the reflection is barely recognizable, barely holds any semblance to what you should look like.

Disappointment glints in your eyes as you take a long look at your body and your brows unintentionally furrow. The person in the mirror just doesn't feel real. Your body doesn't feel real either.

Every time you made the mistake to look in the mirror -or any reflective surface- for too long, your brain began playing tricks on you. You know it is, because when you look down at your bare self the images you see in the mirror are distorted and wrong. And yet... You wonder if you're really just imagining these issues.

Maybe Kaminoan mirrors just work different.

After your shower, you walk out of the tiny refresher attached to your equally tiny quarters. All of a sudden, Tech bursts into the room -now wearing just his blacks- and quickly shuts the door behind himself.

He opens his mouth to speak, before realizing what he just walked in on. He looks at you, somewhat startled, trying to assess the situation correctly and-

You rush to cover your body with the towel and grimace in embarrassment as your eyes lock on to one another.

"Did I not lock the door?", you yell in surprise.

"You did not.", he states and turns his head to look away.

"Oh", you say and scramble to cover more of your body with the towel.

For a moment an awkward silence fills the small room.

Looking at the handsome clone out of the corner of your eye, you muster up the courage to ask: "So... What brings you here, Tech?"

"I wanted to see you.", he confesses and risks a glance in your direction. "I missed you. And we didn't get much time together earlier-"

"I missed you too.", you reply. "But can you...turn the light off?"

"May I inquire as to why?", Tech asks back.

"Because I don't like the way my body looks...", you mutter ashamedly and avoid his gaze.

An idea flashes across across his mind which might just comfort you.

Tech clears his throat and reaches for the yellow glasses firmly strapped to his face.

"No, no. It's alright, see?", he explains with a crooked smile and removes his glasses. You open your mouth in protest, but he cuts you off.

"I can't see anything now. I thought this might make you more comfortable for the time being?"

A smile spreads across your face at how thoughtful he is. You step forward, gently grasping Tech's hand and pulling him towards you. The fact that his eyesight is terrible gives you enough comfort to act on your thoughts.

Tech's hands lay on your waist, his thumbs slowly caressing your exposed skin. Your head rests against his chest and you can hear his heartbeat speeding up.

"You know, even if I can't see right now, I still think you look extraordinarily beautiful.", Tech mumbles.

Your heart skips a beat and then beats twice as fast when he says that. A part of you wants to ask him if he's serious, but deep down you know that Tech always means what he says. Tech slowly leads you backwards until the back of your legs touch the edge of your bed. The whole time his forehead his touching yours and you feel the urge to hold him closer.

"Do you want to do this?", he asks in the softest voice he can muster and it melts your heart.

"Do you?", you respond just as quiet and tilt your head. He might not be able to make out your expression, but he knows you well enough to decipher your tone. And you both act on your thoughts.

The next morning you wake up to the sound of your alarm and find Tech, your sweet Tech, still squished beside you in your bed. The sound of the alarm wakes him too and you both hurry to get ready for the day. Carefully peeking out into the hallway first, you signal to Tech that the coast is clear and he rushes out the door, but turns back to place a kiss on your forehead. Then he's gone.

In the refresher you find yourself confronted with the mirror once again and for the first time in what feels like forever you are kind of grateful for what you see. Not some mutilated alien cyborg, but your own organic body. And suddenly you're happy about the way it's shaped and works - Tech calling you beautiful really flipped a switch in your brain.

Yes, this is alright., you think and go on to take your shower. You purposely shower hot, so the mirror is fogged up on your way out. Nobody can change your mind anymore.

___________________________________________________________

This fanfiction is property of @enbyonmandalore (Tumblr). I do not own any of the characters associated with the Star Wars franchise. Do not repost/crosspost on other accounts or websites, edit, translate or otherwise change this piece of writing.

92 notes · View notes

cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

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

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

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #sorry for the wait it's homecoming week and i'm a yearbook adviser lolololol

46 notes · View notes

varian-the-unstable-alchemist · 3 years

Note

llaW eht no rorriM rorriM: The muse is stuck on the other side of a mirror. They must find a way to break the curse or get someone on the other side to help them, so long as the reflection doesn’t find their friends first.

-Varian came to suddenly. He was laying on something cold and hard He groaned, pushing himself up and rubbing his head. He looked around and found nothing... he couldn't see much outside his tiny circle of light. The floor was reflective, but distorted. He turned and saw something that resembled a doorway. It was circular and... there stood himself. There was a figure standing on the other side. He looked exactly like himself. Varian quickly stood up, rushing over to the opening. when he touched it, it felt like glass, he couldn’t pass through- wh-what...?

-his voice reverberated throughout the space, loud in his ears. He looked at himself, only to find his doppelganger smirking at him-

What’s going on?!

-his voice bounced back at him, painfully loud, he winced. His double took a step back as varian started to bang at the barrier between them.-

Oh varian. what’s the matter?

-its voice sent shivers down varian’s spine, it was exactly like his own, expect it help just as much malice as when he had been hellbent on destroying corona. he lowered his voice- wh-who are you? what are you doing?

-the other chuckled, closing its eyes and turning away- Always so curious... you’ll see... you’ll see...

-it started to walk away. It piked up a bed sheet from his bed and walked back towards the mirror with a malicious smirk- No! No! Wait! Dont! Please-

-the sheet was thrown over the mirror, obstructing his veiw of his lab and most of the light. He was left in darkness, his voice bouncing back at him from everywhere- NO! NO STOP! DONT LEAVE ME! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME HERE!

-he somehow the click of the door to his lab locking over the deafening sound of his own screams in his ears. Varian let out a sob, sinking to the ground and resting his forehead on the cool surface of the mirror keeping him trapped here-

-the mirror double smiled as it made its way towards the boardwalk, hands in its pockets and searching for other people-

// so varian’s voice probably cant be heard from outside the lab.. its very muffled even inside and you can probably only understand him by standing close to the mirror, also the doppelganger took the keys-

@gazmembranerp @shattered-ecilpse-varian (or @/moth-steven) @call-me-cassie (or @/spinel-but-touch-starved) @purple-steven @ryoko-fricking-otonashi @anyone and their alts!

160 notes · View notes

mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

Barbatos- True Form

It’s here! Thx for your patience's I hope it’s worth it :<

Last but not least for this series is: Belphegor

Of all the demons you’ve met, he unnerves you the most. Not because of his demeanor or temperament. No, no you genuinely like him and his company. There is just something about him that unnerves you sometimes. He is just so hard to place.

You see- how can I explain this. The brothers are easy to understand’ easy to neatly categorize and compartmentalize in your mind as friend or foe. For as ancient as they are you do share some common traits. Family lineage for one. Traceable origins. It’s familiar, it’s comforting.

Hells, even Diavolo has an origins, a genealogy one could trace. A family made of stone flesh and blue blood. (He’d be happy to tell you about it too- if you have a few eons to waste).

But Barbatos? Barbatos had just always been- here...there? From the context clues you’ve picked up from Lucifer and Diavolo he was older than even the great kings of the past. He even helped raise the crown price. He grew in experience and expanded his talents, but never aged. Did he have kin? A bloodline? Hell did he even bleed? His very existence raises the hackles of your self preservation skills.

If he is older than the old kings is he old then the concept of time itself? Does the idea of time really exist to him at all?

The odd fight or flight feelings he gives you lessen and disappear over time though. He knows he can be quite uncomfortable to the human psychic and evolutionary survival traits instilled in you after hundreds of thousands of years fighting to the top of the food chain.

It took you a bit, but one day you finally warm up enough to ask him about- well him. How he works, and what is relation with the idea of time even is. It was shot in the dark question. He is a notoriously private demon. But for you he will open up a little. Besides it’s not like you could do anything with the information anyway. Just promise to never tell Solomon.

The best he can explain time to a mortal is in an analogy. If time was an object it would best be described as a stream or creek to him. And all the little minnows and guppies trapped in it’s currents were the beings of the three realms. While they are bound by the waters he would be the one standing on the riverbank.

Most of the time he is happy enough to walk alongside the flow. Other times he enjoys simply dipping his feet in and watch it all pass him by seeing what it all does without his intervention.

Others he’ll slip in himself and gauge out new deviations and channels of his own. He loves to see what flourishes in his hand crafted areas without intervention.

He does confide in you however. Despite his age and maturity he can still slip up from time to time. He is not infallible after all. Barbatos’s corporeal existence depends heavily on his emotional state and mental fortitude. If he is not careful he has a tendency to just-get swept up.

One moment he is having a delightful time with you over a fresh pot of tea and the next… You had a lovely funeral. Wait- hmmm no. Honestly, humans can be so gaudy sometimes. He was actually offended on your behalf. The flowers weren’t even freshly cut.

Ah well. Once he is stable he’ll simply dam this stream and kill the flow before this travesty would happen. Now where was he? Ah yes, do you think this blend goes better with Madame Screams or a human bakery?

Truthfully Barbatos doesn’t use his abilities all that often. It gets boring real quick. But sometimes he is tempted. Anything to do with you is a struggle to be exact. Most streams involving you he is happy to let slip by. All the ones of you falling for the brothers, or his highness, even the angel. There are even a few of you falling for Solomon. Those he doesn’t wise to see.

But the streams where you fall for him? The itch to look is overwhelming. Just a peek, a small taste of your favor. What had he done to make you his? Did he have a chance in this timeline? He always loved a good mystery. So he’ll bide his time and wait.

Now naturally there are some other rules to his existence. Being constantly hyper vigilant of himself can get exhausting and he needs to rest. He doesn’t sleep though, not by human standards anyway. You’ve walked in on him “resting” once or twice. He calls it a stasis period. To you he looks like he’s frozen. Stock still and just standing there in his room. His lanky form flickering in and out of focus. After images appear around him, hundreds of different hims there but not.

It’s an absorption stage, or so he explains. All the input from the trillion parts of hims scattered about all sharing like a hive mind their encounters and experiences. This is the one time every version of him is in sync and very vulnerable.

While he can convene with all his scattered parts of him in stasis he still cannot be in the same visible area as them. One of the two would have to yield to the other. The weaker one reabsorbed quite violently. It is a most unpleasant feeling.

After exerting large amounts of energy and not resting it can take him a bit to recover, and it is very noticeable. He lags hard after such instances, literally. The first time you saw him snapping and rubberbanding around the castle gave you a few more grey hairs then was normal for your age. He’s normally smooth movements were now choppy and stiff. It would have been funny if you weren’t so worried for his well being. The only thing to stop him is Diavolo himself having to throw his weight and power around to get him to rest. He hates being reprimanded.

Don’t get me wrong though. He loves serving the royal family. The years spent in the Devildom have been an utterly delightful vacation. The menial labor and tasks keeps his mind anchored in the present and mutes all the other voices of him to a manageable static.

Now when it comes to his form quite frankly even he has forgotten what he originally looks like. He has been in this form for so long he might as well call it his original form. You ask to see it once, beyond curious. If you could see it that was. Was he like Dia? A formless form? A mass of contradicting layers stack one on one on top of each other?

He is hesitant to say the least. He consults with himself on this. Have any of the others come across this yet? If not he promises to look into it for you. He practices with Simone, knowing that aside from Solomon he knows the limits of a human. Once certain he comes to you delighted to share himself with you.

He is so smol small. His form fitting neatly in the palm of your hand. He is warm and pulses like with a faint heartbeat. You can’t really make heads or tails of what his defined form really is though. His tiny form is covered in a glowing haze flicks of distorted images and sounds invade your senses whenever you hold him. But one thing you can sense in some kind of bony nodules and slender legs. Thousands of them all skittering and tickling your flesh, like an obscenely long centipede.

Now that you know of this form he likes to pop up from time to time when he misses you. His favorite spot to appear is in the breast pocket of your uniform. It’s dark and quiet and close to your heart. While he can’t talk in this form, the physical closeness is enough for the both of you.

Mini Fic

“Be honest with me. Which one of me is your favorite?” You flip over onto your pleasantly full stomach. His tea sandwiches and cakes make you feel sleepy. You stretch out with a grunt of happiness enjoying all the little touches that were distinctly Barbatos. The blanket protecting you from the early morning dew smelt of elderflower and juniper. The fleece material was a personal favorite, soft, warm, and perfect. Even the foods had all been your favorites. He had crafted this all with you in mind. Surely you were the favorite. If he would put this much effort into it.

The demon in question hums from his chair. A steaming cup of tea resting lightly on his bottom lip. A perplexing thought. Each one of you was a delight to his many senses, so similar, yet so different at the same time. Like a reflection in a broken mirror. Each one so stunning and vivacious in a way only a human could be. Yet so few even glanced his way. “Does a parent have a treasured child?” He quips back.

Your peal of laughter warms him better than any tea. “Ha! You must be an only child then.” You snort. He matches your smile, pleased that you were pleased.

“Perhaps-” He takes a sip cutting off that train of thought there. He didn’t need to sour a pleasant morning with such melancholy questions. Was he an only child? Surely he at least had a sire. If he had such kin would they have not met by now? He was on every plane of existence that he knew of. Had they missed each other? Slipping past each other like ships in the night.

More likely they would be more like two similar ends of a magnet being forcibly kept away by their molecular structure than merely missed chances. Incapable of existing in the same dimension at the same time.

Ignorant to his inner turmoil you flip back over to your back eyeing the snack tray he refilled. “How much longer now?” He checks his pocket watch then looks out at the carnage below them.

The Battle of Omosu was in full swing. The ancient warriors below oblivious to the strangely dressed human and otherworldly man sitting on top of a neighboring cliffside to observe the preordained outcome. “Any moment- now pay attention.” He chastises you but without any heat. Pocketing his watch he comes to sit beside you on the fleece blanket. You scoot closer, happy to have his naturally warmer body beside you. The heat of which fends off the cold sea breeze. “There, look.” He points to a growing patch of bubbles by one of the enemy ships.

The water turns turbulent, oily green, and black bubbles foaming on top of the surface. “Wow.” It was all you could manage to whisper.

Leviathan enters the fray now, called forth by his pact barer. The great serpent emerges like a ghost from the depths. Invisible to the other mortals you watch fascinated as his massive tail wraps around a boat crushing it as easily as if it were a stick. Another capsizes, getting pushed away by his massive shoulder.

The sailors fall into the choppy water mouths open in silent screams. They would not survive after hitting the water. Levi’s legion waits below, ready to drag them deeper down. Their bodies will be added to the Devildom navy. Something dark and humanoid darts around the remaining boats. From what you remember from class Levi had called forth an umibozu from the nearby depth for this fight. Its bloated grey body jostles the boats knocking more sailors overboard whole. The two of them make fast work of the enemy ships. The human sailors pick off the rest.

“Quite impressive.” Barbatos remarks. “I can see why humans want to make deals all the time. But what a terrible cost, don't you think?”

“What’s going to happen to the pact holder?” You ask.

“Depends on whatever Levi feels like. Mostly his holders are trapped in the depths of his realms. Left to the devices of their victims. But each brother is different.” The air around you both grows thick with your sudden fear. You rub subconsciously where your pact mark rested, eyes blank.

He places a firm hand on your thigh bringing your focus back to him. “Don’t worry. Like I said the choice is up to the demon that holds the pact. I doubt you would be advantageous to the royal navy.” You chuckle weakly, still rubbing at the growing chill climbing up your arm. “Will this be enough for your project?” He removes his hand begrudgingly away from your soft leg. “It is getting late.”

You nod glancing back down to the battle. It was already over-with the great sea beasts and demons in the water, Takeda’s forces didn’t stand a chance. You don’t wait to see Levi’s victory lap. “Yes, thank you for your help.” You accept his help in picking up your books and supplies. “I hope Kinz is happy with this.” You had been having a bit of trouble in your history class with Professor Kinz. Nothing major, you had assured him. But if it continued your ranking within the school would be at risk, and with it your scholarships.

“Any time.” Barbatos moves an elegant hand to the center of your back escorting you away from the edge. A door slowly emerges from within the mist. He grabs the semi-translucent knob and opens it for you. “I know it will be more than satisfactory.”

“Ye?” You adjust your pack’s shoulder strap bracing yourself for the weirdness of time travel. “Think you can give me next week's lotto numbers? I’m asking for a friend.” Your teasing pulls a deep rumble from him. It was all in good fun, but truth be told he came to find that not keeping one of his many eyes on you had the most enjoyable outcomes. You little human ramblings and witty comebacks being one of them. You at least weren’t afraid to joke around him.

“Now, who said I did anything of the sort?” He chuckles. Keeping a firm grip on your forearm he ushers you through the threshold. You clung to him hating the sticky feeling of the space between time. It clung to your skin, thousands of webs grab and pull at your clothes knowing that you were not supposed to be outside of their control. You were envious of the fact that you couldn’t experience it the way Barabatos did. To him, this was nothing more than the feel of a cool shower. The pulls of time merely buffering off of him. Hardly a threat like it was to you.

He sees you off at the gate to the house bowing deeply as you hop up the front stairs waving at him. You had to hurry lest you be late for dinner. Once you had disappeared through the door he melds into the timestream once more emerging in front of your classroom. A week had passed and your paper was due. He was excited to see what you had gotten and just didn’t feel like waiting this time. He could indulge from time to time.

The bell rings and your class files out. They pay him no mind. The prince’s butler was nothing to gawk at. He counts heads. His frown deepens when you do not appear from the lecture hall. Kinz leaves the room last, her heels clacking obnoxiously on the marble. “Oh! Good afternoon Barbatos, are my services needed by the prince?” She smiles showing far too many teeth to be considered polite. Their mutual dislike of each other was a poorly kept secret. But she had a talent that Diavolo needed; for the moment.

He matches her predatory smile. “I was here looking for our esteemed exchange student.” Her smile falters, her hackles raising for a moment before her face goes blank.

“They didn’t show up today.” She flicks her tail dismissively. “You know how pathetic humans are.” She challenges him, locking eyes with him like the fool she was.

“Hmm. I do not share this sentiment, but it is unusual to have them miss class.” All airs of pleasantly evaporate from him. The cold fury of his ire permeates the narrow hallway. Kinz flinches, breaking eye contact with him. Her weak attempt at dominance is gone. “A moment if you will-” His voice brittle and laced with malice. “I shall return for you later.” He bows shallowly and blinks out of existents leaving the woman quaking in the hall.

________________________________________________________________

An insult, a complete violation of the rules set by Diavolo himself. If the celestial council caught wind of such a flagrant disregard for your mental well being- the program would be in jeopardy. Hiding your death had been hard enough. But a room full of demons acting out unsupervised?

Barbatos struggles to control himself. He could feel his grasp on himself waver with each passing second. His very self unraveling at the seams. Your tears fuel his rage.

Kinz stands over you mocking your relentlessness in front of your peers since the brothers were not present in the class. You had been so excited to test your merit on your own, believing that after getting to know the student body you could handle it. Diavolo approved, figuring his name and the program's initiative was enough to protect you- at least on campus. In theory, it seemed like a good idea, you were well liked among the student body. But that same feeling didn’t bleed over to this particular teacher it seems. A grave error on the councils’ part.

Barbatos watches along with the rest of the silent class as Kinz burns your paper at the front of the lecture hall, berating you for “showing off” and “abusing your statues for brownie points”. You leave halfway through the start of class. A trail of salty tears and ashes left behind in your wake.

Such disgustingly uncouth behavior. To a guest of the prince no less. To you.

He arrives inside Diavolo’s office in a blur, filling the empty air by his prince’s side. The younger demon used to the sudden comings and goings of his most trusted ally didn't even look up from his paperwork. “Something the matter? You are getting a little wispy around the edges.” Diavolo asks signing off on a form.

Barbatos inhales deeply focusing on his present self. The unneeded action of breathing, the expanding and contracting of his chest cavity was soothing. Not necessary for him, but nice. Yet another odd quirk he had picked up during his time in the Devildom. “Kinz has been putting the program in jeopardy.” He grinds out once he finally locks himself back in.

“Oh?” Diavolo dips his pen in its ink well. “That is quite unfortunate for her. Do you suggest a council meeting on the matter?” Barbatos bites his cheek.

“I believe her offense far outweighs just a slap on the wrist. I believe her tenure should be revoked. This isn’t her first strike.”

Diavolo chuckles resting back in his chair. He gives his full attention to his butler who was bustling around the room, tiding an already spotless room. “I haven’t seen you this bloodthirsty since those scribes in Alexandria poked at you.”

“I gave them a fair warning. As I have with Kinz.” He bristles. Diavolo waves a hand, willing to listen. “Kinz has taken up public humiliation and verbal abuses since the brothers are not around to interject. You know how she is. This will only accelerate in time if not nipped now.”

“Is that what you see?”

“I don’t need to to know.”

Diavolo sighs deeply, weighing the pros and cons of losing such an asset. He already knew his verdict, as did Barbatos. Even without his powers, they both knew either one of them would bend for you. “Fine.” He returns to his desk of papers. “I will let you do as you please. Just don’t tangle things up too much.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

In a way, it was a pity. Kinz is- well- was one of the Devildom’s more esteemed historians. Her place amongst the upper echelon had been a commendable feat. She certainly lasted longer than the archivist and scribes that had come before her.

Barbatos stares in disgust at his once stark white gloves. But better soil a pair of gloves or two then touch her wretched corpse with his bare hands. Ugh. Was that some viscera on his wingtips? The cruor of it turns purple as it oxidizes in the open air. Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard. Though to him, it was merited. She had been a pain in his ass for years. Plus the past thirty or so versions of her had put up a bit of a fight. Once even he had walked in on a reflection of him taking her down for some other transgressions. He rolls his shoulders as a phantom twitch shoots up his spin. Merging consciousness was unbearable. Yet, as he went about his duties “cleaning” he realized he would handle as many as needed to see you safe. Fascinating.

At first, he had debated with himself on at least keeping a few versions of Kinz around. While he universally hated her, there were a few less volatile Kinz floating around. If only to steal her work for the prince and his goals. But even without her, her discoveries and advancements would be found by others. He had even found a diamond in the rough, a potential successor. Given time to grow and which paths they take they could benefit Diavolo greatly. Even more than her. A gamble he was happy to take. With that discovery, Kinz’s faith was sealed. She was set to be only a figment of a memory left in his mind. The rest of the universe will never remember her.

______________________________________________________________

You stare bewildered at the aged bronze plaque on the door. Something about it didn’t sit well with you. But damned if you could place it. It had something to do with the name. Des Moines...Moines? Who in the hells was that? You glance at your schedule like it was your first day of school instead of your 150th.

Room 325- Demonic history: Professor Des Moines Riel.

This can’t be right. Where was Kinz? You grab at your head crying out at the sudden violent throbbing that erupted between your eyes. The queasiness it caused was beyond description. It was enough to send you to your knees. Indecipherable images layer themselves in your mind, folding and stacking on top of each other. The mounting pressure scares you and then-

Nothing.

Bliss and clarity. Like sucking in a breath of fresh air after a near death experience. What were you thinking about again? How did you end up on the floor? Shaking yourself from your stupor you stumble back to your feet. The school hallway was too stuffy for some reason. You needed to walk away, especially from this door. Just looking at it made your stomach clench. Yes, you needed some fresh air. That’s all.

“Is something wrong?” Patent leather shoes appear beside you matching your hurried gate effortlessly. You shake your head, not trusting yourself to open your mouth lest you start feeling ill again. Barbatos stops you with a gentle hand on your waist. He scrutinizes you, teal eyes roving over every inch of you. Shucking a glove he places a warm palm on your forehead. “You are clammy.”

“I’m fine.” You lie through your locked jaw. “Just got dizzy for a second.” He looks alarmed. “Don’t worry about it- probably just one of those mysteries of the school.”

“I’m not worried about it, but you on the other hand.” He looks up from your flushed face to the hallway you had vacated in such a hurry. The history wing. Could you? Impossible. “Is there an issue inside the department?” Had he missed something?

“What? Oh, no really! Everything is great! I think.” You lean into his hand now resting idly on your cheek. It felt so good compared to your cold skin. “I just- I could have sworn. Is Riel new?” You rub at the bridge of your nose. A knot was growing between your eyes now. “Where is Kin-Kinel? You draw a blank. A name was on the tip of your tongue. You glance up at Barbatos. His hand on your cheek becoming stiff. “What?”

“Nothing my dear.” He recovers smoothly. The hand on your cheek slides down to your shoulder. “Perhaps you should sit out of this class for today? You sound like you're overworking yourself. I’ll make a note of it to Diavolo and Lucifer so it won’t be counted against you.”

“I- don’t think that’s wise,” You argue meekly. “I have a paper to work on for this class-”

Barbatos ignores your weak plea. Drawing you close to his side he steers you down to the lower floor. “Nonsense. Why don’t we spend some time together? I can help you with that paper later as a trade.”

Hmm. That wasn’t a bad idea. If any demon could get you out of class and help you make it up it would be him. Maybe a little break would be good for you. Though you can’t remember why you needed it in the first place.

#obey me fandom #obey me barbatos #obey me headcanons

251 notes · View notes

silent-scythe · 3 years

Text

Roses & Mirrors - Chapter I

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: mild cursing, self hate, alcohol abuse

• ──────✧✦✧────── •

“Il la voit partout

Il l'attend debout”

༺༻

“Have you finished packing?”

Nesta Archeron turned to glare at the male at her doorway, her spine rigid and her fists clenched. She wore a simple, thin nightgown, a grayish-beige one that went down to her knees.

“Pack?” she spat, as if the word was the most poisonous thing in the world, second only to his cursed name.

“The-” he started.

“The gray, drab clothes you dislike?” she finished for him. “The alcohol your High Lady forbade me from drinking?”

Cassian lowered his head ever so slightly, looking towards the left. A few strands of wind-kissed hair fell forwards, framing his face. His eyes fluttered with barely restrained exasperation, and Nesta inwardly berated herself for taking note of his long eyelashes.

“You know there’s more than that,” he said at last, looking up to meet her gaze. “And if you forget something, we won’t be able to come back to Velaris to get it.”

Nesta sneered derisively. As if she possessed anything of value, as if her slanted and damp apartment was actually worth anything. There was nothing here save for empty whiskey bottles, a crooked and unmade bed, an unused bathtub, and whatever other things were required to be in the most basic apartment possible. And in the air was the scent of a Fae male from last night that she was sure Cassian could smell, from the cross expression he had given when he arrived. Nesta was not sorry in the slightest.

She liked to think of herself as a shattered mirror, one whose surface casted a distorted and haunting reflection of her too-skinny bones, sunken cheeks, and bruised-looking eye bags. The pieces of this mirror lay scattered, each accompanied with a tale she was too lazy and too afraid to pick back up. What use would it be if she did indeed collect the shards? They would simply slip from her cold, trembling fingers, back onto the ground, perhaps splintering into more fragments, which was just more for her to pick up. Either way, the mirror was destroyed. Put it back together and you’d still see the cracks.

Death and darkness did her bidding, yet she found herself to be nothing but glass; broken yet sharp, the metaphor disgustingly ironic.

She took two steps forward, towards the Illyrian, and from his reaction- which was hidden, although she had a knack for assessing emotions that seemed ever present, even when she was only half sober- she surmised that he had not expected her to respond.

“I won’t forget anything,” she replied, “because I have nothing to forget.”

Her lips curled back into a cruel smile as she raised her right hand, holding a small purse made of snakeskin. She gave it one shake, and the coins’ clinking noise could be heard. “Unless you count your High Lady’s charity.”

༺༻

Nesta heard the chirp of a bird and she looked up, eyes leaving the pages of her book.

She watched as the bird flew higher and higher, until she could no longer see it, then turned her gaze to the ground.

The sunset reflected onto the fresh snow outside Cassian’s cabin, illuminating it with blindingly white light, stark against the backdrop of jagged mountains that stood proudly, reaching towards the sky.

Illyria is beautiful, Nesta thought. At least, Illyrian nature is.

Nesta was no fool. She might’ve thought winter was pretty, but she knew precisely how harsh it was for the less-privileged Illyrians, especially unfortunate children and females. On their flight here, Cassian had explained just the basics, but Nesta felt as if she were a hellcat, bristling and snapping when he mentioned the backwards treatment of the females.

They were supposed to land in Windhaven. The name rang a bell in her head, and she realized it was the camp led by Devlon, who she remembered as little more than a pathetic asshole.

“Windhaven, like most other Illyrian camps, have banned wing clipping, but discrimination against females is still unfortunately existent,” he had said carefully, his tone soft, as if she were a young doe in the woods. There was true sorrow and anger on his face. She knew Cassian was proud to be Illyrian, proud of Illyrian culture, although clearly he didn’t condone this part in the slightest.

Nesta remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Wing clipping was outlawed by Rhys centuries ago, although in some rural camps, it’s still done.”

Nesta didn’t bother to ask for an explanation as to what wing clipping was; she could infer enough from the term itself.

“The war has caused a lot of unrest. We’ve worked against the misogyny in the camps, but the discrimination is rooted deeply. It is not present in true Illyrian culture whatsoever, but the sexism has been here for so long that few accept any other ideology. Not only that, many families are angered at the way they are treated by the Night Court and the fact that so many died in the war.”

He seemed hesitant to go on, and Nesta narrowed her eyes, despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at his face. She waited expectantly for him to explain, although he seemed to refrain from giving any further explanation.

“There is a lot of civil unrest in Illyria right now. Be careful,” was all he ended up saying.

The rest of their flight was spent in silence, Cassian focused on flying and Nesta ignoring the warmth and comfort she felt in his embrace.

Now, as she watched the sun succumb to night’s darkness, sinking behind the mountains, she shivered. The house was insulated enough, but it was only the beginning of winter, and she was well aware that the winter nights of Illyria were not cozy in the slightest.

She hated to admit it, but she did miss Cassian’s warmth, even if she wanted nothing more than to strangle that bastard and run away from this place until she was as far from here as possible.

Nesta frowned at her conflicting emotions, closing her book shut with a snap. She had gone nearly twenty hours without alcohol, and she was not used to her feelings being so prominent, preferring the numb fuzziness of inebriation.

Cassian being a living heater was not an option. Fire was not an option, and asking for anything was definitely not an option either. That left her with only one choice, which would be to suffer in silence.

The cabin was different from her predictions. She had expected either a small and broken house, similar to her apartment, or something obnoxiously grand like the House of Wind. It was neither.

The cabin was made from some sort of sturdy wood, varying in shades of brown, some dark and some lighter. Nesta had begrudgingly come to the conclusion that she liked the cabin itself despite its owner and occupants. The house had many rooms, some of which Nesta had yet to explore. There was a dining room, kitchen, living room, and bathroom near the entrance. Near the back of the house was a hallway, with bedrooms, more bathrooms, a study, and some other rooms that she didn’t yet know the purpose of. The single-floored cabin was designed in such a way that all the bedrooms were in the middle of the house, surrounded by other rooms.

Immediately after arriving in the cabin, Cassian had unpacked and went to go buy some supplies, which was abnormally vague, but Nesta didn’t question him further lest she presented herself as actually caring about that bastard. Nesta stayed in the study for nearly an hour; in it was a desk with a few papers, which she assumed were Cassian’s, and besides that, it was shelves upon shelves of books. There were way more than she expected, for she swore the cabin looked tiny from the outside. Most of the books were ancient tomes of war strategy, which Nesta regarded with a snort, but she did find a section of fiction. And after some time, she managed to find two books she was somewhat interested in.

She had headed straight to her bedroom. It was simple and undecorated, connected to a bathroom, and had a bed and two nightstands both with lamps. The closet and drawers remained empty. She left the little snakeskin pouch on the left nightstand, close to the door, and her books on the right side of the bed. She really didn’t like the novels all that much, but she had nothing to do in this cursed place.

After absentmindedly recalling earlier events, she yawned and returned to the present for a few fleeting minutes, moving to put her book back onto the nightstand before withdrawing inside herself and staring at the wall until all the damned light in her room leached out of the window, the dying light turning the shadows into dancing ghosts.

Minutes- or maybe hours, for she did not care to keep track of time- later, she heard the creak of a door and a few thumps; most likely Cassian dropping things onto the kitchen counter or the floor.

“Nesta?” came his voice, drifting up the stairs. “Nesta, I’m home,” he called.

She did not deign to offer him a reply. In fact, nothing about her posture remotely indicated that she heard anything.

Footsteps sounded, and sooner than she liked, they drew closer until they stopped before her door. “Nesta, I know you’re in there,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I know you’re frustrated with the situation.”

Oh, frustrated, how interesting, she inwardly sneered. Frustrated, what a simple term to describe me. As if I chose to be in Illyria.

“I’m not going to make you talk to me all day, but- could you at least come out every day to eat dinner?”

Nesta continued to stare at the wall. “No.”

“Nesta-”

“I said no. Unless you would like to further intrude in my life and invalidate my decisions?”

She could hear Cassian’s sigh from behind the door. “Fine, we can compromise. Eat in the kitchen just for today so that we can talk.”

“Just for today,” Nesta responded, voice clipped. “Don’t expect any more.”

His footsteps disappeared into silence, and when Nesta was sure he was gone, she let her guard down and once more let her mind suck her into an empty black void of self-deprecating thoughts, both too full and too vacant at the same time.

Nesta missed the whiskey that burned as it fell down her throat. She did not turn on the lamps. Soon, the darkness of her bedroom became akin to the phantoms in her mind, and she let herself wander once more in the mist, fumbling for shards of a mirror, only to step on them and bleed.

༺༻

Nesta didn’t eat much. It surprised her that Cassian could cook, but she didn’t let her revelation show. He had given her a plate of some Illyrian dish that she didn’t recognize, and a bowl of broth. Nesta would’ve found both delicious, had she not been prior starving herself to the point where anything more than the bare minimum was too much. Thus, she had drunk only half the broth and taken a few bites of the dish before setting down her fork.

Cassian, to her relief, did not comment on how little she ate, although she did not miss his gaze edged with worry that flickered her way many times throughout.

Their dinner was in silence, one that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable but also far from comfortable. It was filled with tension, like a rope pulled taut, waiting to be cut. There was no conversation or banter between them, and Nesta was content to keep it that way.

Cassian cleared his throat. Nesta immediately stiffened and she felt her walls go back up; walls of stone around her heart and tall bushes of prickly roses around her mind.

“May I ask a question?” he asked.

Nesta’s previous relief was short-lived at his words, and she felt annoyance wash over her. She knew Cassian well enough to know he would only say that if his question was about a heavier subject, sensitive, or in any other way displeased Nesta.

“Only if I can ask one in return,” she answered at last. A thought for a thought, a truth for a truth.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, a small grin flashing across his face, likely surprised and pleased that she was actually engaging in any sort of conversation, but he made no taunt.

“Okay. I’ll ask first,” he said, expression settling back into one of seriousness. Cassian swallowed, a short sigh escaping him. “Nesta. I want to ask you this for your own good. I know that this is private to you, but-”

“Get on with it,” Nesta snapped. “I have no need for your monologue.”

Cassian nodded. “Alright, then. Do you have any triggers? If so, what are they? I just want to make sure that I don’t accidentally trigger you, or make you uncomfortable…”

His voice trailed off in uncertainty, another thing the bastard rarely did.

Nesta hated the inquiry, half wanting to rip his head off for even having the audacity to ask such a personal question.

She didn’t want to answer it in the slightest. She did not want to offer that part of herself, a vulnerability, a weakness, a doorway through her stone walls. She knew Cassian had good intentions, but this was her gods-damned privacy. Cassian was nothing in her sad excuse of a life, and he was not entitled to know anything about her.

On the other hand, Nesta herself had a burning question for Cassian, something that she had pondered over for a while, and now was the perfect time she could ask it. If she gave him an answer, he had to give one back.

Nesta took a deep breath. “Fire, and water, especially baths,” she said, her tone a shade wobblier than she would have liked. “I cannot stand the crackling sound of fire, or anything where I am submerged, either partially or fully.”

She had left one out, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t need to.

Cassian took a few seconds to process this, dipping his head once. “Okay. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, and I can get extra blankets-”

“You don’t need to,” she cut him off sharply.

Cassian didn’t respond to that, knowing better than to push further. A heavy and unpleasant pause hovered between them for a moment before she continued.

“My turn. What is going on between you, Azriel, and Morrigan?”

Nesta was blunt and straightforward as always. She did not bother sounding pleasant.

Cassian visibly flinched, shadows crawling over his eyes. “Nesta, I’m not sure that’s something I should say.”

“Not sure?” Nesta countered. “Or do you just not want to? You promised a question for a question, or can you not hold yourself accountable for this promise either?”

Cassian’s jaw tightened and his hazel eyes hardened, clearly knowing exactly what Nesta had referenced. He crossed his arms, wings flaring for a second before settling, a telltale sign of his uneasiness.

“Fine. I’m going to make this as brief as possible,” he said. “Kier wanted Mor to marry Eris Vanserra so that he could forge an alliance between the two courts. Mor didn’t want to marry Eris and asked me to take her virginity so that Eris would no longer want her. Azriel loves Mor and Mor has not openly shown any feelings towards Azriel, nor has she rejected him. I’m not going to say any more than that. This whole thing involves them both and it is not my place to spill secrets they might not want me to share.”

Nesta’s livid eyes narrowed, and Cassian could’ve sworn a flame ignited in them, swirling as it arose from the ashes. “So what you’re saying is that the three of you, as centuries old Fae, have not been able to resolve an incident that happened five hundred years ago?”

Cassian let out a sigh. “No-”

“No? You and Morrigan are not in a romantic relationship, have no interest in each other, and yet you give her lingerie?”

Cassian stiffened at that, nostrils flaring. “What? Nesta, how and why does this tie into Solstice?”

Nesta didn’t bother answering, only pressing on, temper rising, the fire in her gaze burning brighter. “And you’re also okay with Morrigan using you?”

Cassian got up from his chair, clearly agitated. “Nesta,” he snapped. “Mor did not use me. Don’t insult her like that. I-”

“Did not?” Nesta shot back, scoffing. “Do you even hear yourself? Morrigan could have fucked anybody yet she chose you because of your background and upbringing. And now she uses you as a barrier between her and Azriel. Can you not see the toxicity? This is ridiculously unbelievable.” Her eyes blazed with a raging, devastating intensity.

“I told you this already, Nesta,” he said, his voice low and firm. Nesta reminded him of a snake, striking swift, and right where it hurt. “Don’t insult Mor like that, she is a close friend of mine, and-”

Nesta rolled her eyes at that.

“-and look, I don’t want to argue, not over this.”

“You’re the one who started this damn argument.”

“Nesta, now that you said something in opposition again, you’re also still arguing with me.”

Both glared at each other fiercely, like fire on fire. Neither relented until Cassian finally tore his eyes away, fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose.

Just as Cassian sank back onto his chair with a defeated huff, Nesta stood up, ever the epitome of elegance.

“I’m done.”

Cassian opened his mouth.

“Don’t talk to me.”

With that, Nesta turned around and left the table, steps measured, chin neither raised nor lowered. The silver flames in her eyes extinguished and replaced itself with ghosts.

• ──────✧✦✧────── •

First chapter of Roses & Mirrors is finally up! I’ll be trying to write a chapter and upload it every other weekend (so bi-weekly updates), however, depending on the time I have, it may take longer for me to update.

I don’t particularly like editing stories, so this is very minimally edited. If you find any mistakes, typos, or inconsistencies, don’t hesitate to point them out!

This first chapter was kind of boring, I had to set everything up so nothing that exciting has happened yet. Just so y’all know, there won’t really be much action (like battling and such) in this fanfiction, it’s more focused on Nesta and Cassian’s relationship. Because I only have 7 chapters planned, this will probably be a faster-paced book in regards to how their relationship progresses.

I think Nesta’s emotions in this chapter are sort of all over the place, which is what I intended, although it comes off as messy. To me, Nesta isn’t a character that is always stuck in deep depression, I believe that occasionally she will be happier than other times. I also believe that alcohol helps numb her emotions and since she is forced to be sober, it also contributes to why she’s all over the place.

As for why I have only seven chapters planned, it’s because I took seven lyrics out of the song Love Story by Indila. I think the song itself talks about a relationship different from Nessian, but I took the lyrics since I think it fits them. I then used the lyrics i took to plan out this fanfiction. The lyrics in this chapter are, “he sees her everywhere - standing, he is waiting for her.” (I am not French, please tell me if this translation is inaccurate!)

Wow this is a long author’s note. Thank you all for reading, comments are muchly appreciated! Taglist is below, if you’d like to be added or removed, feel free to @ me.

- Scythe

• ──────✧✦✧────── •

Taglist:

@dead-on-the-inside666 @nessian-archeron @greerlunna @sjm-things @sannelovesreading @silvernesta

#nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #nessian #nesta x cassian #fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #sjm #sarah j maas

59 notes · View notes

ceoofuwu · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐂𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ;; 𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘪 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟏.𝟒𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: So, FINALLY I finished this piece and I’m so happy bc it took nearly a month AHAHAHAA (I know I’m terrible) AnYwAy, I think Dabi is “sweet but a psycho”? (yeah sweet inside VERY DEEP DOWN) and... inspired by this... here you go, everyone! <333 Lots of love, stay safe, positive and hydrated!!!

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: As long as you had discovered that place, everything was great. But, at the end of the day, you weren’t the only one to have made that discovery....

𝐓.𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: hurt/comfort

Tranquility.

Gentle breezes swirling around, fiddling with light hair, caressing an innocent face. Soft moonlight showering the concealed glade, eventually lighting up the night sky.

Serenity.

A reflection of the star-kissed canvas above depicted on the frozen surface before you. The sight seemed to have been plucked out of a fairy tale. Until that moment, not even the thought of a frozen lake serving as a prism to the infinitude of the stars had crossed your naïve mind.

This small fragment of Heaven had been a recent discovery of yours. In need of a break, a relief from all the duties chasing after you in the League, a walk was the least you could ask.

Yet, who could have possibly foreseen the blessing you’d come across?

Wandering around there, watching miracles unfolding before your eyes…. That was by far the most tranquilizing activity you had engaged yourself in.

Complete and utter silence, the moon shining upon this otherworldly scenery in its full glory and merely the humble sounds of nature dolling this fantasy up. The most mesmerizing trait though, was the lake made of ice, which looked exactly like a crystal mirror projecting the star-blown sky. Its glossy transparency was little by little dazing you into attempting to walk on it.

Well, not that you could blame yourself. You’d always hear people commenting on how amazing the experience was. Besides, you couldn’t help but imagine how mind-blowing it would be to see the stars, those unreachable sparkles of light, under your feet.

Curiosity urged you to take a step farther and bring your delicate body in the edge of the lake.

Would it be slippery? Icy? Smooth maybe?

You wouldn’t know unless you tried.

You outstretched your leg quite hesitantly, with a surge of doubt washing over you, what with this whole novel array of emotions. Your heart had begun to pound insanely fast inside your chest as you were overwhelmed with excitement and impatience but, just as the tip of your shoe brushed the surface…

«You must be one hell of an idiot to throw yourself in a frozen lake without knowing the odds of falling in» a familiar voice spoke behind you, as you felt a strong grip on your arm.

Come to think of it, you never considered the possibility of the ice being too thin to hold you, but…

«Dabi?!» you exclaimed as you turned around and saw your “savior”.

The raven-head immediately let go of you.

«Dude, what the hell are you doing here?! How did you even find this place?!» you asked frantically, shifting your body so that you could face him.

Dabi was looking down at his feet, hands on his pockets, minding his own business as usual and, of course, being unreadable. That lousy attitude of his was getting on your nerves from time to time but, he hadn’t done anything to intrude your privacy during the time of your comradeship. However, his way of acting in certain situations seemed really annoying to you.

His turquoise gaze flicked as it met with yours slowly.

«You don’t own the place, as far as I’m concerned».

Cocky bastard.

He had a point though. It was simply a glade, hidden in the density of the city’s forest. It belonged to no one, which simultaneously meant that everyone could have access to it.

You rolled your eyes, feeling quite irritated by the fact that he was right. It’s not like you had some sort of problem with him, it’s just that you didn’t like it when others proved you wrong.

«I don’t alright but… how did you end up here?» you asked, fiddling with your fingers nervously, genuinely feeling curious.

«Well… I was just… walking the other day and then I found this place… which ended up being to my liking…» he said, his gaze moving around the place and never focalizing somewhere specifically.

You nodded in agreement, «That lake is so… magic—«

«I hate that lake».

You averted your goggled-up eyes to meet your companion. He was standing upright; head tilted upwards, black hair and coat getting carried away by the soft currents of wind, bright cerulean eyes, suddenly narrowing to a dark, nostalgic glare.

You could confidently say that you were witnessing one of the most terrifyingly beautiful sights in your life; the horrific murderer of a man bowing to the one and only indomitable conqueror: the past.

You felt tiny beads of sweat coursing down your forehead in nervousness, searching frantically for something to grasp onto, as the urge to run away took your being over. Dabi was a horribly dreadful man; what made him like this though, weren’t his capabilities as a serial killer but the fact that, you knew so little about him. The unknown is and will always be by far the most frightening thing.

«I don’t like the ice…» he spoke menacingly low, his obscure look still transfixed to the void. You chose not to reply and await his word instead, feeling too self-cautious to find the courage to talk.

«It reminds me of… back then…» he murmured as a twisted smile bent his lips slightly. His stance didn’t alter one bit, standing haughtily against the wind with the soft moonlight steeping his form delicately.

Back then?

«Does anyone know about… back then?» the words slipped out of your lips involuntarily, making you cover your mouth with your hands in embarrassment.

The twisted smile stretched exceedingly, eventually managing to distort his facial features into a sick, maniacal expression. A psychotic laugh followed shortly, echoing in the nightly horizon, bringing out the derangement hidden within his broken soul.

«Back then… is Hell» he retorted coldly, no emotion but aversion, lacing his hoarse voice.

Just how traumatized are you, Dabi?

Silence. Long, comfortable silence. You took your sweet time to process your comrade’s pained words, seeking some way to comfort him. Could you though? Years of trauma was weighing down on your shoulders. You had no idea what he had been through, you didn’t even know his real name, for God’s sake! How could you help someone without knowing even the most basic things about them?

But I need to help…

Taking one swift, curt breath, you plucked up the courage to speak up, «Was it… that bad?» you asked with a cautiously low voice, not entirely sure what to expect as an answer.

Dabi’s slim body shifted immediately, his sadistic grin once again deforming his features, to something truly repulsive and… horrific.

«Bad you say?» he laughed ironically, «Do you even have the slightest idea how it feels to wake up every day and genuinely believe you’re a piece of trash, an unworthy dross?» he raised the tone of his voice taking a step closer to you, «Or to wonder if you actually should have been born?» another step, «Have you ever been rejected by your own family?» another, more infuriated step, «Have you questioned your existence?» he stopped in front of you, looking down on you, his judgmental finger pointing to you, «HAVE YOU—«

Without allowing him to finish another self-distractive sentence, you dived in instinctively, your arms wrapped around his built torso, and before realizing it, you were embracing Dabi in your miserable attempt to comfort him.

«No, I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t share your thoughts and pain with anyone, Dabi» you inhaled some of his scent, «…the more you bottle up your emotions and shut them in, the more drained you’ll feel…» you expected his arms to wrap around you too, yet, it never happened.

«How do you know?»

A hefty sigh of relief jumped out of your lips, «It happens even at the simplest of situations… sometimes when I feel down and don’t let it out somehow, I feel like I constantly have something weighing down on me… something that’s holding me down…» you explained, slowly letting go of him.

When you looked up and saw his clouded eyes, you noticed something converted in them. As if all this psychopathic tension had been replaced by something more… gentle… mundane… and the light smile that grazed his lips accounted for that.

«If you ever want to talk to someone… I’ll be here…» you informed him and carefully strayed, far from that place, leaving Dabi all alone, while he stared at that frozen lake, which brought back so many grievous, icy cold memories…

Hope you enjoyed! Leave a heart, comment, reblog! 💕

66 notes · View notes

lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

Text

Impossibly Redeemable - 08 - Funhouse Car

Loki/Infinity Train Crossover

Summary: Shortly after faking his death in Svartalfheim to fool Thor, Loki wakes up to find himself in a realm that is not the one he “died” in. After meeting another person in a similar predicament, he learns the only way home is through redemption. But how can he possibly do that? Monsters like him don’t deserve redemption, do they?

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,245

Warnings/Disclaimers: Starting to lighten back up some here. If you’re not a fan of funhouses, this might cause some issues. Personally, I don’t like them because of the clowns and mirrors. I did keep this the least creepy I possibly could.

A/N: If you can’t tell, this was partly inspired by the 90s Nickelodeon show Are You Afraid of the Dark? The early clown/funhouse episode still gets to me.

Masterlist

Young train denizens screamed and laughed, running in and out of a brightly lit building laden with clowns and over-saturated colors. Loki wished you all had stayed at the meadow. The noise and lights shook through his entire being.

“What in all the nine realms is this?” Loki’s lips curled back in disgust.

Wincing as a child with a high-pitched squeal darted past, you answered, “It looks like a carnival funhouse.”

An eyebrow arched up his forehead. “A. Fun. House?”

“Yeah,” you nodded as you wearily eyes the kids. “They’re usually filled with various tricks and illusions.”

“Oh? What kind?”

Laughing at his smirk, you continued. “Well, it depends on who designed it. Sometimes, there is a mirror maze or mirrors to distort reflections, puppets that pop out for a jump scare, little puzzles to solve before moving to the next section...”

“So not dissimilar to the locomotive we are stuck on,” Loki frowned.

You hummed, “Mmm... I guess so. Only funhouses are not supposed to be dangerous.”

He grimaced while picking at his palm. “Let us enter this dreadful building and find the door. I would like to leave behind this noise as soon as possible.”

Your reply was taking his hand and leading him up the few steps up to the entrance.

The first section you came upon was dark, almost pitch black. Loki had to guide you down the silent hall. Where did all the kids go?

Halfway through, you must have tripped a sensor. Strobe lights bursted into effect, barely revealing various doorways. Loki hissed in annoyance as he dragged you down the hall, checking each opening along the way and pulling you into the next area.

Angled mirrors were strewn about the large room. This had to have been the mirror maze you had spoken of. This time you tugged him along, your hand still glued to his, touching the mirrors to guide the way.

The reflective labyrinth seemed to drone on for miles. It was almost dizzying to have to watch your mirrored selves wandering in every direction. Loki’s annoyance and impatience were slowly coming to a head. He hadn’t realized his grip on your hand had tightened considerably until you stopped abruptly.

“Do you see what I’m seeing?” You inclined your head towards him while your eyes remained on the mirrors.

A handful of the surfaces held a young girl. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old. Mussed, dark auburn hair shaded her eyes while her dirty clothes hung off her frame in an endearingly awkward manner, a stark contrast to the children playing outside earlier. Her head tilted curiously as though she were looking directly at you before she suddenly darted away, disappearing and reappearing from the mirrors.

“She could be another Passenger,” Loki muttered more to himself than anyone.

You mutely nodded, turning to look up at him.

“You’re almost there,” a tiny voice echoed off the glasses. “Keep going!”

Loki’s eyes darted to the mirrors before resting back on you, shoulders shrugging compliantly. You nervously squeezed his hand and continued on.

Turned out the kid was right. It took you maybe ten minutes more to reach the exit, and she was waiting for you, hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels.

You visibly tensed, flashbacks leaving you frozen in place. Releasing your hand, Loki stepped forward and sank onto one knee in front of the little girl. “It would seem you were correct, Little One,” he spoke in a tenderly light voice. “And who do I have the pleasure of thanking for their help?”

The girl’s head dipped down as though instantly shy and unable to make eye contact. “E-Eva...”

Loki’s smile grew. “Well, thank you, Eva. I am Loki of Asgard.” He then introduced you, glancing back as you tentatively kneeled next to him.

“It’s nice to meet you...” She mumbled while fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“The pleasure is ours. Now Eva, are you a Passenger like us?”

She stilled, looking up between the two of you before holding her lightly scarred palms out to face you. “I guess... Momma and Papa were.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Both hands had a grey zero imprinted in the skin.

“Where...” You took a moment to collect yourself. “Where are your parents, Eva?”

“Their doors opened. They tried to bring me through but...”

She looked back at the floor, mindlessly picking at her palms.

“But... You could not go with them?” Loki finished quietly.

With a quiet sniffle, she shook her head. “Momma went first. We were holding hands but the door pushed me away. It didn’t let her come back. It happened with Papa too... Just when we reached the red door here.”

Loki took her hands in his, rubbing comforting circles with his thumbs. “Eva, how long have you been here?”

She shrugged, still unwilling to look at either of you.

Chewing your bottom lip, your questioning eyes met Loki who nodded at you. “Would you like to come with us?” you asked, concern and uncertainty meshed together in your voice. “Maybe explore the train?”

Eva’s gaze left the floor and landed on you. There was a twinge of hope on her face but something held her back. Despite her trepidation, she nodded after a moment and took one hand from each of you into her own, pulling you towards the mirror maze exit.

Up on your feet, you and Loki allowed her to bring you both into the dark passageway. A few steps in, a funnel of fire erupted from on the walls. Eva whimpered and jumped back, tugging you with her. Loki pushed you and the girl farther away from the flames.

“Did you not say that funhouses were not dangerous?” he hissed at you.

Squeezing Eva’s hand, you grumbled back, “I said that they were not ‘supposed’ to be.”

Loki let out an exasperated huff. “Just stay behind me, both of you.”

The tiny hand that his larger hand swallowed tightened as Eva kept herself close. With a few whispered words, a translucent green orb encompassed all of you, shielding you from the fire as Loki guided you down the hall. The barrier followed your positions with Eva being directly in the middle. Thankfully, the one wall flamethrower was the only obstacle, though none of you could say the building anxiety of what could come next was much better.

The passageway opened up to a well-lit room where you found the red doors. Multiple red doors. Five sets curved around the space in front of you.

“Let me guess,” you groaned. “Only one door will get us out of this car?”

Eva’s indigo eyes sunk to the floor. “Yeah...”

Sighing through his nose, Loki asked about the other doors.

“One will take you back out front. The other three will give you more rooms.” Her voice shook, threatening to crack and shatter like glass.

“But there are still other chances to get back to the doors, right?” You had started stroking Eva’s hair with your free hand in a gesture of comfort.

She leaned into the touch with an “Mhmm” to confirm your theory.

Without much choice, Loki pulled one of the doors open, sending you spiraling into a bright light. Before anyone’s eyes could adjust, you could hear the children’s joy from earlier surrounding you. Loki cursed under his breath. This was going to take a while.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki odinson #loki x you #marvel #loki imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki friggason #infinity train #crossover #crossover fanfiction #crossover fanfic #infinity train fanfic #infinity train fanfiction

24 notes · View notes

trustamuscat · 1 year

Text

Guide To Choosing The Best Dental Mirrors: Everything You Need To Know

You must focus some crucial points while choosing the best dental mirrors.

These are some of the crucial points you must follow before buying a dental mirror. You can follow the above guide while selecting the best dental mirror for your practice.

Connect with us to know more in detail.

0 notes

coepiteamare · 3 years

Text

i am your ocean (your little mermaid)

pairing: taehyung x female!reader genre: angst? warnings: angst, implied sex, lapslock, broken hearts word count: 1.8k

drabble series: things you said: things you said too quietly summary: perhaps you’re fated to love him like the little mermaid, forced to pick between a broken heart and shattered one. (alt. everything blurs into a haze of heartbreak in the presence of tears.)

the pitter patter of raindrops against your windowpane, against the floor of your balcony, picks up in speed, blurring the view outside into a haze of lights, nondescript storefronts and smudges of colour from umbrellas as people avoid the rain. you watch the rain collect on your window, reaching out for other droplets and merging into one, picking up speed before falling when the weight of water is too much to bear.

it makes you think of the little mermaid.

the little mermaid was always your favourite disney movie. at age 5, it’s because you believe love conquers all, because you cry tears of crystal fairytales and bleed happy endings. at age 8, it’s because you too would give up worlds and your voice for a chance to meet the person you love. they’re out there somewhere, maybe separated a world away, but they’re there and one day, you’ll break barriers between worlds to hold their hand. at age 12, it’s because her hair is as red as her passion, burning bright against the blue sea as she cries “but daddy, i love him!” at age 16, it’s because you finally come across the original tale, learn how the little mermaid never gets her happy ending because she falls in love with a man engaged—in love with another woman—and despite her life on the line, refuses to give up on the idea of love. instead, she plunges a knife into her broken heart, hears the sad eulogy in the melody of his heartbeat entwined with someone that isn’t her, throws herself into the ocean and seafoam she becomes, each faint pop of foam a whispered reminder that for some, happy endings don’t come true. at age 16, you learn that sometimes love does not save you from the waves of reality, that some fates were written to end unhappy.

it feels a little like that now as you card your fingers through his sweaty locks, dyed red like ariel’s, bright red against the blue of both your feelings. “reminds me of the little mermaid,” you tell him, fingers gently brushing against his face, down his neck, back up to his hair. the breeze from your window settles into a cool chill on your skin, so you wrap the blanket around your naked body a little tighter and cling a little closer to his body, skin warm and still slightly sweaty.

it feels a little like love as his chuckle reverberates through the mattress and through the crevices of your bones, low and dark, void of humor. “not what i was going for, but i’ll take it.”

his hand settles on the small of your back, his face brushed with the white glare of his screen.

“do you want to talk about it?” you rest your chin on your arms above his chest. he momentarily shifts his gaze from his phone to you, eyes just as dark and stormy as the sky outside, and you pull your gaze away, an attempt to stop the swell of feelings you catch every time he throws a glance in your direction. you place your ear down instead, listening to the staccato of his heartbeat, just as bruised and battered as yours.

his sigh floods the air as he taps two fingers under your chin, a silent request, and you gently push yourself up to meet his lips.

he tastes like heartbreak and bad decisions, like half-assed texts and read receipts, but when he kisses you like this—soft and slow and sweet, all adagio against the speed of the city—the storm of your thoughts come to a halt. he makes it hard to not dive in headfirst, let the waves float with the waves away from shore. you sink into the kiss, lose yourself in the press of his tongue, distill the buzz of insecurities in the rush of your feelings. you let yourself forget that you aren’t her; instead, you submerge in the moment and feel the world dissolve on your skin as you pull him a little closer, closer, until the two of you are pressed skin against skin, space nonexistent as the kiss gains momentum.

until he gently drags his teeth against your bottom lip and pulls away, breaks surface tension, leaves you stranded in the sea of his being, shore miles beyond reach without a life preserver to cling on to.

you repeat the action, bite your lip between teeth to prolong the moment, drag every second to be longer. but time still slips between the cracks of your desperation like sand, filters through the fissures of your insecurities, and spirals out of your grasp faster. you’ve already lost him to the vibrations of his phone, a text message that lights up his eyes.

you brush your thumb against the hickey on his neck and feel the sadness crash over you, a loud tidal wave of quiet resignation: you can mark him all you want, but he’s not yours. never was, never will be.

but you, you are his. your heart is tucked behind your ribcage, but it beats for him.

because it’s so easy to love taehyung who feels things like the sea, wide and vast and open. taehyung who smiles like the sun on the horizon, warm and fuzzy and beautiful, always beautiful and always out of reach. it’s hard to not, even if the only times he comes over is when you ask, painstakingly typing over (and over and over) only to end up with the same message of, “hey can you come over?” even if he never stays long. even now, as he picks his clothes off the floor, slipping long legs through black pants and popping his head through a gray hoodie.

“not staying?” you sit up. it’s habit to ask at this point, even though you know the answer, know the sheepish smile and shrug of his shoulders a little too well, his mannerisms pressed into the mold of your thoughts.

“sorry,” he sounds apologetic, but you know he isn’t.

you know you won’t be the person he searches for in the sea of people, the person he spends his heart on, even if you spend every last cent, every wish, your everything on him. you won’t be her. but you peek your hand out of the covers anyways and reach out, grabbing on to the edge of his frayed hoodie. he turns around, eyebrow raised.

you open your mouth, but the words sink into your thoughts, distort like it’s filtered through water, and everything catches in your throat. it’s quiet: the pitter patter of raindrops against the windowpane, against the balcony floor.

stay with me.

you feel his eyes on you as you drop your gaze to the floor, to the toes peeking through the sheets your body is wrapped in, hand still gripping his hoodie.

don’t leave me here alone.

maybe your last page doesn’t end in happily ever after.

do you wish i were her?

“do you think the little mermaid was a fool for keeping her feelings to herself, not letting him know she loved him?”

he furrows his brows, mouth quirked in confusion. he mulls over it, chews on your words until the thoughts burst on his tongue. “i think she told him in the ways she knew how, in the ways she could.” he gently pries your grip off his sweater and holds your hand in his, mindlessly rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “i think people in love are always expressing their love in one way or another. the other person may be oblivious to the intention, but i don’t think it goes unnoticed.”

“was she a fool for falling in love with someone already in love with another? for choosing them over herself?”

he chuckles softly, bemusement in every rise of his chest. you watch as he gently lets your hand go and tucks it neatly on your lap. “i think we’re all fools when it comes to love, but there’s no pause and play button, is there? we don’t really get to choose to whom we fall for or when we stop.” he squats down to eye-level as he drapes your duvet over your shoulders, fiddles with the edge, eyes never meeting yours. “but i do think she chose to do what she thought would hurt her less. she wanted to stay by his side, even if it hurt to see him with someone that isn’t her: it broke her heart, but i think it would have shattered had she stopped his. there are fates worse than death.”

the room floods with the sound of raindrops picking up in speed, pelting against the windowpane, against the balcony floor. the quiet settles around the two of you, just as thick and heavy as the duvet on your shoulders, and the two of you stay like that awhile, lost in thought.

there’s a ghost of a hand on your shoulder, a slight squeeze, before he plods towards the door.

you are the casualty from casual relationships, a willing prey caught in the trap of a hunter unwilling to kill. there is no pause or stop button in sight. no end to your story, no matter how many pages you turn.

you turn your gaze to the window. the raindrops cling to the window, becoming bigger and bigger. they tremble to hold on, to stay together, before collapsing, dispersing back into tiny droplets. they then repeat the process over and over and over again, tirelessly building before breaking apart.

“i love you” you say quietly. you let the words fall from your lips, dribble down your skin like water droplets, and dissipate in the ocean of your feelings. watch them dissolve into the seafoam of your being and sink down, down, down.

the wind doesn’t have a chance to deliver your words, message drowned in the sound of the rain coming from your open balcony. you see his reflection through the mirror--the way he shoves his feet into his slides, sticks his hands into his pocket--and watch him close the door, never once looking back.

everything blurs into a haze of heartbreak in the presence of tears.

you let your body fall into your mattress, pinned down by your feelings, and curl up, wondering if this is what the weight of her knife felt like. maybe he was right in that there are fates worse than death. perhaps you’re fated to love him like the little mermaid after all, forced to pick between a broken heart and a shattered one.

the enfilade of rain continues and pelts against the windowpane, against your balcony floor.

A/N: this took me 2 weeks to write for no reason other than i am dumb. i find it hard to write for tae: i’ve scrapped and rewritten this story thrice (it initially was supposed to be an actual little mermaid fic, then it changed to a siren fic, then it became this.) i still feel a bit iffy about it, but i’ve also looked at it for too long AND i have quite a few darlings in this one, so up it goes. idk why i’ve decided christmas/christmas eve is the time to post angst, but here it goes.

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenarios #bts fic #bts scenario #bts imagine #taehyung angst #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #bangtanuniversity #heartsforbts #violet dreams of violet gardens

53 notes · View notes