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aomineavenue · 4 years

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Homesick (Miya Atsumu x f!Reader) | 008. healing

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Updates: irregular.

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: completed. | series masterlist

↩ chapter seven bonus | healing | at peace ↪

mia speaks:

We’re getting real close to the end, and I don’t think I’ll be ready to part with Atsumu just yet. But I’m super duper excited to start Stubborn.

If it isn’t too much, please leave a little COMMENT on what you think of this piece or REBLOG if you like it! Thank you.

Rejection can be defined as an act of pushing someone or something away. It is also considered as something to be experienced on a large scale or small ways in everyday life. In the field of mental health care, rejection most frequently refers to the feelings of sadness, or grief people feel when they are not accepted by others.

In Atsumu’s case, it was the latter.

The moment he had decided to leave the party to seek you out, he was more or less, on edge. The fear of rejection was eating him out as he traveled back to Kanagawa, and even then as he stared at the hospital door that leads to Atsuhiro’s room where he assumes you’re most likely already in deep slumber from how late it is. However, that doesn’t stop him from his mission, eventually finding the courage to press his knuckles against the door to knock.

A minute passed and there was still no answer, a part of him decided it was best to leave, so you can rest but wanting to give it another chance, he knocks on the door once more. The lack of response disappoints him but he diminishes it with a little light of hope, telling himself that you’re probably asleep and it was best to try later. As he was about to leave, the hospital door slides open and his gaze lands on your exhausted, surprised, features.

He stares at you in adoration and before he could stop himself, the words slip out of his lips. "I love you."

Silence engulfs the two of you comfortably, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He wonders if his beating heart was loud enough for you to hear through the silence. He watches in anticipation how your features shift from confusion to something he couldn't quite recognize. For a second, he berates himself for blurting out such foolishness.

Was it horror? Pity? He couldn't possibly comprehend with his nerves on overdrive, about a handful of thoughts swimming in his mind. If only he knew your heart was beating against its constraints just as fast as his, or that you wanted to throw your arms around him and finally claim him as yours at that very moment. He calls out your name in a stutter to pull you out of your shocked trance, fighting his urge to step through the threshold and pull you into his arms. He holds back the words clawing their way out of his mouth, not wanting to overwhelm you with his sudden burst of emotions. But mostly because he was afraid.

Afraid of humiliation, and of rejection. He was afraid that his feelings for you were no longer reciprocated. Though, he wouldn't blame you. He would understand if he was too late. It had been six years after all, and you, out of the both of you, deserve way better than this. Better than him.

However, a part of him wishes it were otherwise. He recalls the night he summoned the tiniest spark of courage to capture your lips with his own once more after so long. He doesn't regret his actions, because he realized things that night as your own lips move against his own. It was as if the missing puzzle piece had been rummaged through the piles of chaotic emotions and finally found its rightful place.

It just felt right.

If it weren’t for the ridiculous hounds of reporters that interrupted the night, he may have used that opportunity to win you over or at least have a proper talk with you since obviously there are still a lot of unfinished business between the two of you that need fixing for the sake of Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro.

“What are you doing here?” he hears you question, snapping out of his own thoughts, his shoulders growing tense.

He slips his hands into the pockets of his coat, wanting to hide his trembling fingers from your sight. “I know I should have reached out sooner, and there isn’t any way I could possibly excuse myself out of that. I’ve probably left you wondering again, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Atsumu.” you mutter underneath your breath, brows furrowing. “What were you doing up anyways?”

He lifts his shoulders up into a timid shrug, “I was at a party. I couldn’t get you out of my head, so I went straight here. I know it’s late and I should have waited but it’s been days since we last spoke and I couldn’t take it anymore. I—I needed to see you.”

“I don’t know what to say…” you release a heavy sigh, shifting your gaze away from him as you feel your cheeks heat up from God knows what. Embarrassment? Flattery? God, you could only curse at yourself for feeling that way ever since the two of you shared that kiss.

The corners of his mouth tug up to a small smile, “You don’t have to say anything, just hear me out.” As you give him a nod after lifting your head to meet his gaze once more, he’s hit with a sudden rush of confidence, wondering if this was finally his chance to spill the feelings that had been occupying his thoughts since the two of you reunited.

It was a mixture of anger and hate the moment he had realized it was you, that was for sure, he’d been frustrated but the one thing that’s been bothering him was the thought of you disappearing again. This time, taking the kids, his sons that he had grown to adore, away from him. The very thought had been enough for him to lower his pride, and a good push from his twin brother. His brother’s words replaying his head.

‘Quit your moping and win her over before I do.’

“I love you,” he repeats his earlier words; this time with confidence, arms extending out to reach out for your hands which somehow, surprisingly for the both of you, you oblige, letting his fingers lace with yours. “I’ve loved you as my best friend the very moment when we were kids when you laughed at me for tripping and having the ice cream slip from my hands and landing on our grumpy neighbor’s bald head. I think a part of me started loving you there and then when you pulled me up from the ground and dragged me laughing away to avoid us getting into trouble.” You stifle a laugh, your eyes scrunching up in amusement at the memory and he couldn’t help but let a Cheshire grin form on his own lips at the sight of your happiness, feeling a sudden surge of happiness bubble in his own chest. There and then, he realized that he truly adored you and that he’s missed you. Missed this.

Missed the warmth that radiated from just your mere touch.

“I’ve loved you since we started high school and I know I had a really shitty way in showing that, being so absorbed in volleyball and everything, I don't think I ever deserved you then,” he lets out a sigh, “I never deserved your care. Despite me lashing out because of my own frustrations, you pulled me back into reality just as Osamu could and looking back now, I had been so blessed. And I…” he trails off, tearing his gaze away from yours in shame and his heart skips a beat at your gesture, squeezing his hands in a form of reassurance, “I took it for granted. I realized it too late and…”

He lets out a sob, lifting his head to meet yours once more and he lets the tears spill from the corners of his eyes. Slowly, he lowers himself down onto his knees and he watches your eyes widen as he gives your hands a squeeze of his own, “Let me prove it to you how sorry I am, please. I know I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve to be a part of Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro’s liv—”

It almost seemed like time stood still for Atsumu as you drop down to your own knees in front of him, pulling your hands away from his grip, only for you to grip the fabric of his shirt beneath his coat between your fingers, pulling him closer to your body as you lower your head to rest your forehead on his shoulder. Despite the layering of clothes that protected his skin from the cold, he could feel the patch of wetness growing on his shoulder from the tears that flowed from your eyes. “I’m sorry, Atsumu. I’m sorry as well,” those words spill from your mouth, despite your words mixed with sobs and you trying to keep your voice to a whisper to not disturb the residence of the hospital on the floor, he could hear you loud and clear. “I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most. I’m—” you cut yourself off with another sob.

The sight of your vulnerable state was enough for Atsumu’s heart to clench in its confinement and slowly, his arms snake around your hips to pull you closer to his body. The both of you release a sigh from the warmth. You continue, “You deserve to be loved, Atsumu. You really do. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry for depriving you of the chance to raise such wonderful sons. I—I’m sorry.”

The cold hospital floor didn’t even bother the two of you. The warmth radiating off of each other’s embrace was enough.

Home.

The blinding fluorescent lights almost stabs his eyes as he slowly flutters his eyelids open, a hiss escaping his lips from the sudden burst of light. He tries to shield his eyes from such torture by lifting his heavy arm only to let out a groan as a shriek echoes through the small room. Groggily, he turns his head towards the direction of the assault to his ears and blinks his eyelids a couple of times to adjust his sight.

He suddenly wishes he hadn’t woken up right at this moment.

As the blonde model notices Atsumu moving from his bed, her eyes widen in excitement at the sight of him awake, trying her best to push through his twin’s protective stance. “Tsumtsum! You’re awake and okay!” she squeals and he winces in response. Atsumu knows his brother well, and from the proximity from between the two by the door, despite his brother’s back facing him, he could tell from his mere posture that his twin had his usual scowl on his face when dealing with the women in his life. He watches from the bed as Yumi turns to face his twin, a scowl scrunching up in her features as she crosses her arms across her chest and stomps her feet. “Can you please tell your brother over here to let me through? I’m your girlfriend!” she huffs.

“Please pull your head out of your ass,” Osamu snaps and continues to hold Yumi back from entering his brother’s room. “You were never his girlfriend and I’m pretty sure he made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with you a few nights ago. So why don’t you do the whole hospital a favor? Shut up and leave, because I’m pretty sure your excessive whining is disturbing the patients.”

Throughout Osamu’s annoyed speech, Atsumu had successfully pushed himself to sit on the bed without any assistance. He lets out a groan of pain and uses what little strength he has to press his back against the headboard of the hospital bed. Just as Yumi was about to retort, Atsumu calls for her attention from the bed. Yumi was quick to react, looking over at Atsumu. “Yes, baby?”

Osamu scrunches up his face in disgust and Atsumu can only let out a sigh, not having the energy to argue with her. “Please leave.”

The hopeful features that were splashed in her features disappear in a second at Atsumu’s command, “B—But…”

“Leave, I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” he sighs, tearing his gaze away from Yumi to look over at his brother who had turned his head to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes pleading Osamu to get rid of the irritating model from the premises, “And you’ll be hearing from my lawyer regarding a restraining order. Don’t think I didn’t hear from my son how some ‘mean looking lady’ had ambushed his mother yesterday on the way to the hospital.”

The model can only gape at Atsumu’s words, blinking in confusion. She stutters, “S—So—Son?”

“Goodbye now,” Osamu interrupts by sliding the door shut right in front of Yumi’s face, using her dazed gaze to his advantage by locking the door. Turning around, he arches a brow in curiosity towards his brother who looked nowhere near comfortable in his position, “Are you sure it was the right move to let Yumi, of all people, that you have a son?”

Atsumu lets out a frustrated sigh before waving his hand dismissively, “I’ll handle it.”

“How are you feeling?” Osamu asks as he occupies the seat next to Atsumu’s bed, “Judging by the look on your face, probably shit huh?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes before giving his brother a glare, “Yeah, no shit there.”

“It’s expected,” his brother lifts his shoulders up in a shrug as he leans back against his seat, “Your doctor did list down what you can and can’t do after this surgery, and well, what you would be feeling right after, so this is to be expected. Unless, you didn’t really listen?”

“Of course I listened, ya shit.” Atsumu snaps, brows furrowing.

Osamu lets a laugh escape his lips, a grin taking place on his lips, “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Why is my head hurting so fucking bad?” he lets out a groan, fluttering his eyes shut in annoyance for the pounding headache.

“You don’t remember?”

Atsumu flutters his eyelids back open to look at his brother in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“You fucking got out of bed the moment you were put into this room after your surgery, you dimwit.” Osamu scolds him with a glare, bringing his hands up to massage his temples with the tips of his fingers, “You were told to rest, not to get out of bed. You passed out after the nurse tried getting you back to bed, in the hallway mind you, and Atsuhiko had to witness it. You didn’t know how scared the little boy was after you collapsed head first.”

Atsumu winces from the tone his twin was using, not that he cared for his brother’s scolding but it seemed the medication that was still in his system made everything sensitive, including his hearing. A frown makes its way to his lips at the mention of his son, “How about his brother? How’s Atsuhiro? His transfusion was just right after my surgery wasn’t it?”

“Stop talking and let me explain,” he sighs at his brother’s impatience but somehow he inwardly smiles at this side of his brother.

Since Atsumu had rushed out of the V.League Associations Party to confess his feelings to you, almost everyone noticed a change in him. Sure, he still attended training but according to Coach Samson, Atsumu seemed to be in top shape and even seemed to be more relaxed and enjoying his time on court. Of course, people who knew of the situation Atsumu was in, knew exactly the reason as to why he was in such condition.

Ever since the two of you cried to each other, keep in mind, in a hospital hallway, on the cold floor, there was an honest shift in the atmosphere that surrounded both of you. It was calmer and full of the warmth that Atsumu and you had been longing. And for the volleyball player, having the chance to spend some time with his kids was a huge bonus.

It made Atsumu feel complete.

Especially when Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro had started addressing him as their father. Yes, Atsumu was on different levels of high; the highest peak of Mount Fuji, Cloud Nine, heck he was just so happy he doesn’t want to let this feeling out of his grasp. And he’d be damned if someone tried to take such joy from him. There was no way that he’d let this good thing going for him slip through his fingers for as long as he lived.

So the very thought of Atsuhiko witnessing him collapse and fearing for his state was enough for his heart to hurt, he’d never meant to worry the little boy. As the father, shouldn’t he be the one worrying for his sons? He knows what his kids are thinking, having them (mostly Atsuhiko) bluntly express their fears of their father disappearing again. So the sight of him fainting in front of Atsuhiko had probably sent the little boy into panic. He’d have to make it up to him soon.

“It’s too soon to tell if the transfusion was a success,” Osamu stars, watching his brother inhale sharply as anxiety bubbled in his chest. “But so far, everything looks good. I was with them earlier when the doctor came in and he said he’ll be staying in for another day to monitor him. If everything’s good, he can leave the hospital and return every 6 months until he doesn’t need to have a transfusion anymore.”

He nods slowly, “And what about if the transfusion isn’t successful?”

“I don’t think that would be the case,” Osamu lifts his shoulders up in a shrug and gives his brother a reassuring smile, “Atsuhiro and you are a match, so far there aren’t any complications. It’s a success, ‘Tsumu. Don’t worry too much. Focus on getting better. Oh, and actually…”

Atsumu raises a brow at his twin, “What? You tell me not to worry and end your sentence like that? I ought to smack you if my body isn’t sore as fuck.”

A chuckle escapes the other twin seated on the chair next to the bed, a sly grin forming on his lips as he remembers the conversation from earlier. “Mom may, or may not be already planning your wedding.”

He splutters, eyes growing wide. He feels his cheeks heat up from the sheer thought of approaching you after his own mother had probably brought up the idea of marriage to you while he wasn’t present to stop her. Suddenly, he’s embarrassed to face you. “Please don’t tell me she had been pestering about marriage with my sons present.”

A smile curls up on Osamu’s lips at how his twin addresses the younger twins as his sons before he shakes his head in response, “Nah, Suwa-san took Atsuhiko out earlier for the day and I was keeping Atsuhiro occupied.”

“Suwa-san?”

Osamu rolls his eyes, “Reiji, purple haired dude that’s always with your girlfriend.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” he grumbles underneath his breath, frowning.

His twin lets out a laugh as he teases, “yet. You two are practically married.”

“I don’t know…” he lets out a sigh, “Do you think she’d be happier with that Reiji guy? He’s been with her ever since…”

“You’re lucky you’re in a hospital bed or else I would have kicked your ass for that negative pea brain of yours,” Osamu grunts, unamused by his twin brother’s words. Sure, he often teased his twin but he especially didn’t like it when Atsumu put himself down over something serious. “Don’t go there. Just don’t. The two of you have talked things out haven’t you?”

“How do you—”

Osamu cuts him off with a dismissive wave, “She told me. We talked when you were being prepped for your surgery. Just be patient, you can’t rush these things and don’t you dare decide for her either.”

“When did you become the boss of me?” he scoffs from the bed, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling, “I just want what’s best for them.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

His twin stands up from his seat upon hearing the knock, thinking it’s probably the doctor or you. Before he could unlock the door however, he glances back at his brother over his shoulder, “Stop moping and just be there for them whether you end up with her or not.”

Atsumu watches the hospital door slide open and his heart swells at the sight of you and Atsuhiko and he instantly wants to reach out when he notices the little boy’s lower lip quivering as he peers into the room. As the little boy’s gaze lands on Atsumu, the little boy rushes forward frantically.

“Daddy!” he cries out, throwing himself onto Atsumu’s body as soon as he gets near enough. Atsumu couldn’t even bring himself to complain of the pain from the impact due to the sight of his son’s distress, reaching out to run his fingers into the little boy’s hair, “You okay now? You scared me, daddy! You fell and you wouldn’t wake up! I tried waking you up but you wouldn’t!”

He tries his best to soothe the little boy who was clinging onto him from the side of his bed but Atsumu couldn’t contain the excitement he felt upon hearing Atsuhiko address him as his father over and over. He realizes that he probably wouldn’t ever get used to it but he wouldn’t mind hearing it all the time. “Daddy is doing much better. I’m sorry for scaring you, buddy.”

“Good, daddy. You and Hiro should get better so we can start playing together,” he nods his head happily, his mood shifting from his gloomy one upon hearing his father was okay. The little boy scrunches up his features into a look of distaste as he straightens himself up to stand, folding his tiny arms across his chest, “Daddy, the mean looking lady came again! She was yelling at mommy and saying mean things! Uncle Bo helped and I wanna help too but mommy said kicking someone isn’t nice.”

Atsumu turns to look over at you with a raised eyebrow as Atsuhiko finishes his explanation and you simply shook your head. Giving Osamu a small smile which he returns before leaving the room for the three of you. You turn your gaze back at the man who was waiting patiently for you to answer as you slide the door shut behind you, letting out a tired sigh. “That woman is not worth our time to discuss further, I’m taking legal actions though. How you ended up dating someone like her is beyond me.”

“She didn’t do anything to Hiko or you?” he asks, worry laced in his voice as Atsuhiko slowly crawls into the bed and snuggles himself into his father’s side. Atsumu notices you about to reprimand the little boy which he simply shakes his head towards your direction, lowering his head to press a kiss to the top of the little boy’s head.

“She couldn’t even if she tried,” you let out a snort as you approached the bed. He extends his arm out, his hand reaching for yours which you gladly take with your own and giving it a gentle squeeze, “You feeling okay?”

He nods, “A little sore but I guess that’s to be expected. How’s Hiro? Should you be leaving him on his own?”

“He’s doing fine, sleeping and our moms are busy bonding in his room, they said they’ll keep an eye on him,” you reassure him, “Plus this little one over here has been pestering me all day to check up on you.”

He feels his shoulder relax and a sigh of relief escapes his lips, lacing your fingers together with his as he lifts his gaze from Atsuhiko to look up at you, “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing fine,” you counter as the corners of your mouth tug down to a frown, “You gave us quite a scare, you know. We thought something had gone wrong with your surgery that caused you to collapse, turns out you were just being the stubborn idiot that you are. You really haven’t changed one bit.”

He places his other hand on his chest, feigning a hurt expression as he juts his lower lip to a pout to gain some sympathy from you which you simply responded with a shake of your head. The pad of thumb brushes against your skin and he lets out a defeated sigh, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare either of you. I just wanted to see Atsuhiro.”

“I understand,” you nod as you finally take a seat on the edge of his bed, watching Atsuhiko listening intently to the two of you, his brows furrowed as if he was trying his best to comprehend the conversation. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I promise,” he nods, flashing you a cheeky grin which you just roll your eyes at.

Atsuhiko interrupts the conversation by tilting his head to look up at his father as he remembers the task his Uncle Bo had given him when he had asked a particular question after encountering the mean looking lady moments ago before begging you to visit Atsumu. “Hey, daddy?”

“Yeah buddy?” Atsumu asks, his heart swelling with pride upon hearing the word daddy once more, shifting his attention back to the little boy snuggled comfortably against his side.

“What does bitch mean?”

#atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya imagine #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #homesick

394 notes · View notes

johannestevans · 3 years

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ngl there's something very funny to me that the people who comment on fanfic WIPs asking thing like "when's the next update?" or "how long is it going to take you to finish this?" are. almost guaranteed to be people who've never commented on the WIP before

no one is obligated to comment on fanfiction.

some people don't comment until the end bc they can't do chapter by chapter, some people need time to edit comments, some people just don't have time, don't feel comfortable with writing like they do reading, are nervous, etc

i personally certainly prefer people who don't comment over those who comment only an emoji or a one word comment, and I often delete those 🤷‍♂️ as far as I see it, stuff like that is what the kudos button is for, and i don't get a direct notification about kudos

but commenting on and engaging with fanfic authors, reccing and talking about fics you like, etc is, imo, like... part of the community aspect of fandom?

for me as an author, i have frequently abandoned WIPs bc of a lack of vocal engagement

it's all very well getting loads of kudos and bookmarks, but when the draw of creating fanfic is the community engagement and social aspect, which it always has been for me, there's no point writing fanfic that people don't comment on no matter how popular it actually is

comment culture has changed significantly over the past few years - the combination of growing fandoms, more centralised sites (ie not like LJ) and less direct interaction between authors and readers outside of ao3 sometimes, people work more, and ppl "consume" fanfic like media

not to mention that gutting literature and history classes in many places and the increasingly literalist approach to media analysis has made people a lot less adept at doing their own analysis of what they read and putting their thoughts into words

but when people don't comment on the actual content of a fanfic, but DO say... are you gonna write more???? when?? more? more chapter?

like. babe. why should i? i wrote it, and you didn't say anything in response

so why should i write /you/, specifically, more?

and honestly a big part of declining comment culture in fandom was a large contributor in why i stopped writing fanfic entirely to write my own original work, and even now why I'm only writing fanfic for a fandom that's actually respectful of authors and their time - ST DS9

but funnily enough I still regularly get people petulantly demanding why I'm not abandoning my professional working job writing my own stuff, which for many people is a dream, to go back and update a good omens or HP fanfic

and saying its UNFAIR I've ~abandoned~ fandom

when it's like... look.

fandom culture has changed. that's okay. comment culture has changed, and approach to media analysis, including fanfic analysis, has changed, that's okay too. you don't owe fanfic authors anything!

but we don't owe readers anything either lmao

you don't get to have it both ways

"oh but i read it! i got invested in the story! it's unfair not to finish it!"

you think the author who wrote it wasn't invested in it themselves? you think maybe they weren't also invested in... people reading it? lol

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 6: A Talk

This is chapter 6 of the dream smp fic @dramaticsnakes and I are writing. Thank you to @r0w3n-1n-d0ugh for beta-reading this chapter!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Tubbo, Ranboo, Ghostbur, Phil

Word count: 2,988

Cw: Eating/food, major angst, loneliness, bottling up emotions, trust issues, fear of abandonment, discussions of betrayal, implied suicidal thoughts, loss of purpose

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The table was already set before they walked down, three chairs and a hightop were around the table. As Michael sprinted towards the dining room, everyone else walked at a moderate pace. Wilbur found himself sitting at the chair furthest away from the little family. While Wilbur didn’t mind imposing on most things, the domestic scene before him appeared private, as Tubbo gently lifted Michael to the highchair. Everyone sat down, and as Wilbur saw the food on the plate, he realized that it had once again been quite a bit since he ate. He looked at the inviting steak, and cut off a piece of it with his knife and fork, shoving it into his mouth, embracing the taste.

“What’s that?” Ghostbur asked in awe, causing Wilbur to feel a little abashed, as he realized what was going on. Wilbur swallowed. “Mm, this steak is really good,” he said in response, and Ghostbur gasped excitedly.

The steak was actually quite delicious. He didn’t remember tasting Tubbo’s cooking in a while, which of course made sense, all the years at a train station considered and all. Though this was clearly food, made by someone who cooked proper meals frequently, which was an interesting change, from their time in the wars. A change that left a strange stinging sensation in Wilbur’s chest that showed up uninvited every once in a while, but was fairly easy to quench.

“Thank you!” Tubbo said with a cheerful smile.

“There wasn’t much food in limbo, you know.” Wilbur commented, eating a bigger piece, “In fact, there wasn’t anything. I tried to lick the walls once or twice, but they tasted worse than the walls in this world.”

Tubbo’s face turned slightly pale, and he chuckled awkwardly. “How do you know-” he trailed off and shook his head, “Nevermind.”

At that moment, Wilbur realized that all this time being dead, made people look at Wilbur strangely, and treat his comments with a new sort of hesitance. What would usually have been met with laughter, was met with stares and grim silence.

But Wilbur’s words were just something everyone else would have to get used to eventually.

Ranboo sat next to Michael, cutting the steak on Michael’s plate into tiny pieces. He tried, to little avail, to put a piece into Michael’s mouth, which Michael looked away from quickly. “Come on, Michael, it’s dinner time,” he said gently.

Tubbo turned to his husband and his child- which was a sentence Wilbur still hadn’t gotten quite used to thinking- and tried to assist. He smiled nervously, as he grabbed another little piece. “It’s good for you, Michael. And delicious!” he took a piece from his own place and ate it, followed by an overexaggerated hum of satisfaction.

Ranboo took the fork and asked Michael, “Do you want it?”

Michael shook his head no, slightly pouting. Ranboo gasped, “But steak is so good! Well…” he aimed the fork for his mouth instead of Michael’s. “I’ll gladly take it, steak is one of the best things ever.” When Ranboo opened his mouth to eat the steak, Michael made grabby hands towards the fork.

Ranboo barely held back a laugh, “But this is my steak isn’t it?”

Michael shook his head again and moved his head towards the fork. Ranboo smiled, his plan working exactly how he expected it to, “Alright, I’ll let you have a bite.”

Ranboo led the fork to Michael’s mouth as the toddler took it gratefully. Michael even dared to make a face towards his father that could only be described as a pure soul attempting to look evil. Ranboo gasped dramatically, “I thought we taught you better than such manners!”

Michael snorted as he opened his mouth for another bite. Ranboo cut up a small piece of steak when he was casually interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. The specific pattern flew by Wilbur, but he felt instinctively that they were a planned order. Tubbo got up at the same time as Ranboo.

“I’ll get it,” Tubbo assured him.

“You already made dinner. I’ll do it,” Ranboo pushed his chair back in.

Tubbo walked towards the door, “I’ve got it, Boo, spend some time with Michael.” Ranboo’s shoulders noticeably relaxed at the nickname.

“Alright,” Ranboo sat back down and picked up Michael’s fork. He led it towards the toddler as routine, occasionally making comments about how he wished for a bite so Michael wouldn’t get suspicious.

Wilbur took the moment to remember his recent conversation with Ranboo. Why did Ranboo believe Dream was such an antagonist to imply that it was obvious why he held such distaste for him? There wasn’t blood on Dream’s green hoodie, but Ranboo clearly saw it on his hands in a way Wilbur couldn’t understand. “Why do you hate Dream?”

Ranboo tensed, “I- well, hate isn’t the word I would describe it as…” While Michael was chewing he ate a piece for himself. If Ranboo was actually hungry or trying to delay the conversation, Wilbur would never know.

“Then describe it.” Wilbur was tired of the lack of knowledge he knew. Before he was decently satisfied, but his curiosity demanded more when Ranboo mentioned Dream.

Ranboo chewed on his steak, clearly longer than he needed to. “It’s not really too important on the word choice, it’s just-” Ranboo looked at Michael with a fondness as he slowly got another bite for the boy. “He’s done a lot of things,” Ranboo’s voice was almost a whisper.

Ghostbur hummed, “People don’t really like Dream. I can’t recall much of him, but… he did something bad. No, a lot of things bad. He did some bad stuff to… to Tommy! Made him really sad.”

Wilbur nodded from Ghostbur’s explanation as it was more helpful than Ranboo’s. He was about to ask what Dream did to Tommy, but his thoughts were interrupted when Tubbo spoke, “Guess what, Michael, Grandpa’s here!” Wilbur looked over and saw Phil rolling his eyes at Tubbo’s word choice.

Wilbur remained quiet as Phil’s eyes lingered on him.

Phil’s expression was akin to concern, and Wilbur wasn’t that fond of it. Once again, he felt as if he was on display, and as if he’d given something away he should’ve kept to himself. “Techno said you’d be here,” Phil said quietly, and he waited for a few moments as if he wanted a response.

Wilbur didn’t know what satisfying response he could give. “Did he?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, as he jokingly added, “You know, I almost managed to forget how much of a bastard that guy was.” Ghostbur gasped in a worried kind of way, though he didn’t say a thing out loud.

Phil hummed and walked towards Michael. He gave the toddler a fond pat on the head, a gesture that reminded Wilbur far too much of a less tainted past. Phil looked at Ranboo and Tubbo. “He’s grown a bit since the last time I saw him,” he said.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Tubbo said proudly, “He’s been eating well too, mostly. We had to take away the yellow crayons. He has quite a taste for gold.” he chuckled.

Phil laughed, as he continued to pat Michael, who had excited sparks in his eyes. When Phil turned his face towards Wilbur however, it changed from laughter to a simple smile. Wilbur had the urge to walk away, though he stayed put, taking some more bites of his steak. “Listen…” Phil said, after a few casual greetings to the child and the parents, “Can I talk to you for a second, mate?”

Wilbur tensed up because he knew it was directed at him. The word alone hung in the air as well, implying that this would not be where the conversation took place. In short, that meant this was a serious conversation, and unfortunately, Wilbur had a vague idea of what it was going to be about. He nodded, more sheepishly than he would’ve liked to, and stood up from the table. Phil excused the both of them, and the two of them left the room together.

When Phil opened the door to the outside, Wilbur started to wonder if this was the moment he would be backstabbed, though he knew the reasoning was much more emotional and intangible than something like that. A backstabbing would be easy to tackle. A conversation with a concerned father was a lot less simple.

The two stood outside in the snow, and Wilbur was reminded of their first meeting after his revival. “What is it?” Wilbur said sharply.

“Wil…” Phil said softly, “I uh- I was wondering if you’re doing alright.”

Wilbur scoffed at the question, “I clearly am.”

“Wilbur,” Phil said more sternly, though not out of anger but more so out of concern. “I’m worried about your… safety- that might be the best way to put it.”

Wilbur nodded, but he barely meant it, “Understood, Mr. Minecraft, I’ll make sure to look both ways before crossing the street.” The words meant to come out in a playful way, but they were sharp with edges that hurt himself along with Phil.

“No, I-” Phil closed his eyes, focusing on his word choice. He opened them again with a look that lingered in melancholy but tried to look hopeful for Wilbur’s sake. “Techno told me about… your burns and I…” Phil took a deep breath in to try and address the topic directly, “Why did you go into the nether without any armor?” The words were quiet, but solid by themselves.

Wilbur couldn’t hold back an eye-roll from how many times he’d been asked that today, Phil slightly frowned at this. “I mean, it doesn’t exactly matter much anymore. I’ll be more careful next time I go.”

Phil pursed his lips, “You don’t understand the point.” Phil sighed, “I’m worried about you.”

Although it shouldn’t have, it caught Wilbur off-guard. He didn’t ask why, because he knew he’d get a default answer about how he was a human being and his son and probably a sob fest that he’d heard before. He wasn’t a child anymore. He knew his place in the world. His place didn’t have any room for his father’s concerns. “I don’t need your pity about how it’s hard for me to get used to living again.” Wilbur didn’t even intend for that to slip out. He didn’t need to tell Phil anything. He didn’t need someone to be against him despite acting like they cared.

A part of him painfully thought how that description didn’t fit only one person.

“I know it takes a bit of practice?” Phil awkwardly laughed before his calm tone returned, “But you can’t get better at being alive by being reckless. It would be like saying you can’t use any measuring spoons while baking. I- We’ve got spoons, there’s no need to go through extra pain.”

“What the fuck does me going into the nether and tripping have to do with spoons?”

Phil’s tone softened, “You know what I mean.”

Wilbur looked at the snow around him, not being able to bear Phil’s sad look anymore. “I frankly don’t.”

Silence lingered in the air. It wasn’t a comfortable silence that made you enjoy the moment. It was harsh and uncomfortable to breathe in.

“Wilbur…” The tone of Phil’s voice tugged on a part of him. It was an idiotic part that needed to acknowledge that he wasn’t going to be Phil’s child again. He was just a disaster of a failed nation that everyone seemed wary of.

A disaster of a son as well.

“You should go home.” Wilbur refused to meet his father’s eyes. Instead, he stared at his white breaths in the frozen air.

“I don’t want you to leave again without me knowing when you’re coming back,” Wilbur told himself that he didn’t hear the small crack in Phil’s voice. He wanted to go into his father’s arms and have a moment where the two were together in a warm house in front of the fireplace. Instead, he settled on wrapping his own arms around himself. They weren’t warm to his body. They didn’t provide what he needed. Tears formed in his eyes at the thought of going home with Phil and pretending that things weren’t different now.

But everything was different. He hated that. He hated how the only laugh he would get was a small chuckle as everyone assumed he was a child that didn’t know the dangers of the world. He died three times. He knew danger better than anyone else would. He’d been betrayed more times than he could count on both of his hands. What if Phil got the courage to stab him unprompted? To bring a sword in the night and take care of everyone’s problem? “You should go,” Wilbur’s sobs almost escaped him as tears silently slid down his face.

Phil sighed. “You know where to go if you… yeah…” Phil’s footsteps moved through the snow behind him, slow at first, only a pause stopping them. Phil wanted Wilbur to ask him to come back. Wilbur knew this. He knew he was an asshole, but he needed independence. It was ironic that he fought for L’Manburg’s, yet, it was still out of reach for him.

After a few seconds of mutual silence, Phil’s steps continued, fading slowly. When they stopped again, Wilbur turned, perhaps to apologize but saw no one in sight. It took him a moment to realize Phil already went through the nether portal.

Phil was gone.

He wasn’t coming back. Wilbur put a hand over his mouth, he had learned to cry silently during one of the wars. A quite useful skill if you asked him.

But no one would ask him. He was a fucking idiot that couldn’t hold onto anyone, no matter how much they asked him to stay. Yet, no matter how much he held on, he was always alone. They didn’t even leave on day one or two. No, no, no. They had to leave years after he knew them. They had to make Wilbur think he could actually hold onto them before they left.

Wilbur’s legs collapsed as he sobbed into his hand. He put his other hand on top to make sure he didn’t make a noise. He didn’t need Tubbo nor Ranboo to discover how pathetic he was. They had their family. They were happy. They didn’t need Wilbur. No one did. Tommy held a grudge against him, Technoblade thought of him as an annoying child who couldn’t handle himself, and Tubbo only took him in out of pity.

And that didn’t even touch on Ranboo. Ranboo must’ve hated him by now. He asked a few too many questions, lingered on topics a little too long.

He supposed that Michael cared about him. But at such an age, the kid probably cared about every little piece of grass. He wasn’t special. He was just another blade of grass that could barely make an impact. His unfinished symphony was a finished crater covered in glass, his name typically regarded out of spite instead of love. The feeling was mutual.

“I- why did neither of you say goodbye? I thought after 6 months apart you would be constantly talking, since being in here is really lonely…” Ghostbur’s voice started to crack as small cries escaped from him. “I thought time makes the heart grow fonder, not angry and sad. No, bitter. That's a better word for it.”

Wilbur spluttered slightly, as he scoffed through the sobs. “No no, it’s… Thank you, Ghostbur, but it’s-” he stopped, his eyes widening, and his heart seeming to take a break from beating for one fleeting moment. “Excuse me-” he said, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed, “How long did you say we’d been apart?”

“Half a month. No, wait, half a year but also six months since they’re the same. Well, there’s probably a few more days added-”

Ghostbur was cut off by Wilbur’s astonished words, “I- I wasn’t there six months.”

The disbelief rang through his ears louder than Ghostbur could ever speak. Thirteen years hadn’t passed. Thirteen and a half years hadn’t passed.

Six months.

Just six months.

#dream smp #dream smp fanfic #wilbur soot #ghostbur #tubbo #ranboo #michael #c!michael #c!wilbur #c!tubbo #c!ranboo #philza #c!philza

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izlaria · 3 years

Text

Someone you like (part 2)

This is the second chapter of my “Someone you like” inspired fic. It’s also available on AO3 in case you prefer that platform.

Feel free to write comments in the tags or send me messages about this. I love feedback!

16 and 14 years old

Pidge Gunderson. I am Pidge Gunderson.

Katie looked herself in the mirror, trying to convince her brain that the image reflected was hers, that it was a boy, with no previous links to the Garrison, someone who had wanted to go into Communications.

It didn’t really work. All she saw was Matt: his glasses; his short, unkempt haircut; his nickname for her.

Maybe it was better like this. Katie had initially meant to immerse herself in this new identity, to go so deep into Pidge Gunderson that no one would be able to see past the cover, but the truth still kept slipping through her defenses. Katie was a Holt and her family was missing, so she was gonna find them. Pidge was just a tool.

It would be easier if there weren’t so many risks in studying at the Garrison.

Her father hadn’t brought her around often, but Katie had become infamous among the night-time security for her excursions to discover sensitive information regarding the Kerberos mission. Iverson, in particular, was probably expecting a new advance on her part.

He hadn’t recognized her, yet.

Sometimes Katie worried that she’d already been exposed and that they were just gathering evidence before actually making a move against her. If the Garrison was willing to lie about her father’s and brother’s deaths, then she couldn’t overlook the possibility that corruption ran deep within the organization.

She sighed, tugging at the ends of her hair.

“Come on, Gunderson!” she heard someone shout from outside her door. “You’re coming to lunch with us whether you want to or not!”

Lance continued to make noises, probably talking to Hunk. They usually threatened to hack into her keypad if she didn’t come out to join them for meals. Katie couldn’t really understand their stubbornness. She might have appreciated their offer of friendship back in Middle School, when she’d felt ostracized by her peers, but now it was just another hazard to her already convoluted plan.

“Go bother some poor girl, McClain!” Katie shouted in response, feeling more inpatient than strictly necessary.

She knew that Lance meant well, but she didn’t have time for his hijinks. Katie had a duty to her family, first and foremost, and any effort spent placating her teammates was a waste in that regard. Not to mention that Lance had a knack for attracting attention that completely opposed her own need to remain unseen.

Her door slid open with an elegant swoosh.

Katie poked her head from the bathroom to glare at the two boys who stood there. Hunk had the sense to look ashamed, but Lance just grinned.

“It’s bonding time, Pidge!” He stepped into the room, arms wide open. His easy smile was the same as ever, despite the news they’d received earlier that day about their performance stats. It was probably why Lance was there, after all.

Katie actually felt a little bad about the whole thing. She wasn’t particularly invested in training as a communications officer and, though she wouldn’t say it affected her retainment of the knowledge demanded from her, it certainly translated into frustration when they were in the simulator.

She wasn’t much of a team player, Katie could admit.

“If you’re trying to get on my good side, this is not how to do it,” she grumbled, trying her best to keep her voice low. Too much of a change would eventually weight on her vocal cords or sound plain ridiculous, but a difference in pitch and speech patterns were certainly necessary to disguise her true identity. Thankfully, any slip up could be attributed to puberty, as she’d been seeing many of their male classmates endure the difficulties of cracking voices.

Lance took her by the shoulders and shook her indiscriminately. “Quit being the worst!” His cheerfulness hid the vexation that Katie knew he truly felt. “We’re having burgers today, so I’m not letting you bring us down.”

She snickered. Lance was notorious for his love of junk food, despite Hunk’s attempts to get them more nutritious meals. He frequently spoke about his mother’s cooking but didn’t seem to have that same interest in the dietary plan prepared by the Garrison.

Katie couldn’t really fault him for that. Their meals were usually so blend that they seemed to withdraw taste from any of the condiments added.

From behind Lance, Hunk had finally gathered enough courage to come in. He looked around in such false innocence that Katie might have believed him, hadn’t she caught him going through her drawers the previous week. That boy was nosy as hell.

Just another reason to keep them away.

“If I go with you to the cafeteria, does that mean I can get you out of my room?” She fixed them with a stony look.

“For a time,” Lance offered, all cheeky and bright and annoying.

Hunk put a hand on his shoulder, pulling his friend back from Katie. “We noticed you didn’t eat yesterday, again.” He sighed. “If you took better care of yourself, we wouldn’t come here so often.”

Katie let that reasoning sit with her for a bit. She usually sneaked granola bars and other less-perishable types of food into her room to eat while she worked, but it was true that she didn’t really sit for meals unless the boys pushed her. She didn’t think they would notice.

It brought a strange warmth to her chest. She’d felt cold for so long now, always at arm’s length from those around her. Her mother had tried, but she was grieving and her suffering filled her until there was no more room for her daughter. These small kindnesses had gone away with Matt.

She struggled not to reach into her pocket for the picture she kept of them. Hunk had a curious soul and Lance was a gossip; they had almost caught her one too many times.

“I guess I did want your input on how to recalibrate this old radio I found in the junkyard…” Katie huffed out a breath, which the boys took as a surrender.

“Ah, nothing like the smell of oil and grease to really improve the day!” Lance put an arm around her shoulders, but she quickly dodged away, lest he recognize anything different about her body. Even though she was already pretending to be a boy, Katie didn’t want to also have to pretend to be trans. It was a line that she dared not cross, morally.

She felt the dysmorphia more acutely than she’d imagined she would. As a child, she had enjoyed cutesy things and dresses and her long hair. The sudden departure from those possessions was supposed to remove her from her previous identity, but Katie would always know the truth. There was no escaping it.

More than anything, it was the inability to choose that left her frazzled. The loose clothes and glasses and boyish haircut didn’t bother her and they did give her a liberty that more feminine wear didn’t, but Katie wished the circumstances allowed her to be a girl too, sometimes.

Alas, here she was, stuck between Hunk and Lance as they basically escorted her to the cafeteria. Matt would have a conniption if he ever found out there were boys breaking into her room at all times of the day.

“You thinking about those amazing fries we’re gonna get?” Lance sighed dreamily. “Honestly, I don’t know how they do it. Every other meal freaking sucks, but then Monday comes around and the cooks just nail it!”

Hunk chuckled, nodding along. “They probably want to put us in a good mood for the week. Everybody knows that getting back to classes after the weekend can be hard.”

“Hard? It’s impossible.” Lance dragged his hands through his face. “I nearly fell asleep during Arithmetic today. Professor Reeves is such a bore!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t fall asleep if you didn’t spend Sunday nights in town,” Katie quipped before she could stop herself.

“Yeah, well,” Lance floundered. “What’s your excuse, then? You won’t come with us, but you still look dead on your feet in the mornings!”

“I’m just not a morning person.” She crossed her arms, turning away from Lance.

In doing so, however, she came face to face with Hunk, who was staring at her with an inquisitive look. He was less loud about it than Lance, but it was clear that he also had questions about what Katie spent her time doing.

She tightened her arms around herself, feeling her stomach drop.

This was why Katie didn’t like to talk to them. It was usually easy to ignore Lance, because of how over-the-top he was, but Hunk’s gentleness and concern made the guilt rise within her. She didn’t want to involve other people in her lies, didn’t want them to believe Pidge was their friend only to be faced with a betrayal.

And that’s how they would see it, wasn’t it? Katie didn’t have a lot of experience with friendships, especially not ones as deep as Hunk and Lance’s, but no sane person would take it lightly to find out someone had lied about their whole identity and motivations.

Besides, if she ever did find out what the Garrison was hiding, it could possibly affect the future of the organization and disrupt the trajectory of every student there.

Before Katie could go further into her spiraling thoughts, she felt Hunk maneuver her into the cafeteria line. She had tuned out the rest of their conversation and now Lance spoke of a girl in his Aerodynamics class.

She ignored his ramblings. Lance tried to project this image of a lady’s man, but the few dates he’d scored since they started school never seemed to really move forward. They ended up in an endless cycle in which Lance fixated on some girl, hit on her endlessly, then finally gave up and went crying to Hunk.

Katie couldn’t see the appeal of it, but it most likely had to do with Lance’s self-esteem and need for validation.

“I think Jiya might actually like me!” he declared, despite how both Hunk and Katie were more focused on filling their trays with food. “Whenever the teacher asks me to stay behind and clean up, she stays to help! That has to mean something!”

Katie collected her juice box and went to sit down, pointedly ignoring Lance’s questions.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Hunk said agreeably. He didn’t sound too sure, but his expression showed that he was trying to be positive for Lance’s sake.

“Or, you know, the girl is just a nice person who thought you were being picked on by the teacher.” Katie raised her eyes to give Lance an unimpressed look. “And you’re reading too much into it.”

The boy scowled at her. “What would you know, Pidge? I’ve never seen you with a girl before.”

“Yeah,” she raised an eyebrow, feeling smug that the other two wouldn’t understand the humor in this. “What do I know of girls?”

Katie had to suppress a laugh when Lance turned to her with a very confused expression. Hunk, however, gave her a small, secretive smile that set off all kinds of warning signs.

“I don’t get it,” Lance complained to Hunk, then turned back to her. “I don’t get it!”

“Well,” Hunk started and immediately her heart started pounding in her chest. Outwardly, Katie tried to remain impassive. “The girls in our class all love Pidge.”

“They do?!” Lance burst out, eyes widened. His gaze shifted back and forth between her and Hunk.

They didn’t, Katie was pretty sure. Did they?

“They think he’s cute,” Hunk confirmed, waving his fork in the air as if trying to recall the exact words. “Pidge is quiet, but he’s smart and mostly polite, so Denise decided he was a good guy and the rest of the girls kinda followed her lead.”

Now that Katie thought about it, it was true that she’d helped Denise with her Bio homework and that people had been nicer to her since. She supposed they could see Pidge in a good light, especially because he seemed so much younger than the other students in Engineering.

Katie blinked rapidly to dispel her thoughts. She’d been thinking of Pidge in the third person, again.

“Fine, then.” Lance narrowed his eyes at Katie. “What miraculous advice do you have for me, oh Great Pidgeon?”

Despite his sarcasm, it was clear that Lance truly wanted an answer. It was one of the most ridiculous situations Katie had ever found herself in.

“How about you show some interest in what these girls like, instead of showboating around them?” She flicked a fry at him, which Hunk quickly stole for himself. “Sure, some people want to be impressed, but we all got into the Garrison and a lot of them already know your grades on the simulator. Most girls want someone who will listen and who they can have fun with.”

“I can be fun!” Lance protested.

“I get what Pidge’s saying, though,” Hunk intervened. Katie hadn’t meant to be harsh, but Lance suddenly looked a little deflated. “We know that you’re great, but you’re always so busy trying to be what these girls want from you that you don’t really get to know them. A little kindness goes a long way.”

Katie nodded along, munching on her burger. “No girl wants an egocentric boyfriend,” she added, mouth still half full. Lance glared at her in both disgust and indignancy.

“I don’t want to hear this from you, Mister I’m-not-here-to-make-friends!”

She shrugged and continued to eat her burger.

“Okay, okay…” Hunk put his hands up placatingly. “How about I get us some dessert and we change the subject?”

Lance glanced at him through the corner of his eyes. “Those guava-flavored popsicles?”

“You know it!” Hunk grinned back at him and the two shared a high-five.

“You’re so easy to please,” Katie commented once Hunk had gotten up. She used her last fry to soak up the mayo leftover on her plate.

Lance glared at her for a moment, before letting the last of his annoyance slip away. He reached into his backpack and took out an apple.

“Here.” He deposited it on her tray.

Katie frowned at him. “What is this?”

“You always eat fruit after we get something greasy, right?” he asked it casually, distracted by trying to squeeze ketchup onto his remaining fries. The condiment bottles in the cafeteria were continuously blocked.

“Yeah.” She blinked up at him, caught by surprise. Her voice had gone soft and she had to clear her throat to dispel the emotion that knotted there. “I didn’t think you would remember.”

Lance looked up from his food to give her an exaggerated eye-roll.

“You’re my friend, Pidge.” He kicked her under the table. “In spite of all your efforts to keep me away.”

She stayed silent for a moment, staring at the apple.

“Thank you,” she said. I’m sorry, she wanted to add, but it would make no sense to him. As far as Lance knew, Pidge was cold and self-involved and clinical to a fault.

“Don’t mention it!” He threw a fry up and tried to catch it with his mouth, but it merely bounced off his nose, marking it with ketchup. “Dang! One more!”

Katie let out a breath of laughter. Then, sitting up to better her odds, she waved at Lance. “Try me.”

By the time Hunk returned, Katie was biting into her apple as Lance complained about the ketchup stains he’d gotten on his uniform jacket.

She didn’t know what had driven her away from the dorms that day. There was a restless energy within her that demanded space and, though she’d never been the biggest fan of nature, it had sent her directly into the Arizona desert.

Katie felt like Pidge, today. Not like Pidge Gunderson, but like the little girl who’d yelled a misheard swearword at locked doors, until her brother had come to her rescue. She felt young and impulsive and alive, despite the grief that still weighted on her shoulders.

More than anything, she missed her mom.

In Katie’s eyes, Coleen Holt knew everything there was to know about agriculture and plant life. She was a different kind of genius from her father and brother, possessing a peacefulness about her that none of the other Holts could ever hope for. It had been a comfort through the years of Katie’s adolescence.

Sitting underneath one of the few trees distributed across the Garrison grounds reminded Katie of her grandmother’s place in Italy, where the fruit trees spread as far as the horizon. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the sweet smells that rose from the vegetation.

“I wonder if they have lemon trees here,” she murmured to herself.

“I don’t think they do, Pidge.”

Katie lurched back in shock. She felt her shoulder scrape against the tree trunk and had to stretch out an arm to keep from falling. Lance sent her a carefree grin, bent down at the waist to look her in the eye, as he usually did. It irritated Katie to no end, not only for how condescending it was, but because it always put him too far into her personal bubble.

“What are you even doing here, Lance?” she asked once her heartrate had gone down.

“I saw you through a window and thought we could eat together, since Hunk is sick.” He looked pointedly at the half-eaten sandwich she’d tossed in her surprise. “I see you started without me.”

“Well, now I’ll have to buy something else for lunch, so thanks for that,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be like that, Pidgeon.” Lance poked her on the ribs. “I even brought you something as a bribe.” And then he extended an apple towards her.

Katie took it, trying to cover up her amusement with exasperation. “Do you think I’m obsessed with apples or something?”

“Next time I’ll bring you a lemon,” he teased.

Maybe it was because she felt more herself than she had in weeks, but Katie snickered at him. While his sanguinity could be exhausting, this time it was a welcome relief from the stagnation she’d fallen under.

Lance pulled out a sandwich from his pack, one of those 30 centimeters subs in Italian bread and multiple fixings, and Katie felt her mouth water at the sight. He must have noticed, because Lance chuckled and broke out one end for her.

“I think this is a palo verde,” he remarked after swallowing his first bite. At a confused look from Katie, he clarified, “the tree. You were talking about it before, right?”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Yeah…” He sounded like he was laughing at her. “I’m Cuban.”

Katie suddenly felt very stupid. He and Hunk had probably mentioned this already, but she didn’t pay them that much attention. It was a little embarrassing, especially when Lance seemed to be memorizing every small piece of information she offered him.

“Oh.” She searched for the right thing to say. “I didn’t know. Your last name sounds American.”

The whole situation left in her a sense of déjà vu. She couldn’t quite remember why, but the words pulled at her memory.

Thankfully, Lance took it in stride. “Our family has been to the US, then back to Cuba, then back to the US for generations. My whole name is actually Lance Serrano Mcclain.”

She nodded. Normally Katie would let the conversation drop and focus on finishing her meal, but she had already decided to take a bit of a break that day, in order to be more attentive at night. It couldn’t hurt to find out more about her teammate.

“So… Palo verde?”

“It means green stick, which seems kind of unfair, because this tree is actually pretty big, especially for the climate around here.” Lance fanned himself. “I hate how dry it gets.”

She almost agreed with him, but, as far as Lance and Hunk were concerned, Pidge Gunderson had no reason to have been outside of Arizona. Instead, she pretended to ponder his comment.

“The desert can be pretty unpredictable. The lack of humidity during the day is bad, but I wouldn’t want to be caught out when the temperatures drop.”

Lance faked a shiver. “Don’t even talk about that! I have too much tropical blood to handle the cold well. Hunk’s Samoan, by the way,” and there was unnecessary emphasis to his words here, “so he’s the same.”

“I didn’t realize both of you weren’t from around here.” Katie could imagine how much they missed their families. Choosing to voluntarily leave so that they could study at the Garrison must have been difficult.

“That’s nice to hear.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” He scrunched up his nose, as if he wanted to take back the words as he said them. “You were so cold to us when we first met, we weren’t sure what it was about.”

It was her turn to grimace. Katie hadn’t wanted to seem like so much of a jerk. She could be snappish and patronizing, even with those she loved, but her haughtiness towards her teammates had been a façade created to keep them out. Not that it did any good.

“Ugh, you’re already closed off, again.” Lance threw his head back in frustration. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s just personal, Lance.” Katie played with the apple in her hands. “I swear it’s not about you two.”

Without looking directly at him, she couldn’t tell what expression Lance was making. He stared at her, letting the silence extend.

Then he popped the last of the sub into his mouth, spreading back onto the grass.

“We will pester it out of you.” She turned to see him grinning. The confidence there was a quiet thing, so much different than Lance’s usual hyperboles and that much more effective. She felt dazed by it. “Eventually.”

Katie had never understood what the girls in her school meant when they talked about crushes. They always seemed frivolous, going on about someone’s hair or how handsome they were or how strong. Meanwhile, Katie had simply hoped for a friend, for a respite to the unending mocking.

Still, Lance suddenly looked very interesting under this light. His chin was too pointed to be considered attractive, but his blue eyes caught the sunshine like polished stone. He could be funny and thoughtful and inventive, attributes Katie hadn’t expected to value.

She moved her gaze to where another group of students was sitting, uncertain if the heat running up her neck would translate into a damning blush. She bit into the apple to keep from incriminating herself further.

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #cyance #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #vld lance #pidge gunderson #katie holt #lance mcclain #vld fanfiction #vld syl verse

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bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

It’s More About Looks Than Skill (VIII)

Pairing: Ryuk/Reader

Summary: Ryuk finds himself gaining feelings for Light Yagami’s best friend, but she doesn’t know he exists. When he makes the grave mistake of touching her, he makes things a lot more complicated.

Notes: I’m back... I told you I wasn’t giving up on this fic, I just needed some time to get over myself. I’ve plotted down the whole story and its ending, so you don’t have to worry about me not finishing this. It might take some time, but I’ll try not to post once every two months. Sorry, once again!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! If I wasn’t able to tag you, please check your settings and send me another ask.

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad, @rustypotatospork @mantisandthemoondragon @baby-queen-girl @itscalledtrust @emilyshurley @killtherandomness @selmeuuh @felicity291 @mahou-no-momo @bakarinnie @beccawinter @chantelle-c333 @ria-demon29

Chapter VIII

It wasn’t until she’d said goodbye to Soichiro and stepped through the hospital doors into the night’s breeze, did she hear Light speak again. She was standing miraculously placed behind a large bush, where they wouldn’t notice her. It seemed the young man waited to see if anyone stepped through the doors before deciding to continue his talk with the God of death hovering in the air behind him.

“Ryuk.”

“Hm?”

“I never once felt cursed since I picked up the Death Note. In fact, the thought never even crossed my mind. I’m happier than I’ve ever been, all thanks to this power. I’m going to create a perfect world.”

“Honestly, I could care less whether you feel cursed or happy to have a notebook. I’ll leave that sentimental crap to you humans. But… Normally humans who come into contact with a Shinigami have nothing but misfortune.”

“That’s interesting. But I have no intentions of repeating that pattern.”

She only allowed her lungs to release the air they’d been holding long after she could no longer hear his footsteps walking off. And only then did she allow herself to finally feel what she’d felt in the pit of her stomach all this time; fear.

***

“Are you seeing this?” Lights voice carried over the walkie-talkie, but her attention was directed entirely towards what the TV in front of her was broadcasting. Since phones had become a danger as of late, she’d suggested going for a more old-school approach, if it was only to be able to contact Light when her house was feeling a bit too empty. Which was happening more and more frequently.

She hummed in response.

“Even if you don’t agree with me, all I ask is that you not publicise your views in the media. If you can do that, you will be spared. All you have to do now, is be patient. I will create a better world that we can all enjoy. Say goodbye to the world as you know it. Soon, we’ll have a new world ruled by benevolence inhabited by kind-hearted, honest people. Try to imagine it; a world where the police and I-“

“Switch channels. Now.”

She did as was asked of her, and was faced with the collapsed figure of Ukita, a taskforce member she’d just met only a few days prior. “Light… you didn’t-?”

“Of course it’s not me, you fool. I wouldn’t be so reckless. Now L will think I don’t need a name to kill someone. This impersonator is ruining all my plans!”

“Calm down, Light. This might work in our favour. You and I both know L will take all possibilities into consideration, so it could very well be that he’s already figured out about this person acting as a second Kira.”

“Ryuk-“ she heard some muffled noises in the background, “-didn’t give another Death Note to anyone, did you?”

“I only had two,” she could make out, “and I’m surely not stupid enough to give away my second one.”

“Light, please look back at the screen.”

“Hm?”

“A vehicle has just driven through the front of the station!”

“Well, that’s one way to stop the broadcast.”

It took a while, but eventually a police car arrived at the scene. And another, and another, until the whole building was surrounded.

“That’s… Soichiro? Light, that’s your father!”

“There you have it! The police refused to cooperate with Kira! Instead, they are prepared to fight. And, as much as I fear for my own life while saying so, this is right, and it must be done! Kira has become a very threat to our constitution, and as citizens, we must fight back. I am NHN’s Golden News anchor, Kouki Tanakabara.”

***

“I can only say it’s a shame that the answer is no, it’s clear that the police wish to oppose me.”

“How and why is this being broadcasted?” she asked, scooting Light’s chair closer to the television on his desk. It was the next day, and Sakura TV was airing the Kira imposer’s tapes once more.

“This will not go unpunished. So, I’ll start by either taking the life of the director-general of the NPA, or the detective known as L, who is currently leading the investigation against me. The director-general, or L? Who will pay the price in your refusal to cooperate in the creation of a peaceful world? You have four days to decide.”

Light let out a small chuckle. “You were right all along. There is no need to worry.”

“Really?”

“It would appear that another Shinigami has come to the human world, and somehow that Shinigami’s Death Note has fallen into the hands of someone who agrees with Kira. And this person most likely the Shinigami Eyes, which makes him very deadly. His power to kill surpasses even mine.”

“Or her,” she corrected him, to which he rolled his eyes.

“One thing is for certain, if I leave things I’m pretty sure L will be finished off within the next four days. However, I can’t forgive this imposter for the way he’s tarnishing Kira’s image with his senseless killings. Not to mention if he slips and gets caught, the Death Note will be discovered and that I can’t allow. I cannot afford to leave him alone for much longer.”

“Oh, now I definitely hope it’s a girl. If only to watch you struggle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t struggle with girls,” he protested.

“You’re right. But let’s just say that it wouldn’t surprise me if you turned out gay.”

“Please do shut up.”

***

It wasn’t long before L had invited both of them to his secret location. They were currently standing in front of the quirky hotel, after a reasonably lengthy train ride.

“I suppose your father couldn’t have just picked us up?” she asked.

Light shook his head. “That would’ve looked too suspicious. Right now, it just looks like we’re trying to escape our parents by booking a hotel room.”

“Aw, Light,” she cooed, latching onto his arm playfully, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He pulled up his nose in irritation, and she felt the Shinigami that had been holding her hand subtly stiffen. “What- what does that mean?”

“Don’t even bother asking, Ryuk,” Light replied.

“I’ll remind you to behave, Light,” she reminded him, “L probably knows this Kira is a copycat because of the fact that they didn’t need a name to kill the person, and you’d do well to think about the possibility that he might have wanted for that last tape to be broadcasted. I’m not sure how you’re going to get out of this one, as you can either choose to be ignorant, or speak up about your ‘deductions’.”

“Hm.”

“God, I hope it’s gonna be a girl.”

***

A short introduction followed between Light and the task force, as she simply gave them all a polite smile. She’d told Light briefly about them, as they’d met once or twice when she had her meetings in the café with L beforehand. At first, Light had been appalled by the fact that she knew more about these men that he did, but eventually did accept the fact that he now had someone who was apparently a more trusted figure in L’s mind.

And as expected, tapes were shown to both of them.

“Do you mind if I ask Light to make his deductions first?” L asked her.

She shook her head. “I understand. You’ve talked to me more than you have with Light. Go ahead.”

“So, what do you make of this, Light? Have you come to any conclusions?”

…

…It’s a test.

“It’s hard to say, but there might be another person out there with Kira’s power.”

And so it begins.

You may also write the cause and/or details of death prior to filling in the name of the individual. Be sure to insert the name in front of the written cause of death. You have about 19 days (according to the human calendar) in order to fill in a name.

“Are you sure you’re gonna pull this off? Pretending to be Kira, I mean?” she nudged him jokingly.

“I sure hope so. As long as I don’t start stuttering like I used to when I was a kid while we go live,” Light replied, almost too innocently. She knew all he wanted to do right now was strangle her for her comment, which is why she made it now; so he couldn’t.

“You used to stutter? Doesn’t seem very like you, Light,” L noted.

“Oh, he did,” Soichiro fondly recalled, “I remember those two reading out loud in Light’s room, giving a presentation to a whole group of stuffed animals, until he stuttered no more. I was so proud of you that day.”

Light shifted in embarrassment, clearly wanting this conversation to go back to business. “Ryuuzaki, does this look okay? I think I managed to make it believable.”

L picked up the sheet of paper. “Hm, I think you’ve done an excellent job with this. However, if we don’t omit the part that says, ‘you’re free to kill L’, then I’m gonna end up dead.”

What a dumbass.

Light laughed accordingly, “Sorry, I guess I got carried away playing the part. I figured if I was him I’d probably demand that he be killed. I was improvising, feel free to change it to whatever you like.”

“Sounds good. Say, just to make sure nothing happens, I’d have Aihara read the script during broadcast. It’s just as a precaution.”

“Of course.”

What a shame.

***

They’d sat down in front of the television once more, which seemed to be a more regular occurrence these days. Soichiro met her gaze.

“Sweetheart, do you have any idea when your parents are coming back?”

She shook her head, “They usually let me know the day before. Their schedules are too erratic these days to be able to plan home visits ahead.”

She knew he pitied her when she’d said ‘home visits’. Parents shouldn’t be visiting their home. They should visit work, and be home.

“But they let me know they’re getting all of the divorce papers finalized, and that because of their absence they think it would be best to keep the house until I move out.”

“Your parents are getting divorced?” Light asked, genuinely surprised, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged. “They told me when we still weren’t on speaking terms because of our fight. Guess it slipped my mind.”

“Well, you’re always welcome to stay at our house, if you’re missing the comfort,” Soichiro reminded her, for which she was grateful. “I was wondering though - and please tell me if I’m stepping out of line here - haven’t you connected with anyone else yet in school?”

“…Connected, sir?”

“W-Well, you know what I mean-“

“…Oh, uh- No, not really.”

“Well, it’s not any of my business anyway, but while your father is gone, please do tell me if you need me to give a young man a stern look.”

She giggled quietly, her cheeks reddening. “Thank you, mister Yagami. But I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“That reminds me,” Light said, “I think I kind of promised someone you’d go out with them.”

“What?”

Ryuk held his breath.

#Death Note #dn #L #lawliet #ryuk #ryuk x reader #light #light yagami #yagami light #ryuzaki #light x reader #l x reader #lawliet x reader #shinigami #anime #manga #god of death #It's More About Looks Than Skill #imalts

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quickspinner · 4 years

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On commenting and feedback

Hey friends...so something’s been bothering me a little and I want to talk about it for a sec. I want to be clear I’m not making this post to call out anyone in particular, this is an entire trend I’m seeing and I just...kind of want us all to take a breath for a second.

Every so often I feel like there’s a wave of posts that goes around about how important commenting and reblogging is to support writers. And that’s absolutely true. A fandom that doesn’t interact with its content creators dies a pretty pathetic death, it’s absolutely true.

But the tone of a lot of these posts have started to bother me, especially as I see newer writers pick them up, and I just want to put some things in perspective here, and leave some thoughts for both the writers, and the readers.

Readers, your comments are absolutely valued and extremely motivating for creators to receive. At the same time, there’s no contract that says writers are entitled to a certain level of feedback. It is not on you as a sole individual to reach an invisible standard of interaction that will cause them to create more. And if you’re sweating and freaking out and guilting yourself over commenting--then don’t. Find the level of interaction you’re comfortable with that, and accept it, and don’t feel guilty about it. If writing a comment for me causes you agony and robs whatever joy you took out of my story, then I don’t want it. I truly don’t. Just leave the kudos if you can. There’s lots of helpful advice out there on how to comment if you want to but aren’t sure what to say, and when in doubt, read the other comments and feel free to add “what they said!” or use them as a model for your own comment. But absolve yourself of the guilt. Do your best.

Writers. My friends. My colleagues. There’s nothing wrong with wanting validation and feedback. Yes, it is absolutely disheartening when you put a lot of effort into your work and you don’t receive the level of reaction you are hoping for. You put yourself on the line and you did something scary and you should be very, very proud of that. At the same time, no one chained you to the desk. No one forced you to pour out your soul. No one guaranteed you a certain number of comments of a guaranteed minimum length. Sometimes you throw out a line out there and nobody picks it up, and you feel sad and alone, but that’s not the fault of whoever was on the other side. You chose to put yourself out there, I hope because there was just something inside you that had to come out. And the best you can do is make that choice with your eyes open. Just like there are plenty of good published books in the world that never made the bestseller list for reasons completely unrelated to the effort put into them or the quality of their content, sometimes you publish something at the wrong time, or to the wrong audience, or in the wrong place, and it just doesn’t hit the way you want it to.

And I especially want the young writers and the new writers to hear this: you know what? This problem has always been there, and it’s never going to go away. I’ve been publishing fic off and on since I was 18 and the major form of feedback was leaving messages on a website’s guestbook. It’s always been a problem. As writers we’re hungry for feedback. We want to know someone is on the other end. The supply is never going to equal our demand. Regardless of whether or not that is fair or the way things should be, that’s the way things are. You’ve got to find a way to be at peace with that, or you’re going to be frustrated and discouraged forever. It will get better as you grow in your craft and grow your audience - and as it does, it will take more and more to satisfy you. So just, take a minute before you lash out because you feel your effort isn’t as reciprocated as you feel it should be. I’m all for spreading awareness of how much writers crave feedback and what a boost it is for us to receive it, but we don’t have to throw a temper tantrum to do that.

I encourage you to think about your piece a little bit before you publish it and calibrate your expectations. Every piece has it audience and some of them are going to be smaller than others. Sometimes that is not “fair;” by which I mean, an audience’s response is not necessarily proportional to the amount of time, effort, and emotion put into a work. As of the time I wrote this, my silly little piece that I wrote for fun in an afternoon has literally three times the number of notes as the fic I have put the most heart and work into, despite the one being extremely short and the other being multiple chapters. I’m not particularly bothered by that, it was entirely predictable (although sometimes it’s not; sometimes audience is very, very unpredictable). Things that are funny or sexy are almost always going to get more attention than things that are deep and angsty, things that are short are frequently going to get a bigger audience than things that are long. Just consider your expectations.

It also takes time to build an audience. I recently reblogged a post of mine from early last year when I was newly returned to tumblr that had 9 total notes and it quickly shot up into the 70s. Same fic, not a word different, it’s just that over the last year I’ve built a bigger audience. So consider that, as well. As you’re trying to build that audience, do you really want your brand to be ‘that author who’s always complaining about people commenting’? There are some things in life where you have to get angry to effect change. I don’t feel that fic feedback is one of them.

“But how am I going to improve?” My friends. Expecting to improve your writing from internet comments on your work is like fishing with a deep sea trawler. You might get some good stuff but you’re going to dredge up a lot of trash in the meantime, and it’s probably not worth your effort and the toll on your confidence to wade through it. Find yourself a group of people, either in real life or online, who you trust to give meaningful feedback. Sometimes that’s super easy, and sometimes it’s not. But it’s completely worth it to find people who both challenge and encourage you, and it’s a lot less discouraging than inviting internet trolls to beat you over the head. Be specific, too, in asking for the type of feedback you want. I myself am extremely sensitive to criticism, so I choose to ask for it only in very limited ways, from very specific people. To continue the previous metaphor, use a fishing pole in the right type of water with appropriate bait, to make sure you’re getting the kind of feedback you want.

But you want to know a secret?

It’s okay to not care about improving. It’s okay to just enjoy what you’re doing. So if you want to improve, by all means try. But if you just think you should want to improve, when in reality you just want to write a fun story, that’s totally okay too. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to not necessarily be the best that you can be. Let yourself write the fun silly crack once in a while; not everything has to be a V. Serious Undertaking.

I’ve rambled on long enough, so let me just conclude with this: It’s okay to want validation. It’s okay to encourage people to comment, to tell them how much their comments and reblogs mean to you, to ask them to leave you feedback whenever they can, and give helpful tips about ‘how to comment if you’re not sure to comment.’ It’s not about the request, it’s about the tone. It’s not okay to browbeat people, accuse them of killing fandom, to tell them that they’re the reason that you aren’t writing more/anymore, because that’s patently untrue. You are responsible for your own creative process, and if it can’t thrive without constant reassurance, then that’s not an audience problem, my friend. That’s a disease that’s terminal for your writing.

And finally, remember to support your fellow writers and creators. Nobody gets it the way fellow creators get it, and if we can’t depend on each other for support, we’re certainly not going to get it outside our own community. If you do feel compelled to reblog one of those rants on commenting, I hope you paused before you did it to go leave comments yourself. Creating content doesn’t give you a magical exemption from supporting others. None of us can hold up the fandoms and float our ships all by ourselves. Do as much as you can to support your fellow creators, and if you can’t, then that’s okay. Just extend the same grace and courtesy to your own readers, okay?

#quickrambles #unpopular opinion maybe #on writing #on feedback #readers thank you for your support

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booknerdproblems · 4 years

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Immortals Chapter 10

Hello lovely people! Here’s chapter 10 of immortals. I just want to thank you all for all the lovely comments and messages I’ve been sent, they always inspire me to write more and more! I meant to have this up yesterday, but my mental health took a downturn, so I’m sorry for the delay!

I’m a little nervous to post this chapter, I’ve had this written for AGES so I’ve tweaked it so many times and shuffled around in the order of things. It’s an important chapter for Aelin and Rowan, so I’ve tried my very hardest to do it justice. I hope you guys enjoy!

Here is the link to my masterlist, where you can also find the previous chapters to this fic

“Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between stars, I will love you”

-Rowan Whitethorn, Empire of Storms Rowan peered out of the small window in his room, taking in the hills and the stars. A little way out, a lone silhouette stood, staring up at the stars. He squinted, the figure far enough that even his Fae eyesight had trouble making out who it was. Aelin. He sent a breeze to open his window, shifting and flying out into the darkness.

The crisp night air was cool against his feathers, and he took deep lungfuls of it, clearing his mind as he flew. Rowan reached for the soothing wash of his magic, steering the winds towards that lone figure.

-x-

Rowan shifted into mid-step a little way away, making sure his footfalls alerted her to his presence.

Rowan sat down next to Aelin, not touching, a healthy distance away, and looked up at the stars. She didn’t so much as acknowledge his presence, just remained gazing up at the stars. He couldn’t help but notice a slight sheen over her eyes, which were red rimmed, but he didn’t comment.

After endless minutes, she broke the silence.

“There,” she pointed to a star, “The stag, the Lord of the North. So the people of Terrasen will always know how to find the way home. So they can look up at the sky, no matter where they are, and know that Terrasen is forever with them.”

“What’s Terrasen like?”

“Beautiful.” Aelin smiled softly. Open. Slightly vulnerable. “Snow always covers the Staghorns, but Oakwald forest is warm in the summer. Little folk are everywhere, but very few ever really see them. Orynth is filled with markets where you can buy almost anything. Merchants come from lands far and wide to sell their goods in Orynth.” The queen’s face had gone almost wistful, melancholy, her eyes unfocused as she talked about her homeland.

“You really love it.”

Aelin looked at him with a bemused look on her face, “Of course. Terrasen is my home.”

“I’d love to see it one day.”

“Then we’ll just have to make that happen.”

Rowan looked at the queen with wildfire in her soul, and all of a sudden, felt very old. He wasn’t particularly old by the standards of the Fae, but looking at this queen with her dreams for the world, he felt as old as Brannon, the first King of Terrasen. He’d once dreamed like that too, with Lyria. Until his dreams had gone and shattered right in front of his eyes. His fault.

Yet something about Aelin made him think that maybe, just maybe, she’d seen the worst this world had to offer, and yet she still hadn’t broken. She still dreamed.

She smiled faintly at him, and there was such heaviness in her eyes. She had the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders, yet she didn’t buckle under the weight. She was so young, much too young to have the burden on her shoulders. Her parents had been assassinated when she was twenty, he remembered. Her uncle, King Orlon, had died the year after. Aelin had had her kingdom thrust upon her much earlier than she must of planned.

He didn’t know what made him start talking, but he did, perhaps wanting someone, anyone to understand,

“When I was young, I mated a female of our race. She was a flower girl in one of the markets. She was beautiful, and kind, and I knew instantly she was my mate. Within a year, we had courted and mated, and we had a small house up in the mountains. But I was young, and still yearned to prove myself. When war knocked on Doranelle’s doorstep, Maeve found me, and gave me a place to serve. As one of her commanders. It was my chance, as a young male, to prove myself. My mate begged me not to go, but I didn’t listen. I went, won the war, and came back, proud of my victory. The house was burned to the ground, her with it. And the scent around it, a child. I left her. I left my pregnant mate alone.”

Rowan finally looked up, meeting Aelin’s extraordinary eyes. Only understanding and sorrow lay there. No disgust, no pity. So he continued.

“So I shifted, and I hunted down the men who’d done that to her. A band of rogues. For fifty years, I went mad. When you lose a mate… you don’t come back from that sort of loss. I stayed in my hawk form, only eating when my body demanded it. Until Maeve tracked me down, said I was better off serving in her court. So I took the blood oath, and haven’t let myself look back since.”

Aelin was looking at him with a new sort of understanding, a small, sad smile on her lips.

“What was her name?”

Rowan tensed. He hadn’t said her name aloud in over one hundred and fifty years. But it would be a shame if the world forgot about her. If he never said it again.

“Lyria,” he breathed.

Aelin nodded, looking back up at the stars. After a moment, she seemed to decide something, and turned slightly toward him.

“My parents were killed in an ambush on a diplomatic visit to Adarlan. I was supposed to go with them, but I stayed at the last moment because I’d pissed off some lord who I needed to sign an education policy. Nobody knew I was to stay behind.”

A pause, as if gathering herself, “Afterwards, I was so stricken with grief, Orlon sent me to Adarlan on a ‘break from politics’. Dorian, the Crown Prince at the time, is one of my close friends, as well as his then Captain of the Guard, now Hand to the King, Chaol Westfall. I’m sure you know that Dorian became king just two months ago, compared to my year ago.”

Rowan nodded, confirming he knew this.

“Well, whilst in Adarlan, I met a boy named Sam. I was a little reckless in my grief, and frequently visited some of the… less reputable taverns in Rifthold. Ever since I was eight, I’d been trained by some of the Fae in Terrasen, so I could handle myself. One day, some of the men had me backed into a corner. Sam saw what they were doing, and came to my aid immediately. Thing was, there were six of them, and only one of him. So, as good a fighter as he was, he was going to get pummelled to death. So, I shifted, and didn’t even start to throw a punch before they were scurrying off. That's how I met him. He introduced me to Lysandra, and we were fast friends. Sam helped me through my parents’ death’s, spending as much time as we could together. And somewhere along the way, we fell in love. Didn’t mean to, but it happened, and it was the best weeks of my life. Even from a young age, I had always been seen as either a weapon, or some simpering princess to be manipulated. Sam saw me as a person. Not some terrible tool of destruction, nor some weakling royal. He just saw me as me. We had a few perfect weeks together, until, rumour somehow got around that Aelin Galathynius was in Rifthold. And a man named Arobynn Hamel found out. See, Sam was an assassin. Not by any fault of his own, he was born into it. He was good and kind and reminded me of all things good in the world. But Hamel decided that he wanted to meet me. So he got it in his head to keep Sam hostage, one of his spies had reported back to him about our relationship. But I had been called back to the Glass Castle, so I’d had to leave notice via one of the street urchins that I wasn’t going to be able to meet with Sam that day. Until the messenger came back to me, with Sam nowhere to be found. Sam was tortured for two days before I finally found him. But he was losing blood fast, and he died in my arms before I could get him to safety.”

“What happened to the men who did it?”

“I slit Arobynn’s throat and left him to choke to death in his own blood. The men who’d actually done it,” she paused, “I left in pieces in an alleyway, then burned their remains to ashes.”

“Good.”

Aelin looked up at him, blinking at his reply.

“Many people would say I’m a monster for what I did to those men.”

“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster,” Rowan peeled his lip back to reveal his elongated canines.

Aelin laughed shakily, smiling at him slightly. It was amazing. She was amazing. That she could have been through so much and still laugh and smile and stand strong. She had triumphed. And in that moment, Rowan, for the first time in over two hundred years, didn’t feel alone.

Tags: @bookworm232020 @brandyovereager @faerie-queen-fireheart @kendallambrosio @alyx801 @sanakapoor

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list

#throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #aelin and rowan #rowaelin #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan x aelin #fanfiction #fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #sjm #sarah j maas #tog #immortals #chapter 10

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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

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I don’t want to be that person—

But I really need to get this off my chest. This is the culmination of two months buildup of thoughts that have been screaming far too loud for me to continue simply taking in stride. I can’t do it. I apologize in advance, for anyone who actually reads this, if this is a deterrent to you about my character or my minuscule space taken up here on Tumblr. Again, I really can no longer remain silent. If it’s any solace:

I tried.

Where to begin. First off—as much as I’d love for this to be an update on the next chapter of Remember Me, it is not. For those of you who’ve kept up with the story, I’m sure you’ve noticed my uploading pattern these past few weeks has been reduced to solely weekends—and barely that, might I add. While I will try to have Chapter 9 up within the next few days, I cannot guarantee when. At this point in time, it’s not a lack of creative streak, it’s a lack of time. I have all these outlines and segments in my head but can’t seem to even catch a breath much less put the story down in my notes or in Word for later edit and upload. But I’m trying. I really am. As I’ve said before: I will finish this story, come hell or high water. But currently being engulfed in the former has been a huge burden.

Per my past psa’s: My health? Two giant thumbs down (nothing to do with COVID-19). Personal aspects? Two giant thumbs down. Both are and have been slowly corroding me. To avoid this post seemingly grabbing for sympathy, I’m going to just stop there with that. But I’m truly suffocating in this corner.

Next point in case: I’m going to be completely candid here. It’s extremely difficult and utterly exhausting to continue posting fics. Mentally and Emotionally. The pressure to post. The pressure to post because if you don’t in a timely manner, you lose your momentum and “fall behind” when you post again. Then you’re right back to square one thereafter because people have grown absent in your absence. It’s exhausting and stressful to spin in that wheel.

It’s difficult when you pour every drop of energy into a work, only for it to sit largely unnoticed on your blog. To stay up literally all night making sure your punctuation is impeccable, re-reading the same fic over and over before you post until your brain explodes and you utterly forsake the fic the minute you hit that post button. To take up space on a post tagging and adding those notes and engaging flares that go unrequited. It’s... well, it’s detrimental. It gets you down. It gets me down. I’m not going to lie about that. We all want validation and I will be the first to shoot my hand up in acknowledgement.

I’m going to stop right there as you’re reading to clarify: This is not a call-out post. This is not a guilt post. This is not me giving an ultimatum. This is not me demanding reblogs. This is not me telling you “your likes don’t matter” (I have literally seen that on posts and it kind of disgusts me. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now).

Reblogs, while unanimously appreciated, are not a priority to me. Comments and feedback and communication are invaluable to me. That’s it. That coveted and intimate interaction between the Writer and the Reader. One is not more important than the other. We’re a team, a unit, a force that balances each other on a broad, diverse scale.

I don’t ask for much—I don’t ask for anything here, actually (unless it’s directed towards the general audience over what y’all would like to see, which largely goes unengaged whenever I bring up). No, I don’t post fics that frequently. No, I don’t crank them out as quick. No, I don’t have that many. Yes, I’m new to fanfic writing. But I work quietly and solely with all my own plots and dialogues and ideas (I love prompts and requests, though). Thus my usually hefty works. Y’all get the whole nine yards. But I don’t feel like I really get to bounce my ideas around to others, which can further exacerbate that sense of isolation for me around here. I put myself through a really long process for every single thing I write because, the quality of my work matters to me. A lot. So I try to take my time to deliver that. And... I guess I just hope you know that or can discern that as you read each time.

Another astronomically exhausting aspect is this platform itself. It’s painfully evident to me, in my four meager months here, that Tumblr is just one big popularity contest. Who can upload the most, the fastest, the most efficiently. Who has the most followers. Who accumulates them the quickest. A place where your “exposure” is literally at the mercy of others. And when people purposely don’t want to aid in that, it spirals into this really toxic mindset causing friction between Writers and other Writers, causing unnecessary strain, avoidance, insecurities, and hinderances to YOUR precious work. And I’m not about that. It’s a no from me.

Also, I’ve just got to interject with this bit: Bad Batch Writers. Bad Batch Writers struggle. In my opinion, from what I’ve seen, it’s like if you aren’t writing for a popular Clone like Wolffe or Fives or Jesse, you don’t get traffic. Which I think is just... kind of corny. Okay. I think it’s really corny and ridiculous. Please know that I’m not saying anything bad about those Clone babies, the people who write them, or anything like that. Please don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m just making a point. Bad Batch does NOT get enough love. And the Writers ultimately suffer because of it. That’s all there.

We’re all supposed to be in this together. Your work—your writing—is neither good nor bad. There’s no such thing. There’s only YOUR writing; your unique, beautiful words that I LOVE more than anything, that only YOU speak. We all speak a different dialect and flow through our storytelling. And it’s a beautiful, wholesome thing. It always has been. It should never be this detrimental stage Tumblr has made for content creators. Let’s be honest: Tumblr is not the ideal place to thrive. And I’m just... sick of it.

I’m beyond an exhausted state. I can’t remember that last time I wasn’t. (I know everyone is, with the ebb and flow of our world’s daily uncertainties during these unprecedented times). But for me, personally, it’s getting increasingly harder to keep up with the reblogs and comments and blogs of all the stories I love, while updating my work and trying to interact on my blog, while battling my health and nonexistent energy, and constantly be exposed to the “Tumblr Tumbles”, as I call it—the overbearing popularity and the waiting and the wondering and the silent seething because of it. It’s just too much. And it doesn’t take a detective to pick up on that attitudinal shift around here. It’s all just one big, pernicious cycle. And seeing that here nearly every day, exhausts me. I don’t know how else to convey as much. But I just can’t do it. And honestly, I get this overwhelming loneliness just being here.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I’m going to continue doing my thing until my engine sputters out. I’m going to keep up with storytelling, because I love it more than anything. I just needed to get this off my chest. I’m just rambling. I might delete this but, I might not. Who knows.

I just... Geez. I need to know that I’m not just shouting into the void over here like always.

Communication to me is key. If you don’t want me to tag you anymore: tell me. If you don’t want me to message you: tell me. Please. Just don’t like me? Cool. Tell me. It’s better to know and communicate than to walk on eggshells around everyone and everything. I’ve applied that flawed strategy throughout my whole life and I strongly dislike doing so. It adds no benefit to either party. Just be honest with yourself and others. That’s always super important.

For those of you, my handful of regulars who are around... you know who you are. Thank you. My thanks is but a meager conveyance of my undying gratitude for you. But I want you to know how much I appreciate your presence here. Words cannot express.

@halzore... You are a real mate. You are an incredible being who is not only insightful but, a true muse here. I look to you as more than just a devoted Reader of mine, and you should know that I would NOT have gotten this far with my Bad Batch Post Order: 66 series—or any of my Bad Batch works, for that matter—without your encouraging words. Holy cow. You’re a dearest friend. Your writing, art, and musical talent leaves me in awe. (A truly brilliant mind, please go love her y’all). Thank you for seeing all the good, little things in me and my work. It makes this all worth it. You make it all worth it. I get really overwhelmed thinking about it. But I just want you to know I appreciate you so much.

To anyone who’s ever left me kind, encouraging, and wonderful comments... I remember them. I do. I think of them when I’m down, and I think of them now as I write this—which is in my dispirited state, ironically. But I appreciate it. I think it is so SO important to lift each other up with words. You don’t have to reblog and all that (only speaking for myself here). Just take a moment to say something kind to someone. It makes someone’s entire day, week, month, year. Please... love other Writers. Love yourself. We all struggle. But let’s do it together. Let’s be there for each other.

Come talk to me. I don’t bite, I promise. Tell me about your day. Tell me something about yourself. I care. I love that interaction, because you are MORE than just a Reader to me. You are a valued human being with feelings, desires, wants, needs... come share that with me. If there’s something you’d like to see in my future works, something that would engage you more; please, come tell me.

I’m going to try and get better. At writing, at navigating this strange place, with my health, with life. I’ve been at my breaking point for so long that my barely held together pieces and exposed, worn chinks are almost uneffected and unresponsive to any help or healing. But I’m going to try.

Thank you for being here. I’m sure it can be hard to have patience with me and my nonexistent uploading schedule, but, I do have several wips in the works (teases in my masterlist in case you’re wondering). They’ll come around. :’)

Keep your head up and shining, lovelies. And I’ll try to do the same.

#psa #lil speaks #I’m... sorry.#I have a ton of anxiety posting this but I’m also almost indifferent.#could I have worked on my WIPS instead of this?#yes #did I? no.#yes this is long but I needed to say all that.#I’m tired.#trying not to explode.#it’s a lil thing

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fuckyeahharryhart · 3 years

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PART 5 FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

Summary: Harry Hart reminisces about his own military past with the British Armed Forces. He recalls the tenent that enabled him to survive as a member of the22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS), a unit of United Kingdom Special Forces.

WORD COUNT: 3377

Notes: These later chapters have had less time to plan - kind of literally trying things on to see what fits... :)

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In person, Harry Hart was also a man who had to make impossible decisions under unrelenting pressure. He had done it many times, during his time in the British Armed Forces, not just Kingsman. Many thought him to be cold and unfeeling in these instances. But even within these circumstances, he was still Harry Hart. Brave, dependable, strong and honourable. He was an advocate, a protector, an anchor. A rock within the Kingsman agency. Everything a mentor and leader should be. If fellow agents found themselves more and more often at his side, they would catch themselves beginning to wonder about the man who wore the impeccably tailored suit. The man behind the smooth, deep, steady voice. About the man himself. The man whose code name was Galahad.

He was an agent that lived up to his handle. It was a noble name. Courageous. A name for a figure renowned for his gallantry and purity. A name bestowed upon the most perfect of all knights. It befitted him.

Harry was a gentleman through and through. It was impossible for him to be anything else. He was not only a gentleman in traditional terms, an upholder of chivalry, civility, well-mannered and unerringly polite. He was also a gentle man. This would seem incongruous with his work. However, it was part of the reason he was exceedingly good at his job. As soon as the work was done, the target neutralised, the mission complete, he let it all go. Letting any hardness or indifference fall away. Completely. He consistently put his life and the lives of others on the line, many times in very unpleasant circumstances, to say the least. To maintain a sense of balance, to maintain his sanity, not to speak of his humanity, the moment he took off his glasses, he was no longer Agent Galahad, he was Harry Hart.

Deadly assassins were not typically regarded as gentle. But Harry was not by nature a violent man. Neither was he destructive or combative, unlike many of his contemporaries who were drawn to the work because of its brutal nature. Harry was a Kingsman agent because he believed strongly in their purpose to uphold the good and protect the innocent, but also because he was just exceptionally good at the work. The art of spy craft and engagement. Exceedingly good. Disconcertingly good. In the same way one might be a talented piano player, or dancer or an artist. Like Gwendolyn mentioned, it was part a part of him.

He never questioned these skills. He considered them as natural to his character as his height or his brown eyes. He lived them for the majority of his life. He applied them in a manner that would best serve himself and the greater good.

Though he never spoke of it, most of his experience prior to Kingsman, he received during his training and deployment in the British Armed Forces. When he left the military, he was an officer of the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS), a unit of United Kingdom Special Forces, a highly trained and specialised division of the British Army.

If Kingsman was the buffer that had honed and polished Harry Hart into the refined gentleman agent he was today, the SAS was chisel that first carved the man out of the potential stone. The SAS Special Forces had much in common with Kingsman. Special operations were already a part of his lifestyle. Much like the agents of Kingsman, the men of SAS were especially designated, organised, selected, trained and equipped. They utilised unconventional techniques and modes of employment.

The 22nd Special Air Service Regiment was responsible for covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, direct action, unconventional warfare and hostage rescue. Much of the information and actions regarding the SAS were highly classified, and were never commented on by the British government nor the Ministry of Defence due to the sensitivity of their operations. For Harry, discretion was not just advised, it was demanded.

He operated behind enemy lines, avoiding direct combat and detection by the enemy. He led commando operations, highly mobile , highly intense surprise raids. His role frequently involved covert direction of air and missile attacks, in areas deep behind enemy lines, placement of remotely monitored sensors and guerrilla operations.

The similarities only went so far. SAS utilised more traditional weapons of combat and warfare, riffles, machine guns, flash bangs, grenades. Whereas Kingsman had the freedom to me more creative, or constraints that made it necessary for additional ingenuity with it’s artillery, often fashioning gentlemanly accessories into lethal weapons. The SAS formal dress khaki uniforms weren’t as stylish and well tailored as Kingsman’s suits, but he did note that as SAS, the cap badge on his sand coloured beret depicted a downward pointing Excalibur, a sword wreathed in flames. Perhaps the sword was a foreshadow of his future as one of the twelve Kingsman’s knights.

If any of his colleagues were to know of his history with the SAS, the would probably respond with confusion. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Harry Hart to to have the necessary skills. It was that they couldn’t imagine, their stylish, debonair, perfectly appointed quintessential gentleman secret agent in any other role other than Galahad. They were much more familiar with Harry in a Kingsman suit, taking out thugs with his weaponised brolly, rather than the iconic black overalls and the S6 British Army respirator of the SAS, carrying a Heckler and Koch MP5A3, or a C8 Carbine assault rifle, as well as any other item or weapon he might need in battle.

For those agents that were employed long enough with Kingsman, or heard stories passed around the years, it was suspected that Harry was a part of the Counter Revolutionary Blue team for Operation Nimrod during the Iranian Embassy siege. In 1980, from April 30th for a period of 6 days, a band of six heavily armed men overtook the Iranian Embassy in London. 26 people were held hostage. On the last day, after days of unsuccessful negotiations, the gunmen executed a hostage and threw his dead body from the Embassy windows. On that day, the SAS, implemented Operation Nimrod by abseiling from the roof of the embassy and breaking the windows for entry. The raid was over in just over 15 minutes. They were able to rescue all but one hostage and killed all but one of the six hostage takers. No one could confirm whether he had been involved or not. No one had the nerve or balls to ask Harry directly.

The last time Harry was on a mission of similar nature, was the capture of Falcon, a terrorist in the Middle East. He, Merlin and their recruits at the time, James and Lee, fast roped into enemy territory. Fast roping, also known as Fast Rope Insertion Extraction System (FRIES), was a technique for descending a thick rope to access difficult locations by air. It useful for Kingsman to deploy agents into enemy territories where their helicopter could not touch down. Unfortunately, that was the mission where Harry’s mistake cost Eggsy’s father’s life. That was the last time anyone ever saw the sight of Harry in a combat jumpsuit and respirator for a mission.

“Who Dares Wins.” It was the motto of the SAS unit of the British Army Special Forces. During his time in the service, this motto was the catalyst for many dangerous operations. In regards to Kingsman, he also found it appropriate as spies weren’t in the business of truth.

The selection for the Special Forces was as brutal as Kingsman recruitment, just in different ways.They would, however, fight for the title of the most dangerous job interview in the world. SAS selection was reported to be one of the most demanding military training courses in the world with a pass rate of less than 10%. It was a six-month test of strength, endurance, and resolve over the Brecon Beacons and Elan Valley in Wales, and in the jungle of Belize. With SERE Survive, Evade, Resist, Escape training to be the most psychologically challenging aspect. A Kingsman recruit had a one in 12 chance of securing said spot. It was also a test of strength, endurance and resolve mostly over the land and sky of London and the surrounding country side. It also included some fairly challenging psychological tests including one with a train tunnel with a false floor and another with a puppy and a gun. Many candidates failed out at this point. It took about the same amount of time.

In the field, he was indispensable. His experience in the military prepared him for life as a spy. He was exceptional at nearly every aspect of being an agent as he was as a soldier. Harry was able to fit seamlessly into Kingsman’s ranks because he already had specialised skills and experience. He was a highly-trained operative, specialised in sufficiency, stealth, speed, and tactical coordination. If there was a man designed to be a Kingsman agent, Harry Hart would be that man.

——

He did not get any enjoyment from destruction, violence or bloodshed. However, he was not opposed to participating or even instigating moments of sheer mayhem. During the course of his time at Kingsman, he had obliterated many targets and had amassed a shockingly high body count. He didn’t carry any guilt or blame, nor did he celebrate the bloodshed that resulted in their victory over a target. Harry simply accepted violence as part and parcel to the work of a Kingsman agent. To be limited, when possible, though, not altogether unavoidable.

Emotions played an important role in how he operated in life, in the greater world around him. Emotions were a path to a deeper understanding of one’s self and one’s relationships with others. They motivated one’s actions or inactions. Feelings, along with survival instincts were key to one’s decision making processes. But when there was too much or when the emotion was overwhelming, as it could be in extreme cases of conflict or in the chaos of combat, it could make a soldier dysfunction. One of the tenets that had allowed him to not only survive, but to thrive in the military was “be smart now, feel later.”

Part of his success in the SAS was due to his ability to “switch off” his emotions on-demand in moments of chaos or conflict; combat, crises and other high stress activities, basically his entire time in service. He carried this over to his work at Kingsman. His ambivalence allowed him to remain cool, composed and collected in some very unnerving, seemingly impossible situations. In these instances, when other agents might panic, freeze, or be blinded by outrage, fall victim to their own anger and lose control, time would almost freeze for Harry. Allowing him very few precious moments to hyper focus on every minute detail of the circumstance they faced. His senses would sharpen, his mind would calm, his heart rate would slow and remain steady and even. His mind would become a blank slate where every piece of information crucial to their survival was at his fingertips. Irrelevant information fell by the wayside. Emotion was set aside. Sentimentality had no place. Feelings were insignificant.

Agents who accompanied Harry on the field and found themselves is one of these dire situations, would attest to this severe, drastic, unyielding and unfamiliar Agent Galahad. Someone who could evidently act without regard for their safety, well-being, or even survival. At times, even purposely placing them in even more danger or putting another agents lives on the line as if they were inconsequential to him. He would act as if it was nothing to leave behind an injured agent if it could protect the mission. It was as if they were as insignificant to him as an empty clip, a weapon that no longer had any use to him. To be discarded and tossed aside. During these times, Harry would be the cold, dispassionate, ruthless killer that was his reputation.

It was in these hard, stone-faced moments, where he fell into a meditative state or even hypnotised himself in the matter of seconds. Sometimes, only a split second was needed for him to see the solution, the way out, the answer that would get them out of what seemed like a “death and death” situation.

Emotions defined his humanity. But it also could get in the way when he needed to be operative. Thus, on occasion, he had to defer his humanity and be cold and analytical in the field, just as he had been in battle.

In these crucial moments, he needed to see all his available choices and not just what his state of emotions gravitated toward. The more severe an emotional response was expected from any given situation, the more likely it could negatively impact his ability to resolve a difficult task, complication or crisis.

Occasionally, that solution had to disregard his agents humanity, for that sentimentality would surely cloud his judgement, make him hesitate or doubt himself at the most critical moment. They could no longer be considered friends, or even colleagues. It was necessary to strip them of their identity, regard them without pity or remorse. As collateral damage. How hard would it be to achieve this state with family or loved ones, he thought. It was in these times that pure logic had to drive his actions and not be directed by his emotions.

Emotional detachment meant that he could focus and think clearly and act with precision in matters of life and death.

In these moments, there was space in his mind for nothing else except the situation at hand. And without fail, often past the point of all hope lost, no more options, no more cards to play, he would act in a manuever that was incomprehensible to them. Unthinkable. A tactic unfathomable and impossible for anyone else but Harry. Everyone, even the agent he seemingly had no problem disregarding, would come out alive. Often disbelieving, shell-shocked, nerves shot, not unscathed. Confused and outraged. But alive. Agents who experienced this side of Harry Hart, while they continued to admire and respect him, their esteem would now also carry a touch of reverence, incredulity, and awe.

Soldiers and agents not personally involved or had no emotional interest in their work, were able to perform their jobs better. It was a form of professional detachment.

It was not that he was unfeeling. Quite the opposite. It was as if he felt too much. His ability to remove and distance himself from situations was one of the main reasons he was so successful as an agent and continued to be so. Without this survival skill, the inevitable, at times, devastating losses he had faced, and would no doubt face in the future, would break even a better man. Though one would be hard pressed to find a man better than Harry.

What was seen as dispassionate, emotionless indifference was a preservation mechanism, designed to fiercely safeguard and defend a singularly compassionate soul, with a deep reverence for human life, and an immeasurable capacity to love.

But he had never been put in as difficult a position as Merlin.

———

There were not many stories that affected Harry on both a personal and professional level, but in terms of having a difficult past lead you down the path of becoming a spy, he found hers to be the most compelling. He was, not only impressed by her skills as an agent, he was moved by her emotional resilience, fortitude, courage, and most of all, like she said her mother had, her grit.

This was a young woman, whose odds were not just against her, they were set up for her to fail and fail hard. Who was able to overcome the most brutal experiences that anyone can face, let alone a child, and come out, not only adjusted, but stronger for her experience. The last time he had witnessed such strong will and raw, natural talent, was Eggsy. And Eggsy’s father.

He sensed what she was going to ask. What would be the ramifications if she were to join Kingsman? They could certainly use the manpower. Their ranks had been severely depleted since the Golden Circle. Merlin’s expertise and guidance was missed almost as much as they missed the man himself. He understood why Merlin, Hamish, sent her away. A constant reminder of not only the lives he lost, but also the terrible way they were taken from him. A reminder of the life he had sacrificed so much for. The constant fear for her safety. Every time she was out in the field, wondering if he had to prepare for another situation like his wife. For Harry and Eggsy, she would always be a reminder of the friend they lost and the sacrifice he made.

He softened. How would it be, to have everyone send you away because your presence would only be a painful reminder of loss?

Eggsy turned to face him, looking absurdly forlorn as well. Like she was a lost puppy that he wanted to keep.

She smoothed her hair away from her face, brushing the length of it behind her while she squared up her shoulders.

She spoke frankly. “You are the last link that I have to my father. I want to take his place.”

When neither of them replied. She added plainly.

“You clearly have some issued that need to be addressed.” Referring to the car with the shooters and that someone was actively trying to kill them.

“It looks like you could use the help.”

Harry, in his most grave and serious voice, a voice that made even Eggsy straighten up.

“This decision on your part, should not be taken easily or lightly.” He watched her intently. He leaned forward to emphasis his point. “Do you understand all of the ramifications of your choice? You could find yourself in the exact same situation you were in when you were a child. Is that a possibility you can handle?”

Also leaning forward, she matched the seriousness of his tone.

“I have no family, no connections, no ties. I have nothing of value that can be used against me. I’m a trained and experienced agent. I was raised Kingsman and there is nothing of your organization that has been hidden from me. I understand very well.”

Not anything of value now, Harry thought. But considering the future? Yet Harry himself was of the same mentality as Merlin and his wife. Nothing came out of acting now for an eventuality that may never materialise.

There was silence from the two men. She certainly wasn’t going to plead or beg. She had done her part. She told her story. If they couldn’t recognise her value, she would leave right then and there.

She tried to hide her sarcasm, but she wasn’t sure if she succeeded. She leaned back into her booth, crossed her arms over her chest. With a bit of added confrontation.

“I’ve just saved your lives. What else do I have to do to prove myself?”

Harry contemplated. Eggsy contemplated the same. Even though they didn’t know what the other was thinking, they were both thinking the same. We are agreed. For Merlin.

Harry faced her again and with all of nobility, chivalry and honour that was based on centuries of tradition. “Welcome to Kingsman.”

Gwendolyn, in equal measures of dignity and respect. “Thank you.”

Now that was done, she thought, with a little more drama than she expected, but it had all been manageable.

“So it seems we have a problem. How can I help?”

And with that simple question, Gwendolyn found herself within the ranks of Kingsman.

----

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Comments, suggestions feedback always welcome and appreciated. Even if it's just to say Hi!

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the-stoned-ranger · 5 years

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The universe is vast and strange

So, I’ve been working on a new fic in the Boosh fandom. I’ve been puzzling over the second chapter because I needed a better idea of how to write Noel, and looked up his astrological chart. Unfortunately, the online sourced I found lacked a birth time, and I puzzled over it for a while before giving up.

But then, last night I had a dream last night that I was walking across a muddy baseball field with Noel Fielding. We were talking about experiences we’d had while living in haunted apartments. Right before I woke up, I asked Noel what time he was born, and he told me around 4:30 pm.

So, immediately upon waking up, I cast a chart for him with a 4:30pm birth time. Obviously, this isn’t everything, but it’s a quick delineation based on what jumped out at me the most. Feel free to comment or hit up my ask box if you have any specific questions or just want to know more.

Ascendant in Libra: When guessing someone’s birth time, the Ascendant is the best place to start as it symbolizes a person’s outward appearance and how others perceive them.

Libra Ascendant natives are generally attractive, charming, and well-liked. They are very image conscious, and invest a lot of time and effort in their “look”. They can be very experimental with trends and makeup. They consider fashion and makeup to be art.

Speaking of art, Libra rules art! So many people with this placement are natural artists, both creating and critiquing art.

Another Ascendant in Libra characteristic: big, bright blue eyes.

Uranus conjunct Ascendant: Uranus here makes the native a bit of a rebel. They enjoy playing with their look in a way that subverts people’s expectations of them, and can often be genderbenders. They are nonconformists, eccentrics who are proud of their eccentric nature, and their confidence and unusualness draws others to them.

Capricorn Moon, 3rd house: Capricorn moon people are not very comfortable with emotions. They prefer logic and reason to the intangible and theoretical. They dislike outward expressions of emotion, whether from themselves or others, and they tend to keep a tight lid on their feelings. When they do express their feelings, they will often try to use sarcasm as a mask for their emotions. This Moon placement can create a lack of empathy, but the native doesn’t really mean this in a malicious way--they’re just kind of clueless about these things. Since they can be somewhat emotionally detached, many natives with this placement attain professional success, as they are not plagued with the self-doubts and insecurities of more sensitive moon signs.

That’s not to say they don’t ever achieve emotional intimacy with others. They may have lots of acquaintances (especially considering the 3rd house placement), but they do not let people into their inner circle until they’ve been thoroughly vetted. Once someone makes their way into their inner circle, the Capricorn moon native is often reluctant to let them leave.

When the Moon is in the 3rd house, the native has an excellent sensitivity to language. They can be great mimics, and pick up languages and/or accents very easily. They have a lot of manual dexterity. Natives with this placement may also be excellent artists. Since Noel’s Capricorn moon sign is not very comfortable with expressing emotion directly, art is the way that he distills and communicates what he is feeling.

Since the 3rd house rules siblings, 3rd house moon natives may have a very close relationship with their younger siblings. They may be something of a mother figure to their younger siblings, either because the mother was absent/emotionally unavailable, or otherwise nurturing them. Noel’s close relationship with his brother Mike and the fact that they frequently work together seems to fit with this placement, as Noel has somewhat “brought up” his brother in comedy and nurtured his career.

5th house in Aquarius: The 5th house rules artistic expression (especially writing and theatre), and Aquarius is just fucking weird. If you’ve ever watched Noel’s work, well, that’s his 5th house Aquarius in action. Surrealism, absurdity, and the willingness to get weird with it are all trademarks of his work.

In addition, people with this placement are attracted to other weirdos. They are at their best creatively when they are working with people who are just as strange as they are. They have wide social circles, full of eccentrics.

5th house ruler (Uranus) in 1st house: This placement makes the qualities of the 5th house very prominent to other people. Noel’s creative projects are a big part of his self-image. Other people perceive him as playful, almost childlike. He is very flirty and dramatic, almost theatrical.

Mars in Pisces, 5th house: Mars is the planet that represents sexual desire and drive to succeed. Pisces is a very imaginative, romantic, and creative sign. Thus, placed here, Mars can create a strong desire to succeed in both creative pursuits and romance.

However, Mars is not very potent when in Pisces. There is a certain lack of clarity and direction when it comes to achieving goals. While this can cause problems with a native’s career path, this is actually a very beneficial placement for artists. Mars in Pisces gives the native incredible artistic energy--they can stay up for days, completely immersed in a project, and they will not often give up on their artistic projects until they are finished. One downside is that the Mars in Pisces native is very, very susceptible to the influence of drugs. Drugs allow them to see into the shadow side of the world, to delve ever deeper into their imagination. In pursuit of ever-greater creative clarity, they can be prone to addiction.

Sexually, they may be the more passive partner. They have a rich fantasy life, and they use sex as a way to forge an almost spiritual connection with their lovers.

7th house ruler in the 5th house: Natives with this placement often make lasting partnerships with their creative collaborators. Business and creative partners can become lovers, and vice versa. Natives with this placement can negotiate and sign contracts related to their creative pursuits (especially theater). Play is a necessary part of their relationships, and they want a partner who is romantic and fun. Any significant relationships must allow them to pursue their creative impulses.

Venus in Gemini, 8th house: This is an intense and often contradictory placement. Venus in Gemini natives tend to have frequent, short-lived, and playful relationships. It’s not unusual for a Gemini Venus to be in love with two people (or more!) at the same time. However, the 8th house placement requires more intensity.

The 8th house is the house of sex, death, and power. Venus in the 8th house demands nothing less than a deep, transformative, soul connection with a sexual partner. However, Gemini’s flirtatious and often flighty nature may cause them to pursue short-lived affairs outside of the relationship, which may undo their efforts to have a deep and meaningful relationship with their partner.

Gemini Venus in the 8th may enjoy role play as a way to explore sexual taboos. They like switching things up and experimenting in the bedroom. Others find this quality almost addictive, and they may have their share of overly-attached lovers and admirers.

12th house ruler in the 8th house: Burn him, the man’s a witch! For real though, the 12th house is the house of spirituality, hidden enemies, and the collective unconscious, while the 8th is the house of the occult, the pagan, and the taboo. Noel’s highest spiritual octave is attained when he engages with the occult, ghosts, demons, etc.

Natives with this placement also lose their boundaries during sex. Sex is how they release grief and sadness. Their sexual encounters are tinged with melancholy. Even if their sexual relationships are short-lived, they are rarely casual.

#the mighty boosh #noel fielding #astrology

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creideamhgradochas · 6 years

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Thanks to the lovely @whostheblondegirlwriting for taking the time to answer these! Get to know more about lovely E, go give her a follow and then show her some love!

These questions are from this list. You should check it out, there’s 50 questions all together and they’d be great to ask your favorite fic writer!

*Disclaimer from E, herself: If you’re looking for some sage-like writery advice...keep lookin’. You won’t find it here. This whole fic writing endeavor is an adventure in “[shrugs] We’ll see what happens”. Behold! An odyssey of half-assed, one line inspo. Marvel at the absolute appalling lack of plotting and vision. Tremble at the underwhelming realization that “Huh. I could do better than that”. In short, at least you don’t pay money for this, right?

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fan-fiction?

I have no idea, honestly. I signed up for AO3 to actually share it though in September 2015 when I was 36. So we’ll go with that.

2) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I think I have done more reader inserts than OC, counting all the tumblr oneshots. But you can actually create something substantial with an OC. An OC makes you work. I prefer them.

3) What is your favorite genre to write for?

I don’t know if I’ve done enough variety to have a fav, honestly.

4) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

I wouldn’t. They’re all mine and I’m proud of each of them, no matter how popular (or maybe I should say, unpopular) they are/were.

5) When is your preferred time to write?

Whenever I have the time! I’m not picky, because time is very hard to come by with my job anymore and the fact that my husband doesn’t know I write. Morning, noon, or night for me. It can be hard to sneak it in and still get everything else done.

6) Where do you take your inspiration from?

I don’t have a good answer for this and I’m laughing to myself thinking I should have one. Lol An idea comes up and I write it. That’s it. Shameful, I know.

7) In your Back to One series, what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

Oh, damn. Uhhh...I think I liked Sebastian fumbling through his confession to Lily in Montauk. But I also probably had the most fun with the “champagne incident” because it was for my tumblr-lifemate, @ceebeetumbles.

8) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Nope. It is what it is. You can’t please everyone and I don’t try. As long as I like it, it’s good enough. It’s not like anyone’s paying me for this, anyway. Lol

9) Who is your favorite character to write for? Why?

Hmm. Right now, I’d have to say Jack Rollins, because he preoccupies so much of my writing lately. Besides his own fic, he’s also featuring in an AU for Echo that’s in draft. Considering he had two lines in Winter Soldier, I’m very proud of the interest and love my Jack gets.

10) Who is your least favorite character to write for? Why?

Chris Evans, for right now. Only because he has been less than inspirational for some time due to his relative inactivity and, uh, [ahem] some personal choices he made. But I’m optimistic he’ll come back.

11) How did you come up with the title for the Back to One series?

The main character, Lily, goes through some personal and professional ups and downs as an actress. The phrase “back to one” is a direction for actors to go back to their first mark, so I thought it was fitting, as Lily would hopefully get things right, find her best self again, and have a fresh start as she meets different situations and opportunities in her story.

12) How did you come up with the idea for the Back to One series?

I thought I’d write a Sebastian Stan fic and figured a good match for him (and someone to help drive the story) would be an actress. But then I considered an OC like Lily could have more angles to write and it became really an OC fic that features Sebastian Stan. Oops.

13) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I haven’t ever abandoned a fic. I refuse to give up on A Touch Up and do write a line or two here and there, just nowhere near the volume I need to publish a full chapter like I used to. It ended up on the shelf because Chris Evans got so boring after Civil War premiered and the fic is literally built on what he was doing in his everyday life. I also have a personal distaste for Jenny Slate and I guess you could say his decision to date her made me doubt the version of him I’d created in ATU, which is a problem when your fic is paired so purposefully around the assumptions I/we all had made by that time about him.

14) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

I’m doing it. Echo was my pet project and, though it has my smallest following for a WIP, I had enough demand/interest for the story to be told from another character’s perspective that Jack Rollins and the STRIKE Series were born. There’ll be some unexpected things along the way in that series that I hope those fans/readers enjoy.

15) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

No. I’ve only ended a couple fics (Echo and Kindness). Everything else is still a WIP or open ended series that publishes oneshots every once in awhile. The rest of my work is basically oneshots.

16) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

Don’t laugh at me when I say I admire anyone who puts their work out there, even if it’s just a paragraph long imagine only on tumblr. It takes a lot of nerve, no matter what level your work is at or how big the scope. I’ve seen some good, bad, and ugly fic floating around, but I see value in it all and love seeing experience/determination help the writer evolve.

We ain’t all Hemingways or Shakespeares. And that’s okay. Some of the best writers don’t have thousands of followers and get hundreds of notes (but deserve them). And some of the behemoths out there aren’t necessarily turning out mind blowing fic, either. It’s a crapshoot and fandom can be fickle (if not downright confusing af).

17) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

Not at all. If it posts, I’m happy with it.

18) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

Either is fine. I probably write more in quiet, though, because my husband works 3rd shift, so I’m mindful not to disturb him.

19) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

No. Closest I could say to giving me my own feels was when I wrote The Death of Brock Rumlow (when it existed as part of the original Echo plot).

20) Which part of your Back to One series was the hardest to write?

I’m happy to say I don’t think there’s been a hard part to write for Back To One, or any of my fics. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it!

21) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

Nope. No outlines or plans. I pretty much just sit down and write. If inspiration doesn’t hit, I’ll switch to a different WIP. If I have an idea for a line or scene I might make a note for later (maybe just a few words to point me in the right direction/remind me, or a line or two of dialogue), but once I get to it, I usually just write it out at once.

22) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fan-fiction?

How little time I’d have down the road for it. Maybe I wouldn’t have run such long WIPs/fics at a time. It feels like it’s been 100 years since I had time to open requests and I had to abandon a weekly posting schedule for 3 WIPs earlier this year because I just don’t have the time to manage the volume I used to anymore.

23) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

OMG yes! Echo and its companion fic, Jack Rollins (and I’ll probably say the same for the au/the STRIKE series). At this point, I can confidently say the following for Echo didn’t carry over to Jack Rollins, but I knew both were niche fics in the beginning anyway. I’m grateful for the attention Echo got, but it was such a labor of love, I’d have liked to see it do better. I may only have several regular readers for Jack Rollins commenting or reblogging, but those few readers and myself are the ones I wrote it for, and that I’ll keep posting it for until it’s finished, regardless of how tiny the readership because I love it.

24) In contrast to 23 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Not in an “oh, geez. Not that again” way. More like a “oh, stop. I can’t believe you guys like it that much” kind of humbled eye roll.

25) Are any of your characters based on real people?

Obviously the celebrities like Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan, technically yeah. I have no doubt that some of my own ticks, experiences, etc have made it into a character or plot, or things from people I know or have come across. Things you don’t necessarily draw lines between on purpose but maybe catch on to later, sure.

26) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

Any of the comments or messages from people who say they cried, laughed out loud in public, got way too giddy, or held their breath because of something I wrote. They make me so happy, just to see someone got so lost or involved in a moment means I did a good job. Having someone say they reread a fic (or are reading for the X time) is a hell of a compliment, too.

27) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

It was about A touch Up and how I had given the reader insert character, or implied, too much description (ex. noting that POC don’t blush as often as this girl did, when I wrote it as that feeling in the cheeks anyone can experience to convey her nervousness/embarrassment/etc at those points in the story so people maybe shared that sense as they read, not that she frequently ran around with a noticeable flush) and that, although I may not have said it outright, things like that apparently had made her so that she was obviously white. That ruined it for the commenter, despite there not actually being that much said about appearance in the story.

28) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

Rarely. @ceebeetumbles gets a snippet of a chapter thrown at her once in a very blue moon, if I want to be sure something isn’t too cliché or generally awful. Lol But there’s a chance she’s reading along with the fic, so I may not send the whole chapter. I don’t plot per se or collaborate with anyone though.

29) Do people know you write fan-fiction?

Just the lovely people who’ve visited me on Tumblr or AO3.

30) What’s you favorite minor character you’ve written?

It’s a toss up between Frank Grillo’s appearance in A Touch Up and Jack Rollins or Eric Mickelson in Echo. I’m also a little fond of Drew Madison in Back To One.

31) What spurs you on during the writing process?

That I told you I’d post an update to a WIP, promised a drabble, or set a deadline that a request would be done by. So, really just my self-imposed “schedule”.

32) What’s your favorite trope to write?

I don’t really have one.

33) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

Nnnope. Lol

34) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

It’s a toss up between angst and fluff. They both come pretty easily. Honestly, smut is exhausting to write and I do so little of it because I don’t want it to be repetitive. Fluff is always fun. But, man...the possibilities with angst are pretty limitless, so maybe I’d lean a little more that way.

#milestone celebration #ask the author #whostheblondegirlwriting

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higuchimon · 4 years

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[fanfic] Grooming Night

Kaiser’s hands moved through Daisuke’s feathers, carefully checking each one of them. A few of those he lingered on, picking up the feather brush he kept nearby and smoothing them out. Others he gently worked out and set aside. Daisuke twitched and shivered each time he did that, his shoulders shaking whenever Kaiser’s fingers got too close.

They shook a lot. Any time Kaiser’s fingers touched him was too close, in his opinion. It also did not help that his molting season had finally arrived and Kaiser was grooming him. He did this for hours every day, making certain that Daisuke’s falling feathers were cleaned up and the newly growing ones came in nicely.

Molting itched. It was a part of growing and he needed a lot of food when it got started – food that Kaiser still insisted that he beg for. Daisuke couldn’t even begin to try to resist for that now. He’d considered it for a few hours, until the clawing empty gap in his stomach demanded food so strongly in between breakfast and lunch that he’d broken down and begged Kaiser for a mid-morning snack.

“How does that feel?” Kaiser murmured, one hand resting on the top of one wing. Daisuke closed his eyes and shivered all over. He had to stay where he was during the whole grooming operation. That made him wild to get moving – wilder than he normally was, with so much pent up energy.

He held it better than he had when he’d first been taken. Kaiser gave him times and places where he could burn it off, but grooming was difficult, more so than now.

“It feels all right,” Daisuke said at last. “They do itch over here, though.” He raised his left hand to indicate that side of his wings. “There’s a bad patch right in the middle.”

Kaiser now brushed his fingers through that area. “Here?” Daisuke nodded and Kaiser probed. “I see. Let me try this. I’ve been preparing it for you.”

Daisuke wondered what he meant. He didn’t have long to wait before something a bit chilled began to be smoothed into the feathers. The itching soothed almost at once and Daisuke heaved a deep, rested sigh.

“That feels wonderful, master. Thank you.” It did. He didn’t argue with himself about telling the truth to the Kaiser. It wasn’t really worth the energy that it took. He wasn’t ever good at lying; he never had been. If he thought about it, then being here meant he didn’t have to keep lying to his parents about where his bruises came from or where he got in his flying practice or why he kept bringing extra food back to his room.

“You’re quite welcome,” Kaiser said, satisfied. “I made that cream for you. I’m glad that you liked it. Since it does such a good job, I’ll have more of it made.”

Daisuke wasn’t so dense he couldn’t figure out the meaning behind those words. What Kaiser meant was that he’d need more. Not just this molt but for many molts to come. Molting happened more frequently when a Flier was growing up – like he was now – and tapered off until an adult Flier molted about once a year or so. The idea of spending years and years restrained, chained, under the Kaiser’s unyielding domination – he’d have nightmares about that. He’d already had a few but there were clearly more to come.

I wish I could talk to V-mon. He really wanted to do that but so far the Kaiser hadn’t seen fit to allow that. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. Kaiser was very, very possessive of him, after all. Those few times he got to see the others at distance grew rarer and rarer. Even if V-mon couldn’t stay or he couldn’t leave, he just wanted to see his partner again and talk to him, to know that he was all right. To let V-mon know that he was all right.

Even though he wasn’t. Being the Kaiser’s prisoner and pet meant that he’d never be all right and he refused to let himself forget that.

But then the Kaiser’s hands brushed over the arc of his wings and down the sides of his neck. Daisuke arched his neck backward, shivering, a frisson of pleasure rocketing through him that he wished he could ignore. The longer that he stayed at the Kaiser’s feet, the more the Kaiser touched him and the more often the Kaiser touched him, the more Daisuke liked it. Every moment of contact set every sense and every part of his body on unquenchable fire. At least not by himself…

Most people didn’t touch a Flier's wings. At least not with permission from the Flier. Kaiser never waited for permission. He ran his fingers through Daisuke’s wings whenever he chose to do so, finding all the places that made Daisuke make noises. It didn’t take long. Daisuke hadn’t ever had much in the way of self-restraint and when it came to his wings being played with – or parts of his hair being played with – then he had even less.

Kaiser had very talented fingers. Daisuke already knew that, from when they’d played soccer against one another in that time before. He knew it in an entirely different way now as Kaiser brushed and tended each one of his feathers and ensured that he was in perfect condition in every single way.

He wasn’t sure of how long he sat there under the Kaiser’s hands, his feathers being set in order, but at some point, Kaiser tapped him in the shoulder and he twisted his head around to look up.

Kaiser held something out to him – a bracelet. A real bracelet – not like a fancy piece of chains or shackles. Daisuke blinked at it and stared closer.

“Take it,” Kaiser said, voice a trifle gruff. “I had it made for you.”

Slowly Daisuke picked it up, not sure of why but certain if he did it, Kaiser would force it on him regardless. The bracelet was of a material he didn’t recognize, but as he turned it over, he could see one of his own feathers encased within it, wound about with a strand of blue hair. He blinked several times, trying to wrap his head around this.

“What -” He knew that shade of hair. He saw it whenever he looked at the Kaiser. He could hardly forget it when it was such a part of his life.

“Your feather and my hair,” Kaiser said, voice still gruff. “Encased together, forever. Just like you and me. It’s been six months since I brought you here. An anniversary present.”

Oh. Daisuke swallowed. Six months. He’d been away from home, his friends, his family, and his partner for six months. Half of the year. He thought he remembered what they all looked and sounded like but if he really tried hard – they seemed so faint. What he remembered clearest of all was his time here with the Kaiser. It was all but impossible to forget a moment of his time here. Held and bound, kept restrained in whatever way the Kaiser pleased, and unable to really do anything about it.

Some anniversary. He didn’t even get cake.

“That’s – yeah.” He wasn’t going to say it was nice. It wasn’t thoughtful. It was pretty much a nightmare that he lived on a daily basis.

Kaiser reached down, picked up Daisuke's wrist, and slid the bracelet onto it. He admired it for a few moments before he turned Daisuke’s wrist around and pries his fingers open, then dropped a kiss down on Daisuke’s palm. Daisuke closed his eyes. Kaiser kissed him there again, then did the same thing to Daisuke’s other hand.

“Tonight I have a feast planned for us,” Kaiser told him, eliminating Daisuke’s mental pouting about not having cake. Sometimes – all the time – Kaiser read him far too well. “Tomorrow we’ll take care of your wings again. And every day until your molt is finished.” Kaiser now tilted Daisuke’s head to stare at him before he pressed a kiss to Daisuke’s lips, tongue tracing along before probing between them. Daisuke tried to close his lips but Kaiser’s tongue kept him from doing so. Kaiser broke the kiss when he was satisfied, leaning back to run his hands through Daisuke’s hair. “Then I’ll take you flying. Don’t you want that?”

Daisuke breathed a sigh outwards. He knew the only answer that he could use right now. “Yes, master.”

Kaiser smiled. It wasn’t a terrifying expression, nor one of anger. It made Daisuke’s heart sink to see it regardless, even as it pleased him. He didn’t want to make Kaiser happy but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Very good, my pet. Very good indeed.”

Daisuke leaned back against his master’s legs as the Kaiser got back to work. He had to stay in flying condition. He had to be ready when the chance came. That was all.

The End

Notes: Poor Daisuke. Random dice roll was three & the words chosen were: order, perfect, and sense.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #digimon adventure 02 #ichijouji ken #motomiya daisuke #kendai #daiken #au: wings #series: take to the skies

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