#and you can look at it and say its just romantic love unreturned
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Can I be Close to You?
Summary: Geralt's been dealing with Hanahaki for a while. Jaskier comes down with it, too.
OR, what happens when you're in love with your best friend and your best friend (apparently) falls for another?
This one is for @witcher-and-his-bard both because she’s had a blah day and because this whole fic is her fault anyway. Hope you enjoy it, darling!
Read on Ao3
Witchers don't love. They may feel more emotions than they let on, may be fond of people and places and animals, but they don't love. Not like humans do. Hanahaki isn't something witchers get.
Except Geralt is, once again, proving to be a very stunning exception to every witcher rule.
It doesn't happen all at once. A cough here, a shortness of breath there. It starts after the fiasco with the djinn, when Geralt realized he really would do anything for his bard. As he parts with Jaskier in the fall and treks up the mountain pass to Kaer Morhen, he knows something is off, but what, he doesn't know.
He spends a long winter mostly normally. There's training and chores and long nights playing gwent. He still feels a little breathless, sometimes, but it's not getting worse, so he doesn't really think about it.
He coughs up the first petal on his way down the mountain that spring. It's delicate and butter yellow and just like that, everything slots into place. Hanahaki. Buttercups. Fuck.
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Hanahaki is a slow death, everyone knows. How beautiful, to love so deeply, so completely that it consumes you. How tragic, for that love to be unspoken, unreturned. The poets, the romantics, love Hanahaki. It's the physical embodiment of that which they wish to put into words.
Geralt thinks it's fucking annoying.
For the few years following that first petal, it's...almost okay. He coughs, sometimes. His chest hurts, sometimes. He can't quite catch his breath, sometimes. But it's all rather rare. Jaskier hardly even notices, even when he's discreetly coughing petals into his fist. It hurts. It's fine.
Gradually, the coughing becomes normal. The petals get more common. It's no longer a single petal, but multiple ones. Partial blooms. Whole buds. He may be able to conceal the little buttercups still, but he won't be able to hide the illness from Jaskier much longer.
His chest hurts near constantly, the spring he comes down the mountain and knows Jaskier will find out. He'd been unable to keep it from Eskel this year and the look he'd given Geralt had been...painful. Upsetting.
Tell him, he'd said, don't make me lose another brother, Geralt. We can't do this without you.
They'll have to, eventually. There's no way Jaskier could ever love him, not like this, not like Geralt loves him--this fragile, delicate thing in his chest, slowly being consumed by flowers. Geralt wouldn't ask that of him, anyway, to love a monster.
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They meet up on the path at a no-name village at the base of the Blue Mountains, like always. He's nervous this year--he doesn't want to see the look on Jaskier's face when he finds out, doesn't want the pity he's sure will be there in his gaze. Just thinking about it makes his chest hurt, fills him with a flutter of panic.
Jaskier's already got a room at the inn, as he usually does when he beats Geralt to the little village. Geralt knows because as he'd come in, the innkeep had tipped his head towards the stairs with a smile and Geralt had thanked him, ordered their dinner, and ascended the stairs with a curling warmth in his chest. The minute he smells Jaskier's blood on the air, that warmth turns to ice.
"Jaskier?" He's already pushing the door open and marching in, muscles tight with tension. He's not sure what he's expecting, but finding Jaskier bent over a bowl, vomiting tiny white flowers, hands shaking, isn't it.
Conscious thought clatters to a stop even as he steps forward, slips a gauntleted hand into Jaskier's hair to hold the fringe out of his eyes as he heaves, tears running down his cheeks. He hears his own voice as if from under water shushing and soothing, free hand rubbing gently at Jaskier's back.
When the fit seems to have passed, Jaskier shoves the bowl of bloody flowers away, leans heavily against Geralt's chest, breathing ragged. Geralt wants to ask so many questions. Instead, he waits, holds him upright, lets his breathing calm, lets him wipe the tears from his eyes.
"Ask," Jaskier rasps, not moving.
"Hm?"
"You want to ask, ask." He sounds so, so tired. Geralt wants to bundle him up in his cloak, take him back up the pass to Kaer Morhen, tuck him into his bed. There are so many reasons why he can't do that, but gods does he want to.
"How long?" Hanahaki's a slow disease. For Jaskier to be hacking up whole little buds, tiny unfurled flowers? This is advanced.
The smile Jaskier gives is sharp and painful. His teeth are bloody. "Six months," he says. And that's...that's too fast. It would have started just before the harvest festival and...fuck. Jaskier had been a little too pale, a little too quiet, hadn't he? Had Geralt really missed this?
"Jaskier--"
"I know," he cuts off, finally pushing out of Geralt's hold, crossing the room to the water pitcher. "I know. It's--I've always been one to fall hard, you know?" He does. "And by the time I realized, well--" he shrugs.
He watches as Jaskier rinses his mouth out, spits the now pink water into the ruined bowl, overly casual, and realizes...he can't do this.
"Who is it?" he asks, because he is not about to watch the man he loves die. Everyone loves Jaskier. Whoever this is the bard is pining for? They'll love him back. He's sure of it. They'd be a fool not to.
Jaskier stiffens. "I'm not--Geralt," he sighs hard, doesn't turn around. "Geralt, I'm not going to tell them. It's--it would upset them. It's fine."
"No," he grinds out, "it's not fine." He presses up into Jaskier's space, spins him with a hand on his shoulder. "I refuse to watch you die, Jaskier."
The look he gives him is painful in its hopelessness. It doesn't belong on his face, makes Geralt's chest tight. He can feel the tickle of a cough in response, thinks about how poorly timed a coughing fit would be right now and suppresses it, only just. "Geralt," Jaskier says, voice patient and still a little raw, "They won't love me back. Telling them would only hurt both of us. It's...I'd be okay. Dying for them."
"You shouldn't have to," he says, voice gravel rough.
"It is what it is, Geralt," he sighs, "I just--I just want us to have a normal year, okay? Just a normal year." Geralt hears what he isn't saying. I won't make it to the next one.
---------------------
Despite his reservations, Geralt lets Jaskier talk him into setting out on the path. A normal year, despite the fact nothing about this is normal.
Those differences make themselves known long before the end of the first day. Geralt quickly realizes that Jaskier's lung capacity has been greatly diminished--he struggles to keep up with Roach at even the most relaxed pace, needs frequent and long breaks. Geralt's tempted to offer Jaskier his spot on Roach's back but he has a feeling the offer will be ill-received. A normal year would not involve Geralt catering to Jaskier's wants or needs.
Instead, Geralt deliberately slows their pace, takes frequent breaks, and doesn't point out Jaskier's wheezing or the exhausted way he collapses at the end of the day, even though watching him push himself like this is painful. As if to add insult to injury, he isn't singing, either. He still carries his lute, but it's clear his lungs are too burdened to accomplish even the most gentle of singing. It's...upsetting. And Geralt can see how it weighs on him.
The only silver lining is that Jaskier's so fatigued he doesn't catch on that Geralt's not quite well, either. He's frequently passed out cold when Geralt has his worst fits first thing in the morning, buttercups coming up in clusters, stems and leaves attached. And if his voice is a rougher, a little lower, a little more torn up? Jaskier doesn't seem to notice.
It takes them almost three times as long to reach the next town as it should and it's making Geralt jittery. There's no contract posted, but Jaskier looks bad and Geralt's worried. His own chest is overly tight, his own breathing much shallower than normal, but it doesn't matter when Jaskier looks ready to faint on the spot, too pale, too quiet. He spends the last of his coin from the previous fall on a room and a meal and hopes a day's worth of rest will be enough.
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"Geralt? Do you have a contract?" Jaskier asks the next morning from where he's curled up in the single bed, groggy and hardly awake.
"No."
"Uh, okay...?" Jaskier yawns, which devolves into a coughing fit. Geralt's head snaps up from where he's sitting with his steel sword balanced on his knees, partially meditating. He's about to cross the room and do...something when Jaskier holds up a hand in placation. Geralt stills, watches with a sick feeling in his chest as Jaskier coughs and coughs and coughs. It subsides only when he spits out another fistful of tiny jasmine flowers into his hand, collapsing back on the bed.
"Okay?" Geralt asks, can hear the tightness in his own voice.
"Mm-hm," Jaskier groans, sounding anything but.
Geralt takes a deep, steadying breath in preparation to start the argument again--who is it, Jaskier? Let me help you--but Jaskier starts talking again before he can.
"Why'd you let me sleep in if there's no contract?" He sounds like he's been gargling with rocks. Geralt watches as he thrusts the balled-up fist of flowers over the edge of the bed, lets the bloody, torn things drift to the floor. They look the way Geralt feels--ruined, discarded. His own chest aches.
"You need the rest," he says. Jaskier tenses. Geralt knows it's the wrong thing to say but it's the truth.
"I don't need you to baby me, Geralt. You've never cared before."
That's not true, he thinks but doesn't say. He cares so, so much.
"Jaskier--"
"No," he cuts Geralt off, pushing up onto an elbow to level him with a look that cuts like a knife, "you don't get to do this to me. I choose this, Geralt."
"I--"
"This is where I want to be. On the Path." The with you goes unsaid, but Geralt can feel it hang in the air, the shape of it. He sucks in a breath that catches in his throat, throws him into a coughing fit.
"Geralt?" The worry in Jaskier's voice, the sudden tone shift, is painful. He wants to reassure him, but he's choking on buttercups and blood, stems and leaves. He hears him rise from the bed, stumble over beside him. Gently, Jaskier shifts his sword out of the way, sets it aside. He runs his hand down Geralt's back in a soothing gesture. "Geralt, what's--?" He spits the first of the flowers, still hacking. Jaskier goes very, very still. The hand on his back slows before balling into the fabric, grip tight.
"Ask," Geralt rasps between coughs, an echo of Jaskier's own words a few weeks prior.
"How long." His voice is hauntingly devoid of emotion. Geralt coughs again, chest aching as he brings up another bloody bouquet. He pants through it, gasping for air.
"Since the djinn," he breathes out weakly. Jaskier makes an awful noise.
"Oh, that's--" he cuts himself off, makes that same strangled little sound in the back of his throat again. "That's a long time," he says finally. He thinks Jaskier sounds strange, but his head is spinning from the lack of oxygen and it's hard to tell.
He doesn't respond, just focuses on calming his breathing. He doesn't want another coughing fit if he can help it. The back of his neck feels hot and he knows he's flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.
"I didn't know witchers could get Hanahaki," he says, voice still a little off.
"We don't," Geralt answers. His throat feels on fire, his chest hurts like he's been thrown around by a leshen.
"You do," Jaskier says slowly, "apparently."
"Hm."
It's silent for too long. Geralt finds himself staring blindly at the bloody little buttercups. This is it. Jaskier has to know.
The bunched fist in the back of his shirt eases, carefully. Too carefully. Geralt feels the strain in it. "We need to go see Yennefer," Jaskier says. His voice is also too careful. Carefully controlled, like it usually is when he's performing. Or putting on an act.
"Okay," Geralt agrees. He knows what Jaskier must be thinking--mages can cure Hanahaki, sometimes. It's...painful. Awful. Not something most people want. It's ripping a part of yourself away, the part that loves. Geralt's terrified of it, but he'll do it, if that's what Jaskier wants from him. He knows Jaskier must hate the idea of Geralt being in love with him, especially now that he's in love with another, no way to return it. Geralt's often been ashamed of feeling too much, but this is...worse.
"She'll fix this," Jaskier says, and Geralt can smell the salty tang of unshed tears in the air, "she'll fix this."
---------------------
They spend the rest of the day at the inn. Geralt knows Jaskier's upset, but at what exactly, it's hard to say. He’ll hardly look at Geralt for more than the briefest glances and keeps himself well outside of casual touching distance, which is strange for the normally tactile bard. He's either upset Geralt kept this secret from him, or he's upset Geralt's in love with him. Probably both.
Despite the distance he seems to be forcing between them, he bullies Geralt into bed beside him for the second night, doesn't let him meditate or sleep on the floor as he'd planned.
"Geralt, I know mornings with this are worse when you sleep on the floor. Sleep on the fucking bed."
"What happened to 'don't baby me'?"
"Fuck you, witcher. Get your ass on the bed. And don't hog all the sheets."
They settle, finally. Geralt lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to be hyperaware of Jaskier, curled on his side, back to him.
He dozes off, eventually, to the quiet wheeze of Jaskier's breath, a bubble of anxiety in his chest.
---------------------
He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to find the bed beside him empty and cold, the tremble of suppressed sobs and the salty tang of tears on the air. He lays very, very still.
"--'s not fucking fair," Jaskier gasps, sucking in a harsh breath that turns into a hiccupping little sob. "Fuck."
Geralt listens to the hitched breathing that turns into a round of coughs, the wet, hacking sound of little snow-white flowers leaving Jaskier's lips. The way he tries to muffle the sobs, the coughs, with a hand over his mouth. Geralt feels cold. He hates that he's done this to Jaskier, made him this upset. He wishes he could take it back, keep this awful, painful love to himself. Jaskier shouldn't suffer because he can't return what Geralt feels.
After the third coughing fit in the last fifteen minutes, Geralt gives up the pretense of sleep and rouses, rises from the bed.
"'m sorry," Jaskier croaks when Geralt rubs his back, pours him a glass of water from the pitcher. It hurts that Jaskier thinks he needs to apologize. This isn't his fault, after all.
"Back to bed. We've still got a few hours." Jaskier follows, quiet and subdued. He's exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks still wet.
They settle, that sliver of space between them as always. Geralt's just starting to drift when--
"Geralt?"
"Hm?"
"Um--" he trails off. Geralt cracks his eyes open, tips his head to look at Jaskier. He looks miserable. Tired. "--nevermind."
"What do you need, Jask?" he asks, quiet.
"Hold me?" he whispers, eyes fixed firmly on the edge of the sheet. Geralt's heart clenches. "I know it's not fair to ask that of you, but--"
"Come here," Geralt says, voice rough. Jaskier shuffles over, awkward. Geralt curls his arm around Jaskier's back, tugs him over so his head rests on Geralt's chest, ear pressed just above his too-slow heartbeat. He settles his hand on the curve of Jaskier’s hip, tries not to enjoy holding him too much--it’s about comfort, not Geralt.
They're still and quiet for a beat. "Thank you," Jaskier mumbles, voice thick with something Geralt can't name. "I know it's not--just. Thank you."
"Shh. Sleep."
They do.
---------------------
They leave the inn bright and early, after only a single round of awful coughing on Geralt's part. Jaskier's stiff and rigid, watching him hack up the flowers, and Geralt hates that Jaskier knows. This was so much easier to bear when there was still a ghost of a chance he returned Geralt's affections. Now--
"So how are we going to find her?" Jaskier asks, during one of the numerous breaks early in the morning.
"We're not," he says. Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, brow pinched in unhappiness. Geralt speaks again before he can get the words out, "We're going to see Triss. She'll know how to find Yen."
"Oh," he deflates. "Don't you, I don't know," he gestures vaguely, "have some magic way of getting ahold of her?"
"A xenovox?" He asks. Jaskier makes a 'whatever' kind of noise that makes Geralt's lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "No. Triss does, though."
"Ah." He doesn't looks happy, per se, but-- "Okay."
---------------------
"Yes, I can get ahold of her for you," Triss says when they track her down. She's still in Temeria, still serving the king. "Or at least, I can leave her a message. She doesn't much care for answering, usually," she laughs.
"Hm." That sounds like Yen.
"Tell her it's urgent," Jaskier pipes up, expression pinched.
"Is there anything I can do? If it's urgent, I mean."
Triss might actually be the better option, Geralt thinks, if he wants this love torn out of him. She's a healer; he knows first hand she has quite the skill. He could--
"No," Jaskier's already shaking his head, "we appreciate your offer, Triss, darling, but it's got to be Yennefer." His voice is strained. He coughs, a tiny thing he suppresses with difficulty. Geralt can hear him holding his breath to stave off the fit.
"Yes," he agrees slowly. He's...not sure why Jaskier's so insistent on it being Yennefer. They don't even like each other, and he's always liked Triss well enough. "Sorry, Triss."
She corners him before they leave. "He's not well." She'd obviously taken notice of the coughing.
"I know."
"I can--" she winces, gestures vaguely. She's offering to tear it out, the love. He knew she'd be the better bet.
"You can ask him, Triss, but I don't think he wants that. He told me he was...okay. Dying for them."
She makes a strangled noise. "Geralt--"
"We're not talking about it."
She's quiet for a long time. "At least take this." She shoves a bottle of something dried at him, "it won't fix anything long term, but it will help. Mix it with some tea." He takes the little bottle, tucks it into his things.
"Thank you, Triss."
---------------------
Geralt's still trying to figure out where to go from here when Yen tracks them down at an inn they've been staying at a few weeks later. He's just finished an easy drowner hunt and they're planning to pack in the morning. The dried herbs from Triss have helped, but they're not a miracle cure. And Jaskier refuses to take them unless Geralt does too.
"Now what about this is urgent?" she asks, stepping out of the crowd to settle at their table beside Jaskier without invitation. The bard splutters, choking on his ale. It sends him into a coughing fit. His hand flashes out across the table and Geralt reaches back automatically, lets him grip him hard as he shakes his way through the hacking. Yen watches silently, eyes wide.
"Shh," Geralt soothes, slips up from his seat to crouch beside Jaskier when he doesn't recover quickly enough, hands still linked. They're starting to draw attention, so Geralt uses his bulk to shield Jaskier from the scrutiny of the room, "it's okay, Jask." Geralt doesn't breathe easy until Jaskier spits up the little fistful of bloody jasmines, panting.
"Oh," Yen says, voice strange.
"'M not--" Jaskier breaks off, clears his throat, grimacing. He flexes his grip around Geralt's hand once before letting go, "It's not about me."
"It should be," she says. Her gaze cuts over to Geralt, the look in her eyes hostile and reprimanding.
"No, Yennefer--" he starts, gaze jumping fast between her and Geralt, "can I talk to you? Alone?" Geralt startles, tries not to show it. Yen glances up at him where he's still standing.
"Go, Geralt. Your bard and I need to have a talk."
"Hm," Jaskier won't look at him, "I'll go check on Roach."
---------------------
He takes his time brushing her down for the second time that day and forces his mind quiet, focuses on getting her hair all laying the same direction. He's...not trying to listen for the swirl of their conversation in the mix from the tavern. It just...kind of happens.
"Jaskier--"
"He knows and he doesn't feel the same, Yennefer. It's...fine."
"He's an idiot, bard. Did you--"
"No, doesn't matter."
"Then why--"
"He's in love with you."
Geralt's focus breaks when his breath catches and dissolves into another coughing fit. The buttercups are painful little reminders, bright and beautiful, even splattered in blood. He gathers them up, tucks them into his pouch for a lack of anything else to do with them. Jaskier thinks he's in love with Yen? Why--
"Geralt," Yen hums, appearing as if summoned by his thought (she very well might be).
"Yen." He turns to face her, leans his weight against the door of Roach's stall. He's still a little short of breath, knows he looks a sight.
She sighs, long-suffering. "I'm only going to ask you this once--why do you think your bard wanted me here?"
He's...not sure what game they're playing here. "He's...unhappy. With me." Her expression pinches and he can tell she's hanging on to her patience with him by a thread.
"Why?"
"Because--" he sucks in a deep breath, hates that he has to say this out loud, "--because I'm in love with him, and he's in love with another," he finishes quietly.
She makes an awful noise, patience snapping, "And how do I factor into that, Geralt?" She's pissed, but Geralt's not sure who at, honestly.
"He wants the Hanahaki gone...doesn't he?" He can't help make the statement a question. Yen looks like she's going to strangle someone (maybe him).
"You're both fucking idiots," she seethes, "and I would normally refuse to have anything to do with this but I promised your fucking bard, so--" she gestures viciously behind her, "lead the way to your room, witcher."
Geralt does, feeling like he's missing something.
---------------------
When they make it up to the room they're renting for the night, Jaskier is there, looking drawn and highly uncomfortable.
"Yen, I told you I didn't need to be here," he mutters. He won't meet either of their gazes.
"No," she says, voice firm, "you do. Now, Geralt," she turns on her heel to face him, "the only way to get rid of Hanahaki--no, don't interrupt me, we're not doing that--the only way to get rid of Hanahaki is to confess your love to the person the flowers are for." He shifts his weight, gaze jumping to Jaskier whose eyes are still downturned, before settling back on Yen. "Who are your flowers for, Geralt?"
He feels breathless, like he might be about to have a coughing fit again. "I'm--"
"I told you they're for you, Yennefer. Don't make him say it. Please."
"Jaskier, I told you to be quiet," she snaps, "who are they for Geralt?" Her gaze never leaves his, a sharp, angry challenge.
"They're not for you," he tells her. It's obviously not quite what she wants to hear, from the way her scowl deepens.
"You're fucking impossible," she tells him, the same time Jaskier makes a harsh little yelping sound. Geralt's gaze snaps to him.
"Geralt, you can't--" he's scrambling up, crossing the room, "you have to tell her, Geralt, or you'll die. Don't make me watch that." The scent of his worry, his panic, is heavy on the air, sour milk and fruit gone rotten. "She'll love you back, Geralt. It's okay."
His chest hurts. It's only partly from the coughing. "Jaskier--"
"Geralt, where are they? Your little flowers?" Reluctantly, he pulls the little handful of buttercups from his pouch, not sure where she's taking this. "Jaskier, they're buttercups," she says, tone harsh. He just makes a painful little noise.
"I know," he says, voice strained, “It’s hardly fair, is it?” His tone is light but obviously forced. Yennefer sighs, changes tactics.
"Jaskier, who are your flowers for?" She asks, gentle. He makes another little noise.
"Yennefer--"
"Did he tell you what he thought you wanted? Why you wanted him to see me?" She doesn't wait for an answer, "he thought you wanted his Hanahaki gone, Jaskier. Ripped out. He was going to let me do that."
"What? Geralt, I wouldn't--why would I--?" There are tears brimming in his eyes, "I'd never ask that of you, Geralt. Why would you think I would?"
"Why do you think I love Yen?" he asks in return. Yen makes a disgusted sound.
"This is enough. Figure yourselves out; I'm leaving. Don't have Triss call me again unless it's a real emergency." In the next breath, she's stepped through a portal. Gone.
"Geralt?" Jaskier's quiet question draws his attention back. He looks-- "Geralt, who is it?"
"Who else would it be?" he finds himself saying, "They're buttercups, Jaskier."
"I thought--" there are tears rolling down his cheeks, "I thought it was so cruel. For destiny to give you buttercups."
"I'm sorry," Geralt murmurs, reaches up to brush the tears away, "I know you don't--"
"You idiot," Jaskier laughs, a wet sound, "mine are for you, too."
Geralt feels the tightness in his chest fade, like heat leeching away in the cold. He hadn't realized how oppressive the blooms had become until they were gone.
He doesn't know what to do with Jaskier looking at him so full of love and relief. It's overwhelming and he can't help himself--he pulls him in for a kiss, slow and gentle, arms around his waist. Jaskier's fingers slip up into his hair, tilt his head to a more satisfactory angle. They only break when their lungs begin to burn, and then it isn't to go very far. Jaskier presses lingering kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his throat. Geralt shivers.
"I'd always known you'd kill me, darling," he breathes. Geralt slips his arms a little more securely around his waist, presses a palm flat to the small of his back, kisses down his throat to the open vee of his doublet and the ties of his chemise, temptingly on display.
"'M sorry it took me so long," he says, voice low. Jaskier presses closer in his embrace, winds his arms around his neck. "I was so afraid--"
"I know," Jaskier cuts him off gently, tugs him up for another kiss, slow and unhurried. "I know." When they pull away, Jaskier cups his face in his hands, rubs his thumbs across the arch of his cheekbones, "I was terrified too, love. What a pair we make, hm?"
Geralt hums in response. Jaskier laughs.
"Love you too, darling." He says it light and teasing, but the flowers, the look in his eyes, belie how much he means it.
Geralt swallows hard. "You too," he says, voice rough. He clears his throat, tries again, "I love you too, Jaskier." It comes out a little stilted, but the look on Jaskier's face--
He tugs Geralt down into another kiss. "You're entirely too sweet," he murmurs against his lips. And well. Maybe it's not so bad, loving Jaskier when that love's returned. He presses him backward towards the bed, listens to the delighted burst of laughter Jaskier makes as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he collapses backward, dragging Geralt down with him.
No, it's not so bad at all.
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hello!! could you write a fluffy (with a small amount of angst ofc) scenario with ushijima about how the reader thinks her love for him is unrequited after seeing him hanging out with another girl but he eventually realizes his feelings for her and confesses? 😳
Author’s Note: Ah!! I’m so excited for this! Thank you for requesting, this is actually my first one ever! And I apologize if this didn’t turn out how you wanted. I... also got a little carried away. Whoops...
Again, as always, shares and feedback are appreciated!
Word count: 2,746 (This is longer than usual, I know. I just got really, really into the groove. Please don’t expect all requests to be this long. Thank you!)
Summary: Ushijima has started hanging out with some girl more often. Coming to the conclusion that they liked each other, you end up in your dorm, crying to yourself because of the seemingly unreturned love.
Warnings: none?? maybe some angst? a whole lot of nothing :’) and maybe a couple of curse words. MAYBE TENDOU AND USHIJIMA ARE OOC. IF SO, I APOLOGIZE!!!!
---
“Can we help you?” Shirabu asked, pausing in front of the girl standing in the doorway.
The shy young woman perked at his question, her knuckles turning white as she grasped at her bag straps.
“A-Ah! I’m just waiting for Ushijima-san!” she answered, her pale face becoming bright red.
Shirabu tilted his head. “He doesn’t accept fangirls, if that’s what you’re here for,” he stated bluntly, sweat dripping down his forehead as he picked up the stray volleyball.
Embarrassed, the girl bowed down a little. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you! But I actually-”
“Sato.”
Both students turned their head to see the one and only captain of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team jogging toward them.
“Ushijima-san, do you know her?” the setter asked, tucking the ball under his arm as he gestured to the girl.
He nodded, returning his attention to the new arrival.
“I apologize for not getting out on time. Our practice ran longer than we intended. Please wait for a bit while we finish,” he said, staring into her wide eyes.
“O-Of course! I’ll just… uh, wait outside,” she stuttered once again, bowing in acknowledgement before stepping away from the gym, waiting by its doors.
You had seen the whole thing from your place beside the coach. As the manager of the team, you probably shouldn’t have been paying attention for so long, but the situation had made you curious.
Ushijima had a meeting with a girl? It was rare for him to pay any special attention to them. In fact, it was rare for him to pay attention to them at all.
“Oho, does Wakatoshi-kun finally have a girlfriend?” Tendou asked teasingly, leaning over your shoulder as said man came back to the court. His eyes squinted in curiousity as he rested a hand on your shoulder, knowing that he was getting right on your nerves.
“A girlfriend?!” Goshiki half-exclaimed as he came down from a hit, his aim almost hitting Semi’s face (please save him I-).
His exclamation turned the heads of a lot of the rest of the team. You hated it.
Ushijima stopped in front of you and Tendou, shaking his head in response.
“We aren’t together. We simply have a meeting arranged for today,” he answered.
“If you guys are done talking about this little love crap, I’d like to finish up practice here!” the coach added grumpily.
The team hurriedly resumed their exercises, shouting “Yes, coach!” in unison.
When practice was finally over, and everything had been put away, Ushijima bid his goodbyes and returned to the doorway. The young girl, Sato, approached him, to which he allowed. She was still blushy, and seemed even more nervous than before.
After a brief exchange of words, they walked away from the gym and to wherever their destination was.
You stood on the other side of the gym with most of the team was on the other side.
With a pit in your chest, you stared out of the door where they once stood. Clutching the clipboard in your hands, you let out a sigh. Maybe it was of disappointment, or maybe it was because you didn’t have to see them together anymore.
Whatever if was, it wasn’t good.
“Don’t mind, Y/n-chan!!” Tendou reassured you. “Everyone knows you’re his favorite!” he cheered, patting your back encouragingly.
You honestly couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or actually trying to be helpful.
“I don��t mind!” you objected, turning to face him. “He can hang out with whoever he wants!”
The red-headed guess monster chuckled briefly before saying, “Oh? But I thought you liked him!”
“Could you say that any louder?!” you scolded hastily, hushing him.
He wasn’t wrong, though. You could admit that. Tendou was good at knowing what made you tick, and he also happened to know your crush on the stoic captain. You almost regretted telling him in the first place. But he was one of our closest friends, and that’s what you had decided to tell him.
Your feelings for Ushijima had lasted for a bit over a year. On one hand, it was fine with you since he never really gave any other attention with girls (except for today, of course), but on the other hand, you hated it since you knew it meant he probably would never like you back.
And today only seemed to confirm this fear. Not in the way you had thought it would.
Tendou blinked at your quiet outburst. “Ah, well, we all already know!” he said. “Besides, if he doesn’t have feelings for you, then there’s no way he’d have feelings for her!”
You knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but it still made your heart ache.
“And,” he suddenly said, his voice lower than before. “If he does happen to hurt you, perhaps I’d have to give him a bit of a talking,” he added. His eyes seemed to change, like the threatening look he’d give his opponents in games. Though, it wasn’t necessarily evil.
Surprised, and almost uncomfortable with his intense aura, you said, “N- no need. Even if he did hurt me, I don’t think he’d do so on purpose. I mean- he doesn’t even know about… my feelings.’
“Ahh!” he hummed, his attitude changing once again. Jeez, you could never read this guy completely. “Then maybe he should know!” he suggested, leaning down to meet your height.
“Tendou, I love you, my friend. I really do, but confessing is the last thing I want to do!” you said, furrowing your brows.
He paused, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Alright!” he agreed, stepping away from you. “Well, I’ve got to go, now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n-chan!”
You sighed once again, just about done with your friend’s antics. Shrugging off your worry, you finished up what you were doing and exited the gym.
☆☆☆
At first, you had thought that maybe Sato was just a fangirl that Ushijima had finally agreed to talk to. But, to you, it didn’t look like that was the case anymore.
For the past few days, you’d see them walking together in the halls, talking for most of the time they were together. Even if you and Ushijima were hanging out with each other, she’d approach (though, very timidly) and give to him what seemed like letter(s).
And, sometimes, he’d even give her some back.
You had even noticed he seemed to be in a lighter mood, as well. Which was a bit unusual. You’d say you didn’t want her to make him feel such a way, but you were honestly glad to see him talk more and be more happy.
You didn’t ask him about what they were to each other. You were afraid it would raise suspicions, and, though you’d never admit it, you didn’t exactly want to know the answer.
So you just came to the conclusion that they were dating, or at the very least had feelings for each other.
Well… it was bound to happen sometime, wasn’t it? There was no way he’d have feelings for you.
The last sliver of hope you had in him reciprocating you feelings slowly went down the drain over that whole week and a half that they hung around each other.
☆☆☆
And now it was a Saturday, with you tucked away in your bed crying gently to yourself as you stared up at the ceiling.
You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry over a boy. Why did you have to do this now?
Meanwhile, a certain middleblocker and ace were sat next to each other, talking about nothing in particular.
That was, until Tendou finally popped the question you never could.
“Wakatoshi-kun,” he said, staring out of the window and into the night. “Do you like Sato Runa, by any chance?”
The abrupt change in the subject almost caught his friend off guard.
“She’s an exceptional student,” he answered.
Tendou grinned in amusement.
“No, no! I mean romantically,” he cleared up, waving his hand in the air.
“Romantically?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising. “No.”
That was all the middleblocker needed. “Ahh, well, you make that hard to believe by just looking at you!” he said. “Well, Y/n-chan will certainly be happy to hear this!”
“Y/n? Why would she want to know?” the dark-haired boy asked, still not catching on.
Tendou’s grin only widened, like the cheshire cat playing with Alice’s mind.
“Why, she likes you, of course!” he cheered. “Ohh, she’s been so worried you and that girl had gotten together. Imagine our poor little manager, heartbroken over nothing!” he said.
Ushijima said nothing for a while, still sat straight, his hands in his lap.
“Y/n has feelings for me?” he asked, half curious.
Satori tilted his head, more amused than ever. “I know you aren’t great with romance, but even I’d thought you would’ve at least gotten a little bit of hint!”
Ignoring his little jab, Ushijima continued, “...she’s heartbroken?”
Got him, the spiky-haired boy thought. Oh, it was all going to plan.
“Well, she’d never admit it, but I know she’s at least a little upset about it! Must’ve been a lot of proof in her eyes if she’s as heartbroken as I think she is!” he hummed.
“How long have you known of her feelings for me?” he asked, his voice never changing. To the average person, it’d seem as though he wasn’t too interested in your feelings. However, Tendou knew better.
“As far as I know, almost a year! If I were you, I’d take her out of her sad trance right away!” he added, clapping his hands together. “But the question is, Wakatoshi… do you like her back?”
There was a long, long silence. It almost put Tendou off, thinking that maybe he’d have to modify his plan.
Luckily, Ushijima had finally decided to make his move.
Standing from his seat on the bed, he excused himself from their dorm room, making his way for the yours.
☆☆☆
“Crap…” you murmured, looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked.... tired.
After letting your hair down, you leaned against the counter, staring at yourself.
How pathetic that he had gotten you so worked up.
Actually, no, how pathetic that you had thought that there was a chance that he liked you back.
Suddenly, there was a knock on your door. You jumped, trying to wipe away your drying tears and drying your hands afterward.
“Ah- one moment!” you called, cursing yourself for your sore throat (you had screamed into your pillow out of frustration prior to your little breakdown).
Opening the door, you were surprised to see the one and only Ushijima standing there.
“Y/n,” he said, immediately making eye contact. It was like he was scrutinizing you under his cold gaze.
“Ushijima-san! It’s late! How did you-”
“Are you feeling alright?” he asked bluntly, referring to the still evident tear stains on your cheeks.
Coughing, embarrassed, you nodded. “Yeah, just… life stuff, you know?”
“Would any of that supposed ‘life-stuff’ have to do with me?” he questioned.
You tensed up. How did he know?
“How did you…” you started, trailing off. Oh. My. God. Tendo-
“It has been brought to my attention that you may have thought that I was in a relationship with Sato Runa. Is this true?” he inquired boldly.
Wow, he really did not know how to sugar-coat it, huh?
You pursed your lips, obviously not wanting to admit the reason of your defeat. But you knew you shouldn’t lie to him.
“Yes,” you admitted, your shoulders lowering, and eyes suddenly finding the floor much more interesting. The confession made it too real, now.
“And it was also brought to my attention that you’ve had feelings for me, and have become upset since you believed I was in a relationship with Sato. Yes?” he also asked.
Your eyes quickly shot back up to him in surprise, your cheeks suddenly hot and your chest suddenly in pain. He knew.
You didn’t want to answer, for obvious reasons. And Ushijima seemed to realize this. His gaze softened, rephrasing his words, “If you do not have feelings for me, tell me right now. Please.”
Ah, you couldn’t. Not to him.
This only confirmed his thoughts.
“Y/n,” he said, his voice still unwavering. “I’d like to clear up that I am not romantically involved with Sato Runa.” Wait. What? “I had asked her to be my tutor for a few of my classes since quite a few tests were coming up for the next two weeks. That is why I’ve been around her often.”
Oh. Oh.
So that’s what it was. The papers weren’t letters, but notes and studying ideas. It wasn’t little dates they were doing, it was study sessions. He was in a lighter mood because of how much easier school was for him, now.
You felt pretty stupid right at that moment.
“A-ah… good to know,” you nodded. “It’s alright. You didn’t have to clarify it with me, but thank you, anyway.”
“But I did,” Ushijima retorts. “Because I happen to be attracted to you, not her.”
I- were you dead right now? Was this a dream? A joke? A prank?
You pinched the inside of your hand to check that this was still real.
“I-” you pressed your lips together hesitantly. “Really?” you asked in disbelief.
He nodded. “I hadn’t realized it, but you are different. Perhaps I have not been attracted to you for a whole year, but in this current time, today, I am. You’re talented. You’ve got potential. Everything about you works together to make you an exceptional person. But even then, there’s more to it that I cannot explain.”
The heat in your cheeks only worsened. Honestly, his words were about to give you a full-on fever.
“I- I don’t know what to say!” you confessed, almost bursting. You were confused more than anything, even though your brain processed the situation just fine. “Just a few minutes ago I was crying over how you’d never like me- and now, and now you confess? I mean- I look like a mess, it’s almost past midnight, and-”
“You don’t look like a mess,” he objected, raising his hand to brush a few stray hairs out of the way. “And if you are unable to figure out what to say next, could I perhaps take this moment to ask you something?”
Blinking up at him, you nodded.
“Tomorrow after practice, would you... want to go on a date with me?” he asked.
Yeah, okay, you were definitely dreaming, now.
Suddenly, you were tense again, trying to figure out if you heard him right. Where did this Ushijima come from? And what had he done with the real one?
“Y-Yes! Of course I would!” you agreed.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning, Y/n.”
Leaning down to your height, his brushed his lips against your forehead as a farewell, not even giving you a chance to reply before he left. (I mean, it would be a questionable sight for him to be seen at a girl’s dorm so late at night.)
Holy shit. Holy shit! You had a date with Ushijima Wakatoshi!
Your chest was feeling light clouds, your mind barely even able to wrap itself around the situation. Did that really just happen? Were he and Sato actually just acquaintances? Did he actually like you?
Excited, you sloppily got ready for bed and tucked yourself under the covers, ecstatic for tomorrow (of course, a little embarrassed by the earlier conversation, too).
When you awoke, it took you a minute to remember what had happened the night before. Again, you tried convincing yourself that it was all just apart of your imagination, but that idea was quickly disproven when you checked your texts.
Ushijima Wakatoshi - Sunday, 6:30 a.m.
Do you have anywhere you’d like to go for today?
Tendou Satori - Sunday, 7:36 a.m.
don’t be mad, but I told him! and I have a suspicion that yesterday went great (not really, wakatoshi-kun told me this morning)! sooo… when’s the wedding, love birds?!
Sunday, 7:59 a.m.
are you not up yet? ah, y/nnnn-chann i’m getting impatient!! call me when you see this!
Smiling to yourself, you turned off your phone and rested it on your chest, shutting your eyes for a moment before getting ready.
Today was going to be a good day.
----
☆ taglist☆ (please ask to be added!)
@shou-kunn @warmbearhugs
#ushijima wakatoshi x reader#ushijima x reader#ushijima imagine#ushijima wakatoshi imagine#haikyuu x reader#haikyu x reader#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyu fanfiction#haikyu reader insert#reader insert
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FORM YOUR LOVE .
so this is my analysis of both for your love and form of sympathy put into one as they are both of the same world. i am tagging @55bubble as i really want their opinion and thoughts on this but everyone comment / reblog and let me know what you think. also if you need clarifications on anything please let me know i’ve been writing this half asleep after a hard days of work. i may also visit this again as the form of sympathy goes on.
firstly i don’t know why i didn’t realize this is at first but both titles inform the themes and ideas of the comic. for your love is basically the story of understanding love and what it will ask of you . both moogyeong and yohan have to see rejections through ( moogyeong his own , yohan his brother’s ) and the way it leaves them feeling to get to the end goal of love because what transpired between moogyeong and junseo was a crush that held him but it didn’t drive depth because it was something he would always try to brush off and hide away from . yohan on the other hand sees his rejection through his brother’s unrequited love and what that does is makes him overly cautious and stops him from looking inward and try to drive someone else’s story in hopes that he can be the “fairy-godmother,” this time around. it isn’t until he looks at moogyeong not as a project but a person and therefore look inward does he realize that moogyeong doesn’t need to evolve its him . on the other hand form of sympathy is the story of different forms of sympathies . the main versions of this story branch sympathy from yuri to his noona , to himself , and to sunwoo , goes on to his noona and him , and her new family , and lastly the real show of that is between sunwoo toward yuri. what i find interesting is that sympathy is defined two different ways : feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else's misfortune and secondly , the understanding between people ; common feeling . you see both these definitions play into the story. for example both meanings align with yuri and his noona’s relationship. it starts with sorrow on her misfortune and then becomes a connection between them both . in the face of yuri and sunwoo their sympathy is still on the first meaning , and were sunwoo feels sorrow , i think yuri after chapter 30 is just starting to leave the stages of pity.
both stories are about unrequited love. yet in for your love it lingers, while in form of sympathy it festers . Within for your love it is put to ease by the way people feeling it behave. moogyeong decides to be quite about his love , in small part due to fear and another is that he himself isn't a man of big gesture. he finds himself crashing into yohan who at first wants to break this boundary of fear and smallness and wants to make it loud and known . he doesn’t get the issue of it because he has seen the aftermath of being rejected first hand and on someone he’s really cared about and he doesn’t want that again. as i said before is what really alleviates the pain of seeing junseo with someone else , and mooyeong still thinking about him is the final act of looking inward. we see yohan clearly state that he loves moogyeong and it isn’t because of his brother or any other grand gesture but the fact that this is a person he feels at peace with and he will do what needs to be done to. improve himself for both of them because he can look at what has to be with peace.
now with form of sympathy the unrequited are impressed with history that equated to them thinking themselves fundamentally more important than they really were. one may question the kindness of noona and how she would always just give herself away to yuri . she would always let him tag along , she would come to his school when he was in trouble , she cared for him at the funeral of her parents when she should have been taken care of . i am of the catagory that she gave him so much because she felt for him as having love taken from you but also because she may have felt that she had to give yuri a mother figure to thank his mother for doing that for her and the way she thought of him. and so what i think this has done is open a feeling of over importance inside of yuri in which he believes that he is her center and that she is his , inside of her being a line that stands next to him and up lifts him. this has made him cruel , because he feels unbalanced and he uses sunwoo as his target because his history with his brother in law leaves parts of him on sunwoo and also because he can’t fully go after his brother in law because that would hurt noona. sunwoo is someone he has power over not just because he knows his feelings and has been used as a substitute for them but also because of who they are to each other. they will always have the dynamic of student and teacher over them but the fact is that this isn’t school , its real life and yuri has opened up the darkest corners of sunwoo and taken control of them from the dinner with alll four of them , to just being a needle that pricks sunwoo during their working together. yet in the last few chapters of season one we see a flip of power or rather we see sunwoo and his guidance starting to tug at yuri . now the history between brother in law and sunwoo is also simillar to that of yuri and noona because they also were just rhust into each other lives, and it seems like sunwoo created something out of brother in law that wasn’t there. i don’t remember if we get any really background into their relationship besides brother in law joining the movie club out on a whim and sunwoo just tied himself into him . and i think that its the same reason as to why yuri did it with noona and that is personality and how they made them feel. mooyeong did not make junseo his center but yuri and sunwoo did with the people they liked and that is why they are spiraling . one in rage and the other into depression.
what i also find interesting is that the injury sunwoo has is one on the hand. what makes this interesting is what a hand does is grab on to things . a hand emits a start as in hand shakes , it holds on to and lifts a person , and also puts out the emotions one is feeling either on themselves or others. so in having his hand injured sunwoo is basically trapped. he cannot in metaphoric ideas pull himself out , nor can he go on to express any other emotions because not only is his injury onto his hand physically but it is also emotional in that it is hands the acted upon yuri and marked him as the brother in law when he knew he wasn’t , so his hand is both what ties him to yuri , drowns him in the past and stops him being able to heal.
characters that can be imposed upon another through both stories
yohan and yuri
mooyeong and sunwoo
junseo and brother in law
noona and yohan’s brother
yohan and yuri are not just the main characters , they also both go through an arc of bewilderment , self-loathing , and isolation. they are both haunted by their actions, yuri in how he has been behaving around his noona , and yohan how he has around mooyeong. with his noona yuri latched on to her kindness and made into his life in that it is the one thing to which he couldn’t be angry at because it gave to him without demanding but at the cost of him not being able to form other relationships purely because he locked his noona into an image of something for him. but yohan instead of that had to drag out his insides and put them into their place. he had to learn that what he knows is not enough . that what he has seen of himself in view of his family does not make him , nor does his brothers pain belong to him as he has been cared by him. yohan strikes back and decides to evolve, yuri decides to drown and devolve
mooyeong and sunwoo are both teachers , sunwoo teaches geography and mooyeong tutors. they both have unrequited loves but what they do with it as i’ve mentioned before is quite different. one can assume that both lack the character to act with big gestures and that is why they both lose out on their loves. but if you look at mooyeong i dont believe that he is an overly emotional character in that unlike sunwoo he does not add romantic gestures to the idea of teaching and by this i do not mean that he is going on talking about love within his teaching but he has these big ideas of what students are like and how diverse they are and how troubled they maybe. mooyeong keeps his head on pushing his students academically and he does feel but he does not center himself around the bursts of emotions he does feel. instead he reason with him because he knows that a love that isn’t spoken is better than a love that is spoken and then mocked / spurned and thats his struggle with yohan at first. while sunwoo is basically of the measure that a love unspoken / unreturned puts a hit on a relationship . it ends it and does nothing but makes it painful and he keeps wanting to run away from what he had unlike mooyong and it something that cuts him because its a mark that says i was wrong , i am wrong and i will keep being wrong in many sense.
now junseo is the kinder of the two. he might be a bit careless, a bit naive and clueless , but he does not insert himself into mooyeong’s life beyond the areas of the club and common decency. he isn’t like the brother in law who keeps trying to put himself into sunwoo’s life from the calls to the mention of a gift and him asking him for help. he feels that his place isn’t to force a way into mooyeong’s life and be a door that keeps opening letting him in and then kicking him out and i think its part of the reason why this relationship was able to grow out better than that of the one sunwoo and the brother in love have. also the brother in law remembers everything wrong about what happened between them and it something that breaks sunwoo under the issue of him thinking himself important but realzing that he wasn’t really anything because even friends remember things they did with another. it enforces the idea that the club and sunwoo were but things to collect and play around with rather than value and hold with respect as junseo and mooyeong. he kind of tagged on top of sunwoo without the consideration of exactly what was required between them because as he came by the club by chance so did he sunwoo.
With hyung and noona its a story of two people who are both the catalysts for the traits a characther decides to possess. From jealousy and agony in yuri, to fear and learning in yohan these two are the parental figures they never had but also become the ones they give up a lot of themselves for. Yohan decides to be the opposite of his brother and go after unrequited loves for others, yuri feels guilty for being so attached to his noona he has to isolate himself because her happiness should have been his as her kindness was his. If not for the conversation hyung and yohan had after being caught in his intimacy with mooyeong I don't think yohan would have really put aside his brother's pain and take a full leap into his relationship. Where on the other hand always being with noona and thinking her as a small little thing who got eaten up by a big bad wolf and having to converse with someone who doesn't really express their own feelings has kept yuri from really evolving and thats why he crashes against sunwoo so badly because even his first sister and her aggression is a mask out of what their parents have made them.
Now I love thar yohan has his dreams and yuri the train tracks. What the dreams show is that yohan is looking inside himself and is changing. The dreams symbolize his faults, from his ego on the surface hides a low self worth and mooyeong always becomes his consciousness which fires back at him as both the face of the wanted and his failings to achieve it because he is at a loss of self because he thinks to what he witnessed than what has to be.
The train tracks are a slow way of travel. The train goes and stops and you can only follow it. Yuri's facing sunwoo decides that this is his destination. That the pathway to his own salvation is the man he crashes into to seek the falling of his rival. The crash reassembles into guidance and guidance into freedom and so he drops the rope and build a slow way for him to reach peace. Also unlike yohan he has to look outward instead of inward
So this gas gotten really long, and so i say goodbye here until later when I have more to say and more time to do so.
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George deValier (2015 profile)
since: 05-02-10, id: 2348750, Profile Updated: 06-02-13
country: 🇦🇺 Australia
Author has written 17 stories for Hetalia - Axis Powers.
If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light.
If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls.
I will write always.
I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you.
– Henry Rollins
Hi! I’m George. One day, I will be a professor of history, who wears tweed suits and lives in a library. Right now, I am a graduate student, who wears jeans and t-shirts and… um… lives in a library.
Reviews and PMs.
I don’t demand or even expect reviews. They do, however, make me happy. So if you are kind enough to leave one after reading, please know that even though I may not reply, I read every single one, and I am incredibly grateful - your few words of praise have brightened a moment of my day. :-)
If you send me a Private Message and don’t receive a response immediately, please know that I am not deliberately ignoring you. I find it a little difficult to keep up with replying to PMs; if I haven’t responded to your message in at least three months, it’s usually because I’ve, er, lost it. Feel free to send me another one calling me a giant prat and demanding a response.
Fanart and Translations.
I am perfectly okay (quite ecstatically happy, actually) with people doing whatever they like with my fics – whether that be translations, fanart, cosplay, AMVs, whatever. You do not need to ask permission - I will always say yes. All I ask is three things. One: please credit me as the author (and a link to the original story would be fantastic). Two: please let me know so that I can check it out and thank you profusely! And three: something I hate to have to mention, but please never do anything to make money out of these works. Obviously, Hetalia does not belong to me – it belongs to the amazing Hidekaz Himaruya, who is incredibly awesome for giving us such fantastic characters to play with. :-D
MY STORIES
THE VERAVERSE
The Veraverse is a Hetalia World War Two AU, of fics involving different characters and pairings, all living within the same time period and all interconnected in some way. As each story in the series is named after and loosely based on the lyrics of a wartime song sung by Vera Lynn, I flippantly dubbed it the ‘Veraverse.’ The name has sort of stuck, however. I have posted a list of character's birth dates here: http://george-de-valier.deviantart.com/art/Hetalia-Veraverse-Birth-Dates-340315828
This series is, at its core, about the power of love over war. It's about the real reasons people fight, and the real reasons they survive. It's about finding something beautiful in the midst of something ugly and evil. But overall, although I hope there is more to these stories than just romance, they are essentially about love.
Don’t expect every fic to be updated quickly. These stories intertwine, and will be published simultaneously, and it may be a while between chapters for each specific story. Most can be read separately, however a few will require that you read at least one other story in the series to make sense of it (e.g. ‘My Echo’ does not make much sense unless you also read ‘Lily of the Lamplight.’) Rest assured, they will all be completed.
We'll Meet Again
Alfred Jones/Arthur Kirkland (America/England)
Complete - Thirteen Chapters
‘We’ll Meet Again’ is about love arriving when you least expect it, and how it can transform loneliness.
Keep Smiling Through
Alfred Jones/Arthur Kirkland (America/England)
Complete – One Shot
Just a little mini-sequel to ‘We’ll Meet Again’ about a brief moment in Alfred and Arthur’s lives.
Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart
Ludwig Beilschmidt/Feliciano Vargas (Germany/Italy)
Complete - Eighteen chapters
‘Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart’ is about love being blind, proving stronger than hate, and lasting longer than war.
Bésame Mucho
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo/Lovino Vargas (Spain/Romano)
In Progress – Fourteen chapters
‘Bésame Mucho’ is essentially about love overcoming fear.
Lily of the Lamplight
Gilbert Beilschmidt/Roderich Edelstein (Prussia/Austria)
In Progress – Eighteen Chapters
‘Lily of the Lamplight’ is about selflessness, survival, and how love can change you for the better.
My Echo
Unrequited Vash Zwingli/Roderich Edelstein (Switzerland/Austria)
In Progress – Six Chapters
‘My Echo’ is about how true love is selfless – even if it is unreturned.
Jealousy
Ivan Braginski/Yao Wang (Russia/China)
In Progress – Six Chapters
‘Jealousy’ is a little different to the other stories in this series. It is about control, madness, and how love has the power to destroy as well as to save.
Something to Remember You By
Sadik Adnan/Gupta Muhammad Hassan (Turkey/Egypt)
In Progress – Three Chapters
‘Something to Remember You By’ is about losing love, and yourself with it.
UPCOMING VERAVERSE FICS
Somewhere in France With You
Francis Bonnefoy/Matthew Williams (France/Canada)
Darling, where better to meet again than the most beautiful city in the world?
It's a Lovely Day Tomorrow
Toris Laurinaitis/Feliks Łukasiewicz (Lithuania/Poland)
Art. Music. Passion. Destruction. Young, wild love, in the streets of Berlin, on the eve of war.
When I Grow Too Old to Dream
Berwald Oxenstierna/Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland)
“What would you do if I just… took this tree? Claimed it for Finland?”
“I’d let ye take it.”
“This lake?”
“Ye can have it.”
“This entire forest?”
“’t’s yours.”
“Would you let me take your whole country, Berwald?”
“Yes. And you? What’f I just… took this rock?”
“You can’t have that rock. That’s a Finnish rock.”
You’ll Never Know
Elizaveta Héderváry/ Lili Zwingli (Hungary/Liechtenstein)
“But who knows? Maybe you'll meet a charming little Swiss girl with plaits and a basket who likes to yodel on mountaintops."
Elizaveta always hated it when Gilbert was right.
When the Lights go on Again
Eduard Von Bock/Raivis Galante (Estonia/Latvia)
"I will stay with him through this darkness. I will give my soul to keep it from him. And I swear, whatever I must do, that Raivis Galante will live to see the lights go on again.”
Room Five-Hundred-and-Four
Herakles Karpusi/Kiku Honda (Greece/Japan)
“Life's most important conversations take place in bars. Perhaps in places not too dissimilar from this - perhaps between people not so different from ourselves. Bars, after all, are where people meet, and where they rejoice; where they forget, and where they say goodbye. They are the crossroads of life."
"You sound like a philosopher. Though your name suggests a hero."
Faraway Places
Bad Friends Trio (France, Prussia, and Spain)
“Ah, those were the days, huh, Gil? Remember the time you tried to take on the entire Parisian police force?”
“Or the time you knocked yourself out running from that bull in Pamplona?”
“Or that time Francis tried to seduce your grandfather?!”
“Francis what?”
“Oh, look at that, I’ve finished my drink.”
Autumn Leaves
Augustus Roma Vargas (Ancient Rome)
But I miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall.
OTHER FICS
THE MAPLEVERSE
This is a currently small modern AU, set in modern day Canada.
La Patisserie de la Rose
Francis Bonnefoy/Matthew Williams (France/Canada)
Complete – Six Chapters
A birthday present for Claudia, aka ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta
An essentially fluffy Franada with lots of cameos and cake and general silliness. I like to think this story is about friendship as much as it is about love. It's also about seeing something in someone that no one else can - not even themselves.
Libelle Hall
Gilbert Beilschmidt/Roderich Edelstein (Prussia/Austria)
In Progress – Three Chapters
A Gift for Kay, aka Kay the Beta
‘Libelle Hall’ is about change, and about love growing from self-realisation. It’s also an examination of Gilbert and Roderich’s characters, and how they aren’t that different from each other, after all. And it’s a gift for my beta Kay, because she loves PruAus, and she’s awesome.
Of Ponies and Edelweiss
Gilbert Beilschmidt/Roderich Edelstein (Prussia/Austria)
Complete – One Shot
A Valentines’ Day present for Claudia
Just a fluffy, romantic little fic for Valentines’ Day. Well, as romantic as Gilbert gets, anyway.
ONGOING MULTI-CHAPTERS
Catch Perfect
Berwald Oxenstierna/Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland)
In Progress – Twelve Chapters
‘Catch Perfect’ is basically proof that I can’t even write crack without some semblance of plot and angst. I am still writing this, just ever so slowly.
The Tiger and the Dragon
Ivan Braginski/Yao Wang (Russia/China)
In Progress – Seventeen Chapters
I first posted this story almost three years ago. Last year I started re-publishing it, mainly to fix up the writing quality and some plot points. Yes, it’s melodramatic; yes, it’s a bit cliché. Basically, if this were a published novel, it would be the type to have GAY EROTIC ROMANCE in tacky writing across the cover. But really, what the hell, it’s fun. :-D
COMPLETED ONE SHOTS
Stay With You
Germany/Italy
A rare story with the characters as nations, and my very first posted fanfiction. I had just discovered Hetalia when I wrote this, and loved the random humour of it, but also wondered what it could be like if it was a more serious take on the Second World War. Also, it has always been blatantly obvious to me that Germany and Italy are in love with each other. Like, duh.
Gallipoli
Australia and New Zealand
Another nation story from me, about a conflict embedded in the consciousness of every Australian. We haven’t been given much to go on with Australia’s characterisation, so I went with my gut instinct – he’s anti-authority, he’s an easily broken optimist, and he cares deeply about his men. Gallipoli shattered the romantic idea of war for this country. I think it would have shattered Australia, too.
Sleep, Little Bird
Berwald Oxenstierna/Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland) and Peter (Sealand)
There is not much I can really say about this one, except sorry. Oh, and that it’s not in the same universe as ‘Catch Perfect.’ I wouldn’t do that. ;-)
LINKS!
http://george-de-valier.deviantart.com (deactivated account) - Where I fave and comment on the wonderful artwork that people have drawn for my stories. I adore fan art, so please tell me if you have drawn any! If I happen to come across art for my stories that I haven’t been told about, be warned, I WILL proceed to fave and comment on it anyway. :-)
www.youtube.com/user/ykwyh26 - My lovely and talented beta Kay’s YouTube site, where you can hear all the songs from my Veraverse stories.
VIDEOS
I am incredibly flattered that the amazingly talented Alyss Lane has written a gorgeous song based on ‘Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart.’ It is called ‘Auf Wiedersehen,’ performed by Willow, and you can hear this beautiful song here – www.youtube.com/watch?v=2N8T4oIppS0
The following are awesome AMVs for my fics, made by some very talented artists.
The Veraverse
Sanctuary, by Insomniac3Ltd
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfvTV5b9Zwk (unavailable)
We'll Meet Again
We’ll Meet Again, by Shokora15
www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4COUwq9yzA
Wild Horses, by SirenShadow95
www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaiMnawL3hM
Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart
Stereo Love, by snobo52
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UH8-zY-3qiI
If I Die Young, by NightmareCCL
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkoVnwzwLlU
Stay, by PastaWithWurst
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-i61AAOfNm4 (unavailable)
Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, by Sydney Amber
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nM9anzT81tM
Home, by Sanity4Fire
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjPTML1vjXA (unavailable)
Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, by ShiroBaraLuv123
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qltINwf-ZkU (unavailable)
Bésame Mucho
Fear, by ykwyh26
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua5Ak4O9P88
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, by Kayleigh Turgeon
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pDaLTw5wIs (unavailable)
The Only Exception, by InuLoverNr1Hitomi
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pt_sHtZfIw
Don’t Tell Me You Love Me If You Don’t Mean It, by AnnoyingGirl1234
www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkcTKOAN8Y8 (unavailable)
Lily of the Lamplight
Lili Marlene, by xxEmoxxChibixx
www.youtube.com/watch?v=otYq31Qnct8
Sleep, Little Bird
Sleep, by Hetaliagirl96
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tOCsWjpNsk (unavailable)
La Patisserie de la Rose
Take Me Home, by Ahogemako
www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwsX1rJ2CDo
Something to Remember You By
Lullabies, by Lanie P
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnRXhe2cdZw
STORIES WRITTEN FOR ME
These are all fantastic. Please check them out, you won’t be disappointed!
Mi Piachi perché Mi Piaci, by ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta
(GerIta, Spamano, PruAus, BelgHun and teeny mentions of Franada, Netherlands/Australia, UsUk)
A wonderful birthday present of fluffy GerIta goodness from my wonderful friend Claudia.
www.fanfiction.net/s/7601790/1/Mi_Piaci_perche_Mi_Piaci
Maple Street, by fubibliophile
(Canada and America)
A really cool, atmospheric one shot from the very sweet fubibliophile.
www.fanfiction.net/s/7796628/1/Maple_Street
Chapter Four of Hetalia Fairy Tales, by Kitty-Kat Allie
(GiriPan)
An incredibly sweet GiriPan fairy tale from a wonderful author and a lovely person.
www.fanfiction.net/s/7730679/4/Hetalia_Fairy_Tales
1. Something To Remember You By » reviews
VV AU. 1914. Constantinople, Turkey. On the eve of war, street dweller Sadik Adnan's way of life and existence is called into question by the strange, beautiful Egyptian imam, Gupta Muhammad Hassan.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,732 - Reviews: 73 - Published: 5-30-13 - Turkey & Egypt
2. Lily of the Lamplight » reviews
WW2 AU. Austrian musician Roderich and German soldier Gilbert are forced into an army prison unit and a fight for survival on the Russian Front. But in the midst of blood and death and hell on earth, how long can they fight their desire for each other?
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 4 - Words: 27,329 - Reviews: 557 - Updated: 5-21-13 - Published: 11-20-11 - Prussia & Austria
3. Libelle Hall » reviews
Modern AU. When Roderich Edelstein – student, musician, and reluctant activist – attempts to save a local music hall from destruction, he is not prepared for the conflicting emotions evoked in him by arrogant demolition worker Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gift fic for Kay the Beta.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,900 - Reviews: 174 - Updated: 5-6-13 - Published: 2-20-13 - Prussia & Austria
4. Jealousy » reviews
WW2 AU. Insane Russian Commander Ivan Braginski is the terror of his battalion and his enemies alike. He controls the lives of thousands - but it is the memory of one that controls his own. Tie-in to 'Lily of the Lamplight.'
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3,077 - Reviews: 80 - Published: 11-29-12 - Russia & China
5. The Tiger and the Dragon » reviews
Human AU. Awkward, average chef Yao Wang is sick of being thought of as boring and predictable. When he meets the enigmatic and slightly unnerving Ivan Braginski, Yao is immediately captivated. As he falls deeper it becomes apparent just how dangerous Ivan really is… but Ivan is just as smitten, and Yao may be too in love to care about the consequences…
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama - Chapters: 4 - Words: 12,967 - Reviews: 155 - Updated: 11-15-12 - Published: 8-25-12 - Russia & China
6. My Echo » reviews
WW2 AU. Captain Vash Zwingli is a soldier in someone else's war; a man mad enough to lead where others will not. He treads a fine line between life and death, between sanity and madness, in a constant battle to forget. But when Vash's past confronts him in the worst place on earth, will it finally tip him over the edge – or give him a chance for redemption? Unrequited SwissAus.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,378 - Reviews: 73 - Published: 11-15-12 - Switzerland
7. La Patisserie de la Rose » reviews
AU. Accountant Matthew Williams is used to being unnoticed, ignored, and forgotten. That is until pastry chef Francis Bonnefoy appears like a burst of colour in his dull, grey life. Gift fic for TCTBS.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance - Chapters: 6 - Words: 35,111 - Reviews: 573 - Updated: 10-10-12 - Published: 12-9-11 - France & Canada - Complete
8. Catch Perfect » reviews
AU. When Berwald loses everything he is forced to move into a share house with an insane Dane, a sociopathic Norwegian, an unfathomable Icelander and a perfect Finn who makes it all worth putting up with.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 8 - Words: 36,538 - Reviews: 582 - Updated: 9-22-12 - Published: 10-10-10 - Sweden & Finland
9. Blue, White, Red » reviews
Human AU. 1777; The American Revolutionary War. Three times, American rebel Alfred Jones meets British soldier Arthur Kirkland. One blue; one white; one red.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 3 - Words: 5,981 - Reviews: 369 - Updated: 9-20-12 - Published: 8-26-12 - America & England/Britain - Complete
10. Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart » reviews
WW2 AU. Feliciano Vargas is a passionate, if slightly scared, Italian resistance member. Falling in love with a German fighter pilot was the last thing he expected... and it will test his national loyalty, and his heart, to their limits.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 18 - Words: 104,322 - Reviews: 3246 - Updated: 8-11-12 - Published: 12-18-10 - Germany & N. Italy - Complete
11. Keep Smiling Through » reviews
'We'll Meet Again' mini-sequel. Keep smiling through, just like you always do; 'til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away! USUK
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: K - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,376 - Reviews: 172 - Published: 6-28-12 - America & England/Britain - Complete
12. Bésame Mucho » reviews
WW2 AU. Lovino Vargas only ever wanted something exciting to happen in his boring, everyday Italian village existence. He never expected war, Resistance, love, passion, treason, or a cheerful, confusing, irritatingly attractive Spanish freedom fighter.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 5 - Words: 39,037 - Reviews: 817 - Updated: 5-30-12 - Published: 8-1-11 - Spain & S. Italy/Romano
13. Of Ponies and Edelweiss » reviews
Gilbert Beilschmidt is not, generally speaking, a romantic man. Which makes his behaviour this particular Valentine's Day a little odd for Roderich to understand… Gift fic for TCTBS; spin-off of 'La Patisserie de la Rose.'
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,143 - Reviews: 130 - Published: 2-14-12 - Prussia & Austria - Complete
14. Sleep, Little Bird » reviews
Human AU. Tino, Berwald and Peter are the perfect family. Things like this don't happen to people like them. But when they do, how are they supposed to accept it?
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Family/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,169 - Reviews: 294 - Published: 9-26-11 - Finland & Sweden - Complete
15. Gallipoli » reviews
Gallipoli, April 25, 1915. Australia is a young nation with plenty to prove. And war is where nations prove themselves.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Drama/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,966 - Reviews: 48 - Published: 4-28-11 - Australia - Complete
16. We'll Meet Again » reviews
WW2 AU. London pub owner Arthur Kirkland is driven to distraction by loud, brash American fighter pilot Alfred Jones. Unable to stop it, Arthur finds himself falling for Alfred's charms... just as the pilot is preparing to leave for war.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 13 - Words: 43,415 - Reviews: 1376 - Updated: 1-20-11 - Published: 7-18-10 - America & England/Britain - Complete
17. Stay With You » reviews
Germany lies defeated and alone in the aftermath of the Battle of Berlin... but not everyone has abandoned him.
Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,325 - Reviews: 66 - Published: 5-4-10 - Germany & N. Italy - Complete
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THANK YOU MARVINHERE FOR FINDING THIS!
#George deValier#George devalier profile#George devalier profile transcript#George devalier summaries
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Text
3rd July 2019
Author: Kenyoda
Admin’s Note: Hallo! If you’ve been following the Candid Shoutos series by @ebonyphd, here is a new update! The idea is inspired by @crzangel‘s headcanon here.
Warning: Mild mention of suicide attempt
________________________________________________________________
Suffering for S(omeone)ubscribers
Shouto found Izuku to be one of the most amazing people he had ever met. He still had a hard time believing that Izuku was so enamored with him. He was far from social, had enough baggage to fill a moving van, and far more practical than romantic. But Izuku still told him he loved him every morning, still whispered about how beautiful and sweet Shouto was when they were alone. Still mumbled about how lucky he was.
Honestly, Shouto often felt like he was the lucky one in the relationship. On top of all of Shouto’s internal flaws, he had plenty of external ones as well. He had a huge scar that took up a quarter of his face, and dripped down his chest, throat and back. On top of those, he had gained plenty more scars from training and fighting villains through his time in UA. The stress from everything often left him drained, pale… and his weight was dropping again. He hoped no one noticed.
Izuku though, thrived on the action. He was at his best when he was saving people. Whether it was from a villain, a natural disaster, or simply the fear brought on by a nightmare, Izuku shined. The boy was born to be a hero. Shouto was not. He could admit that now. It wore on him in the worst way. But his boyfriend lived for it.
Izuku’s usual nature made the present situation all the more confusing.
They were currently sitting on Shouto’s futon, the laptop in front of them. A game was pulled up, which they had downloaded for a specific purpose. In the aftermath of their accidental relationship reveal, Shouto figured things would go downhill. But things just kind of continued. Sure there were those that had plenty of negative things to say, his father being the worse, but for the most part it was old news within two weeks. The most surprising thing was the outpouring of support. It was really humbling. There were so many people that were happy for them and wanted to see their relationship succeed. He held that close to his heart for those days that were especially difficult, right next to his love for Izuku.
In order to celebrate the candid_shoutos page getting 5,000 followers, they had polled their subscribers on what they would like to see more of. Videos was the top choice. So, they naturally asked what they would like their first video to be on. And naturally, they wanted him and Izuku to play a horror game together. Shouto had not felt one way or the other about it, and Izuku was always happy that their followers were happy. So, they began looking.
They couldn’t do a long one because PlusInsta only allowed short videos. Finding short games was kind of difficult. However, Kaminari suggested a short one that he claimed was not too scary. It was all of a minute long and not too complicated to play.
So here they were sitting and staring at a black screen with the words Death Trips printed in white block letters. Izuku was staring at the screen like it was going to bite him. They were capturing their gameplay using a game recorder, again thanks to Kaminari, so, Shouto was watching the camera which was showing Izuku’s pale face. He had never seen his boyfriend look so unsettled.
“You know… we can do something else.” Shouto suggested.
“No, no… this is fine.” Izuku said. Though he made no move to start the game. Shouto sighed.
“Clearly it is not fine,” Shouto argued. “You are pale, love, I can see the freckles by your collar.” Izuku finally turned to look at him. His eyes held a little fear, but Shouto also noted the hunched posture. It was not saying afraid so much as frustrated.
“I just— it’s so stupid. It’s nothing, let’s just get this over with,” Izuku said with a huff. Shouto flinched at his gruff manner. It was unusual. Izuku was normally happy to open up to him about anything. So, Shouto was really worried. What should he do? How can he help?
“But, you’re upset?” Shouto tried again. Izuku’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“This so stupid! I’m supposed to be a hero and I am scared of a game. There is nothing that can actually hurt me and yet… I don’t want to do it,” he moaned. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. Shouto blinked. He thought this was out of the blue, but then he remembered that Izuku usually skipped out on the class movie nights when people brought out horror movies. The one time he had been humiliated into staying, he cried through the whole thing.
As Izuku continued to wallow in his self recrimination, Shouto was struggling to find a way to make him feel better. Izuku just always seemed to know what to do or say. Shouto was more likely to make an unintentional joke or make something awkward. He fell back on old habits and decided to be blunt.
“So? You’re a human being, just like everyone else… and everybody is afraid of something.” he said as he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend, pulling him close. Izuku did not push him away, thankfully, instead hugging him back.
“I mean, I know… it’s just so unjustified.” he sighed. Shouto looked back at the screen, thinking back to the movies he had seen with some of his other classmates. In all honesty, Shouto did not get the point of horror movies. A part of him felt disgusted that people paid to see people frightened, distressed, sometimes murdered ruthlessly, or frightened into insanity. Shouto did not find it entertaining, he hardly even remembered them once they were over. The SAW movies had been the final straw for him. It had been exaggerated, sure, but it had hit a nerve for Shouto.
Jigsaw had claimed that he was trying to show people that they really wanted to live, by torturing them until they either had to murder someone else or endure horrific actions to leave. It sounded too close to Endeavor’s reasoning about his “training”. All the pain, scars, phobias, and complexes Shouto had to contend with on a practically daily basis was seen as necessary at best and imagined at worse. Shouto shuddered at the thought. His back burned at the reminder of the lengths his father would go to.
“Fear doesn’t have to be, it just is. Besides anyone can bullshit justification. We both know that,” Shouto darkly. Izuku’s glance went from frustrated to concerned.
“Your dad’s not hurting you again, is he?” Izuku asked, becoming more alarmed by the second.
“Not yet,” he huffed. There was no use in pretending. Both of the people in this room knew about Endeavor. His father had been blowing up his phone. Back to back phone calls when he was not in classes, most of which were left unreturned. This usually ended up with Shouto having to endure an hour long verbal lashing session when he finally was weary enough to answer the phone. The results of said session would last for weeks, resolving itself just in time for him to start up again. But Shouto would take the man’s vitriolic tongue over his flames and fists.
“The bastard better not,” his boyfriend snarled. His face contorting into an angry grimace.
“Calm down, Izuku, he hasn’t been near Musutafu in months. I’m fine,” he insisted. Liar… his brain accused. Izuku gave him an exasperated look. Apparently, Izuku knew it, too.
“Uh huh, but your PTSD is worlds away from my childish monster phobia…” Izuku lamented. Shouto felt himself relax at Izuku’s willingness to move to another topic. This was swiftly followed by frustration and guilt. Even now, Izuku was calming him down, when Shouto was the one that was supposed to helping Izuku!
“Didn’t you hear what I said? Fear is not rational. It just does its job. It’s not like you are freezing up during an attack. You are in the safety of your own room. You can be human here… heaven knows I won’t judge you. I lack Bakugou’s gall, you see.” Shouto joked weakly. Izuku spluttered and dissolved into a fit of laughter. Maybe Kaminari was not joking when he said Shouto was funny.
“I guess… I just… All Might is counting on me to look after Japan in his place and I just don’t know if I’m doing this right…” Izuku sighed, dropping his face into the pillow. Shouto felt for his boyfriend. He understood that kind of pressure too well. That pressure had been sitting on Shouto’s shoulders since the manifestation of his Quirk. While Shouto knew that All Might and Izuku had a relationship that was completely unlike the one between him and his sire, the whole protege thing did not sit well with him at all.
Basically, their meeting was a simple accident. A man who had run into a wall and out of time and a child desperate for a chance. All MIght had basically offered Izuku his dream in exchange for the ability to live his own life. Shouto found himself wondering if Izuku really knew what he had done that day. Even if he didn’t, Shouto knew his boyfriend would not change his decision. Because Izuku was loyal like that. His relationship with Bakugou was telling enough. His father would easily call Izuku foolish for it.
If Shouto were honest, he was only upset for one reason. At some point, whether either of them wanted to or not, Izuku was going to have to choose between Japan or him. There was just no feasible way to do both, at least in Shouto’s mind. It hurt to think about. What made it particularly rankling was that if Izuku had remained Quirkless… few of those people that Izuku would give him up for would have even cared what happened to him. Shouto himself never would have met him, either. He may not have even made it out of his first year.
He had never mentioned to his boyfriend just how low he had been then. He had hit some pretty low points since his first year but he now had friends and Izuku to keep him steady. He had not fallen back to that point in a while. Back then Shouto had hurt from the inside out. He had stopped caring. Yes he sniped and snarled at his father, but they both knew it was impotent… his father had found it irritatingly amusing some of the time. After all, the man had ripped out any real teeth or claws Shouto had a long time ago.
Shouto had been planning to overwhelm his opponents with his ice and take 1st place, then go home and hang himself with the medal. It was a last, desperate ‘fuck you’. Shouto was not stupid, deep down he knew he would never be able to replace All Might… not with ice alone. After all, most people despise winter and pray for spring or summer. Winter and all it brought was constantly used to personify all the things that humanity despised and feared. The sun, Shouto was not. He would have never replaced Japan’s Shining Sun, All Might.
But then, he met his own personal sun in the form of Midoriya Izuku, a boy that would cry at the drop of a hat, his heart too big for his body. Though lately, it had been doing its best to catch up. Shouto loved and hated it. He loved the feeling of being wrapped in Izuku’s strong arms, sheltered from the world and his worries. He hated it for pretty much the same reason. He had grown soft since they had been together. Shouto had stopped seeking safety or kindness long ago. But since Izuku, he had changed, so much so that Shouto could no longer bare to sleep alone.
Another heavy sigh drew Shouto’s attention back to Izuku. Right, he can wallow in his own issues later.
“Look, I know I am no expert, but honestly… there was a reason I singled you out as being related to All Might,” he started. Izuku groaned.
“No! Shouto we have talked about this... “ he complained, a hint of an unwilling smile in his voice. A smile pulled at his own lips in response.
“Let me finish. You constantly remind me of him… you are always smiling. You always leave a room better than when you found it. When you are present, I feel safer… like everything will be ok. You are so genuine in everything that you do, trust me… that is a rarity. And you care… so much…” Shouto said, letting all the words of praise out that he had often left behind his lips out of fear of being seen as insincere. Izuku lifted his head up from the pillow, eyes wide glistening with tears.
“Shouto…” Izuku whispered, his name sounding like a prayer.
“I am sure you are doing just fine.” Shouto said. “You saved Iida… you rescued Bakugou… you saved All Might at the USJ. You have saved countless lives including mine. If that does not qualify as making you a good future hero and symbol of peace… then… I fear for the rest of us,” Shouto said thickly, a lump growing in his throat. Izuku sat up and pulled Shouto into his arms, squeezing him. The warmth of his hug melted the lump in his throat, and it escaped him in the form of tears. He didn’t even know why he was crying. A wave of misery had just rolled over him and he was helpless to stop it.
For a long moment, the two clung to one another and cried. Once his sobs died down to sniffles, Shouto pulled away.
“Sorry, Izu, I don’t know what came over me,” he apologized roughly. Izuku wiped at his own eyes with his wrist.
“I think we both needed that. The accidental reveal… the Sports Festival… training… you and your sperm donor and just stress up to our eyeballs. Something was going to have to give,” Izuku sighed. But he did look better, Shouto’s chest had certainly felt lighter.
“Yeah,” Shouto conceded. They settled back into each other’s arms. After a while, Izuku let him go.
“Thank you for helping me through that, Shouto. It still floors me that you think so much of me,” he said with a chuckle. A small but genuine smile on his face.
“Same,” said Shouto feelingly. Izuku’s smile grew along with a blush on his face.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. Shouto noticed that his boyfriend was still apprehensive but he was no longer pale. Shouto nodded. Izuku gets into a better position and finally clicks
play
. A block of text shows up explaining that the player is a detective hunting a serial killer named Lady Death. The detective has tracked her down to a motel.
The screen lights up to show a simple motel lobby. There were a few paintings to look at but nothing to really interact with, not even a person behind the reception desk. Izuku commented on how strange it was. He mentioned that horror games were usually about the atmosphere, at least according to Kaminari. Shouto snarked about trusting Kaminari as an expert on something. Izuku insisted that Bakugou agreed with him. After that, Shouto did not say anything else.
Izuku finally got tired of stalling and approached the elevator, hunching his shoulders. Shouto realized that he expected to be jump scared. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s midsection, offering reassurance. Izuku turned to him and smiled. Then he pressed the button to go up and waited. The elevator dinged. Izuku stepped on it and squeaked as the doors closed. Shouto squeezed him and Izuku’s unoccupied hand came to rest on Shouto’s.
The doors finally opened to a dark and empty hallway. Izuku whimpered. Instead of moving forward, he sat back both hands squeezing Shouto’s now. Shouto sighed and freed on of his hands from under Izuku’s and continued the game. The moment the character steps out of the elevator the lights in the hallway come one by one, buzzing in a creepy manner. Shouto was more concerned about the fact that Izuku’s hand was squeezing tighter and tighter with each light.
“Uh… Izu, I really mean no offense… but I need my hand,” Shouto finally said. Izuku immediately let go, eking out a weak apology. Thankfully, the final light takes a beat to turn on. When it does it is accompanied by a loud horn riff and the villain at the end of the hallway is illuminated. Izuku shrieked.
“OhnoOhnoOhnoOhnoOhno..! Nonononononononononno!!!!” he cried in terror as the villain, an unfinished model, comes tearing down the hallway towards them. Shouto was pretty much clueless about what to do given the game gave few instructions. Izuku’s panic was starting to rile up his own.
“I don’t know… can we go back…?” he asked, voice trembling vaguely. The model was getting closer and closer.
“I DON’T KNOW!” Izuku squealed, voice shrill with panic. Shouto was preparing to watch the character get slaughtered...
Then the villain tripped.
“Wha…?”
“Huh?” Shouto blinked at the screen as the villain continued to lay still, a vase and the table it had been sitting on the floor next to them. He then turned and blinked at his equally bewildered boyfriend. Izuku blinked back. Shouto looked back at the screen in time to watch it transition to the credits. After the credits, there was a single phrase:
Yeah that was it.
Then it went back to the start screen. Then it hit Shouto.
“Death trips!!!” Shouto howled before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter, snorting and squealing all the while. He hated his laugh no matter how many times Izuku said it was adorable. But there were two things that never failed to get a laugh out of him: puns and slapstick. They were often so unexpected that Shouto almost always laughed. Thus, he became conditioned to laughing at them which only made it worse. This game did both.
“S-shouto… I don’t… wait— pfft!” Izuku snorted before falling into a hysterical heap next to him. They laughed and laughed. Shouto clung to Izuku, moaning in pain but he couldn’t stop. Finally, their giggling faded into breathless wheezing. Once they got a hold of themselves, they turned back to the camera and thanked their followers before promising to do another non-horror related video soon. They saved the video and Izuku promised to edit it soon and post it. They stretched out on Shouto’s futon and happily basked in the peace that had settled over them.
They ended up falling asleep that way.
________________________________________________________________
Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/
#Story#ebonyphd#TodoDeku#365DaysofTodoDeku#TodoDeku365#365 Days of TodoDeku#tddk#Shouto Todoroki#Todoroki Shouto#Izuku Midoriya#Midoriya Izuku#Boku no Hero Academia#BNHA#My Hero Academia#MHA#Todoroki x Midoriya#Shouto x Izuku#TodoIzu
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The Long Hunt Behind
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Paladins: Champions Of The Realm (Video Game)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ash/Tyra (Paladins)
Characters: Ash (Paladins), Tyra (Paladins)
Additional Tags: viktor is mentioned lol, dense lesbians: the fic, Mutual Pining, fun fact: the gesture in this fic is the ASL for lesbian lmao, every mission becomes a date when ur with ur date lmao, Hunting, First Kiss, Special interest talking, (the special interest is hunting), pre-game, Pre-War, sentinels era, Awkwardness, Feelings Realization
Summary:
Over the past year or so, Tyra's crush on Ash has slowly but surely been building up slowly, accumulating to a Magistrate mission of just the two of them to the edge of civilisation. It would be the perfect oppurtunity to profess her love to Ash...if Ash had been picking up the signs. Sadly, it seems that she's only interested in being friends with Tyra, but at least Tyra can spend some time with her long time crush. Although, those feelings were not as unreturned as she assumed.
(Commission for @lumenizampel!)
Click here for AO3 link
word count: 1793
The thing is, Tyra’s used to being the forward one – there’s a small sense of satisfaction when a girl Tyra’s chatting up shyly brushes some hair behind an ear. Though, she hasn’t been flirting anyone else for the previous year or so, just the one, seemingly oblivious, self-titled ‘War Machine’. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, that’s for sure.
She’s done the song and dance: asking out for drinks, trying to get to know Ash better when they had some time together (whether in the barracks or the mess hall or in the presence of others), and laying on as many moves as she could without coming off as creepy.
(A memorable exchange between her and Viktor as it followed:
“You even tried the-?” Viktor held his right hand in an ‘L’ shape, palm facing his chin.
Tyra nodded destitutely.
“...maybe she was raised away from society? How did she not recognise that?”)
But so far, it was met with nothing but polite confusion. It wasn’t Ash’s sign of outright denial, which Tyra would know by the narrowing of her eyes and her twisted scowl. Rather, it was acknowledged with knitted brow, then the moment would pass like it never happened. And as Tyra had mentioned before, this had been going on for the previous year without very little changing, and she doesn’t think its going to change now, when there’s a mission that sends them to the fringes of civilisation with only the two of them.
Normally it would be the Sentinals sent on missions like this, but this had called for a hunter’s touch, for the creature was skittish and more prone to escape capture if there were more than two people at a time. And Ash proved a fearsome powerhouse in case the creature wasn’t skittish at all. Some of the more popular rumours speculated that Ash was more machine than human. Those rumours were also very fond of painting Ash as driven, bossy, and angry.
Although, she seemed content to follow Tyra’s orders the moment they walked deeper into the forest. Hell, even before that she was was more or less sharing the decision-making with Tyra. Tyra’s worked with the War Machine, and she was indeed a ‘War Machine’ (hah) on the battlefield, so this development was slightly weird, but not altogether unwelcome. Besides, it gave Tyra an excuse to keep glancing at Ash’s profile when she wasn’t looking.
“So uh,” Tyra started, because she has no sense of self social preservation. “Nice day for a day, huh?”
Immediately, Tyra wants to kick herself. A nice day for a day? Who the hell says that? People who like to stick their foot into their mouths apparently, which now includes Tyra. But all Ash does is grunt. “Been nice for the last few days too.”
At least Ash was making conversation now. So Tyra fell back onto one of the things she knew well – hunting. “It’s good. It will be easier to track the creature without the rains or winds blowing away any of their tracks.”
Ash looked around. “Dunno. I see a whole lotta nothing from here.”
“There’s signs all around us, clear as anything.” Tyra pointed at where the bush parted. “Something bigger than your average boar came through here. If it was one, then the tusks would’ve left marks on the lower portion of the tree trunks. But look.” Her finger followed the tree to the upper parts. “Scratches. Broken branches. Around Gorlock height too. Even if they’re nasty when angered, Gorlocks are slow creatures when travelling. This one’s most likely a loner looking for a herd to integrate into.”
“Just the one?”
“If there were more, there wouldn’t be much of a village left.”
Ash shook her head, her words brusque, but her tone genuine. “How do you see all of that in this place?”
Compliment or not, Tyra ducked her head in embarrassment, hoping the flush in her cheeks didn’t show too starkly against her face paint. “I just do. Practice. It’s nothing really. Anyway, we’re on the right track. The Gorlock might’ve been resting for a few days already. The window of opportunity narrows.”
“Lead the way Tyra.”
But instead of continuing following the tracks like she was meant to, Tyra paused. “I want to...clear up something, first.”
Ash frowned at her, leaning on her canon. “Is it about the monster?”
“No?”
“…did I make you upset? Was it something I said?”
“What? No! Why would you think that?”
“Dunno. That’s the only reason I can think of.” Ash said, averting her gaze, uncharacteristically passive. A normal Ash would’ve brushed off the question, or even simply answered it with brute honesty, and Tyra was struck by the sudden realisation that Ash was...nervous. Nervous about what? The hunt? Being alone on a mission with Tyra?
“It’s not that either.” Tyra started. “But I thought we should clear the air before we continue. Dissonance in hunting groups can mean the difference between successfully bagging the creature and not returning at all.”
(Viktor would be so proud of her right now, going on about keeping the peace in the pack. She could see his grin even now, in her mind's eye.)
“Sure.”
Tyra took a deep breath. “What are we?”
“Two soldiers on a mission.” Ash answered bluntly, on par.
“Not only that. What do you see in me?”
Silence filled the forest. Even the birds seemed to have stopped in response, as if holding their breath in anticipation as well. Tyra forced her head higher when Ash gazed at her, expression unreadable. Not angry, not mad, just difficult to parse. Ash bit her lower lip in thought. Tyra couldn’t but be drawn to the flash of white teeth. She forced her gaze back up when Ash finally spoke.
“We’re...I don’t have any quarrels with you. I think we get along well. I think you’re nice to me.”
Tyra heart fell. Maybe she had been mistaken this entire time – it wouldn’t be implausible, no, especially with Tyra’s brash view. Maybe she really had been reading too much every time they hung out.
“No-one’s really that nice to me before. It’s good to have a friend.”
And there it was, the f-word (which was not as fun as her other, more favoured f-word). Friend was fine, however. A little of Ash company in a non-romantic sense was just as good, and it was better than none at all. She’ll cherish whatever time they have together, because it was not just anyone, it was Ash-
“Even if that’s all you want me to be.”
Tyra stared at Ash, blinking. Those were not the words of a friend, and they definitely not the words of a soldier strengthened by the bonds made in war. “...are you saying...you thought I was just friendly this entire time? I was hitting on you!”
Ash glanced sharply at her. “Wait. So all that stuff – talking, getting drinks with me, going on missions together – was because you were interested?”
“Yeah, I even did the thing! Y’know, the...hand sign thing.”
“Does that mean anything?”
Oh. Well, at least that explained why Ash didn’t do anything but smile confusedly at Tyra when she did it.
Tyra continued. “That’s not important. What is important is that yes, I was hitting on you because I wanted to be more than friends, but I thought you weren’t interested.”
Now there was definitely a blush on Ash’s face, rivalling the deep red of her dyed hair. “Not many people want to hang out with me in the first place.”
Some of Tyra’s incredulity eased out of her at that admission. That made sense, she guessed, if she had been trying to make moves on someone who never knew those moves existed in the first place. But talking seemed to work faster than all those months of posturing, so Tyra laid a hand on Ash’s shoulder and said, “Well. I’d like to. Maybe over drinks if this hunt goes well.”
(Nailed it.)
“I’d...like that.” Ash answered stiffly. But she wasn’t shaking off the hand, or even grabbing it and using it as leverage to throw Tyra over her shoulder. Small steps, Trya reminded herself. After all, they went from ‘co-worker who I like and get along with but absolutely would like to get to know better’ to ‘I guess we are dating’.
Then Ash’s face shifted into business again. “But we should probably focus on the mission first.” She moved and Tyra’s hand fell from her shoulder – not unkindly, just out of necessity, which Tyra understood. Right. The whole reason why they were here, in the middle of the forest. Tyra readied her rifle again just as Ash picked up her cannon, and the hunter smiled a wild grin at Ash.
“I also have a bit of a tradition; a kiss from a beautiful maiden before a hunt to bring luck.” She tapped her cheek for emphasis.
Judging by the combined glare and return of Ash’s blush, that line was cheesy enough to work. But all bravado disappeared as Ash moved closer. She hurriedly stammered out, “But that’s just a tradition, you don’t have to...”
Ash’s lips silenced the rest of Tyra’s sentence. It was less of a kiss and more of a gentle mash of Ash’s mouth on her own, but it still sent a thrill straight to her stomach. Surprisingly, it was a lot more...more than any kiss she’s ever had in the past. Even if it’s only their lips touching, which Tyra rectified by guiding Ash’s hand onto her own hip, while laying a hand on Ash’s shoulder. Yeah, much better.
Tyra’s lips were still tingling when they parted. “There. For luck.” Ash said. Or Tyra thought she said. She was too busy admiring the honeyed brown of Ash’s eyes, the immaculate precision of her eyeliner. She never had simply been close enough to Ash’s face to see the details until now.
And then Ash was already moving ahead, head bowed slightly, all shy again. But the difference now was that Ash’s dyed hair could hide the rising blush that had spread to the very tip of her ears.
It struck Tyra then, that she knew the difference between an angry storming off Ash, and one who was simply trying to drive away the last of her embarrassment through sheer will alone. Though to be fair, Tyra reflected as she traced her lips with a finger, Ash wasn’t the only one.
So she laughed and called out, “Do you even know where you’re going?” as she jogged after Ash. “The gorlock is in the other direction!”
She normally didn’t take partners hunting on the first date, but she’ll make an exception.
#ashra#Paladins: Champions of the Realm#pcotr#paladins champions of the realm#lumenizampel#ash ( paladins )#tyra ( paladins )#mentioned:#viktor ( paladins )#charwriting
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Happy Fucking New Year
I leave 2018 with another grin on my chin and multiple bodybags under my belt. Don’t worry, one day you will get here and see that it’s not all we crack that shit up to be; Trust me.
But still, it’s nice to have more wins than losses in anything you do.
More champagne and less pain.
More jackpots and less busts.
My life has been progressive for nearly a decade.
Yes, I was once a mess like you, too.
2018 was full of less hate and violence, and much more love.
I’m grateful for all of it, though.
Grateful for the great times, Grateful for the disastrous ones.
I have noticed that our revolutionary conversations have dissipated, tremendously. Don’t think I forgot. We will do what we set out to do. But everything in good time, my dear friend. Everything, in, good, time.
For 2019, I will become even scarcer than I’ve ever been. Take no offense to unanswered texts and unreturned phone calls. I have a baby to raise, and if the reason you need to speak to me isn’t about how that is going to elevate his future and secure it nicely—I want no parts of it.
I want no parts of your dreams because you’ve never asked me about mine.
I want no parts of your plans because you really have none, they are just dreams.. (see previous sentence.)
I want zero parts of your love because that shit is notorious for being temporary, anyway, right?. Tell me I’m lying..
I want nothing to do with your memories because I am a ghost. You have no pictures of me, and that was done for a reason.
I want absolutely nothing to do with your life because I never existed in it.
Can you honestly say that there was ever a ring?
Hopeless romantics love to pretend that no one knows what is going on in their hearts, but that’s bullshit. It’s bullshit because you know, very well, that I have always known what was what, even when I made you believe that I was clueless.
In 2019, I will become a ghost. I will change my settings and surroundings. I will continue to share what I want you to purposely know. I will post temporary stories and delete them when I choose to do so. I don’t follow any fucking rules. I subtly dictate them; always have.
Most of you spend your lifetimes looking for the master—the teacher....
Me?
I spend my time influencing those you have been looking for. In the long run, you’re just walking on the paths I have laid out and decided all the choices to.
And once in a while, I will disappear with no trace only to respawn in some other form. The OG’s following me know. One day, you will get it, too.
—CYRUS PAVEL
#Happy Fucking New Year#NYE#cp'18#cp'19#cyrus pavel#writer#poet#pen names#spilled thoughts#resolution#new year's eve#new years eve
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Blood Botany (Kankuro week #6)
Happy day 6, everyone! Today’s theme was AU, so I wrote you a good hanahaki AU.
This one’s a KankuIno fic, which isn’t normally my pairing of choice, but if you’re dying of flowers it should at least be because of someone who’ll appreciate the flowers.
CWs: Death, gore, body horror, hard angst.
It’s not often Kankuro gets to see her, the flower-shop owner in Konoha, but sometimes she’s in the Hokage’s office, turning in mission details and visiting friends in the spaces between his boring hours watching Gaara negotiate deals. There will be a little flicker of white-blonde hair, a flash of purple (a richer, more vibrant shade than what he can make from desert plants), a high and clear laugh echoing down the halls, and that’s all it takes to make his knees weak.
He coughs and feels cactus spines in his chest. When he breathes, the thorns touch his lungs; when he exhales fully, there’s the painful outline of a cactus leaf, just behind his heart.
Back when he was a child, he heard rumors of a disease--maybe a curse--that plagued the people of Suna for generations on end. Those with love unreturned grew flowers in their chests, cultivating rare and precious plant life in exchange for their own. They laughed, those boys with no worries, over their little snake puppets and made up names; fynbos-hearts, cactus breath, living-stone-lungs, until the village elders scattered their play and brought in the lectures.
To love and grow flowers is honorable, they said. The bodies of the loveless become gardens, become sustenance for the village. From their love we live another day.
It’s not honorable at all, Kankuro thinks, holed up in his ambassadorial quarters and coughing great splatters of blood, picking needles out of his molars. Nothing’s honorable about tasting prickly pear on your tongue all day. The beautiful yellow flowers aren’t a consolation.
--
“Again?” Ino says. “So who’s the special lady?”
She wraps up the bundle of pansies, tying their delicate paper wrapping off with a length of ribbon. It’s the same she uses every time, but Kankuro can’t remember if he’s ever seen it on any other bouquet that leaves the shop--is it just for him?
That’s too much to hope, he decides. She’s married, after all.
And in any event, thinking about it makes the cactus leaves press against his chest.
“A gentleman never tells his secrets,” he remarks. A hand folds itself into his shirtfront--it looks casual, masculine, relaxed, but the fingertips check for the telltale signs of fruits pressing his skin away from the bottoms of his lungs. “Sorry to disappoint.”
She giggles. It’s a million bells, doves, everything romantic Kankuro can think of. He hopes there’s no blood in his mouth; she’ll notice that, even if the people of Konoha don’t grow plants in their lungs when they can’t have the person they want most. “Not a problem. I shouldn’t be poking around in your personal life, anyway.”
“Speaking of. How’s Sai doing?” Kankuro accepts the bouquet with his free hand, shifts it so that the peak of the paper covers his mouth.
And damnit, Sai is still his friend, unfortunately. He’s got to ask after the man every now and again, even if the way Ino talks about him makes him sick to his stomach, makes his face feel cold and his feet feel heavy.
The shopkeeper looks gracefully at her ledger and enters the figures, tapping her fingers along an old-fashioned abacus to convert his Sunan cash into Konoha’s. “He’s wonderful, as always,” she sighs. Sharp points dig into Kankuro’s jaw. “Just last week he finished a new painting for me; you should have seen the colors, Kankuro. It’s a masterpiece. Really, painters are such geniuses.”
He thinks about a paint set that he tried his hand at months ago, the scrolls of brush control exercises and rolled-up canvases where he attempted to paint the outlines of his hands and the setting sun. It pales in comparison to Sai’s work--maybe Sunan hands are only meant to build, to mimic life rather than add to it. “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he responds. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m… running late.”
Ino looks after him as he leaves the shop, but not for long. There are, and have always been, more important things for her.
--
The cactus flowers come to him late at night and early in the morning, when he has time to think about things other than work. He wakes up with yellow flowers, bile-soaked, and thorns on his pillow. Sometimes there’s even entire pads. He learns how to sleep shorter, how to keep from dreaming about Ino.
But in the curve of the dying sun he sees the arch of her eyes, and the delicate feathers of sacred ibises flutter to the ground like her hair dances in the wind. There’s beautiful moments, midday and stolen, when he thinks of her because there’s nothing else comparable that he can think of. His workbench in the city puppetry studio hides a basin where he stores cactus clippings until he can work up the courage to throw them out.
One night he looks down at a rich green pad, dappled red with blood and topped with a somehow-perfect yellow flower. It’s survived, though his throat hasn’t. He knows he won’t be able to eat today, tomorrow, the next day.
But it’s beautiful in its own way, and he hates it for that.
He whistles for a messenger hawk and sends the cactus clipping off in a small clay pot with a note tucked alongside. “Saw it at the market,” he lies. “Thought you might appreciate it.”
--
“You look more and more gaunt every time I see you,” she says. The cactus sits on her counter right next to the abacus; he almost vomits, and the back of his mouth tastes like acidic pulp. “Is something wrong?”
It takes all his training to not scream. Yes, something’s wrong. I’m growing a plant inside my chest and every time I see you it grows a little bit more, but I can’t stop visiting this shop.
But he’s an actor, and the show must go on, so he smiles that winning smile he inherited from Mom and gently places a hand over his mouth so she won’t see the spines that peek from his throat. “I keep forgetting to eat, that’s all. Busy, busy.”
He passes Sai on the way out the door but can’t bring himself to do more than wave.
--
There are ribcages buried in the loose sand of the city’s Memorial Greenhouse. Prickly pears, dragon blood trees, proteas and aloes all grow out of human bones. Their leaves lean heavy to the ground with medals and banners and ceremonial drapes, bestowed twice a year by crowds of religious folk. Stems, flowers, stalks are snapped off for poisons and antidotes and food.
What garbage, Kankuro thinks. There’s nothing glamorous about a cactus that breaks through a ribcage.
He points out an empty spot to the curator. She nods her veiled head and makes a mark on her chart. It’s his, free of charge, and thanks for the contribution.
--
The doctor said there would come a day when the damage is irreversible. He supposes she’s right, because as he sits up, eyes blurry from sleep, he feels his lung collapse onto the leaves of the cactus. The membrane clings to the spiny outline and he gasps as if more air will reinflate it.
He knows better. The puncture wounds won’t heal with the aggressor still in his body. It’s a reminder far worse than the flowers.
Can a shinobi still be a shinobi when he can’t breathe?
--
Kankuro invests in looser shirts when he looks in the mirror to see the outline of a cactus in his ribs. Spines press through his skin, dive between the ribs and disrupt the muscles of his chest, threatening to bring infection.
He stops recognizing his hands. Whose are they? Whose is this body? Does it belong to a man, or is it a piece of dying hide stretched over a thriving plant?
He always recognizes the colors of Ino. The blue of her eyes in the shallow pool of water in the courtyard. The pale of her hair in the finest sands. The purple of her skirts in the potted plant she sent him: get well soon, signed the Yamanaka family.
--
Gaara won’t sign off on his missions anymore. There’s a certain pain in his eyes, not quite equal to the one in Kankuro’s, but a rival, that appears when some visitor to his office waxes poetic about the holy duty of the unrequited lovers.
Plants can be grown without dead bodies, he wants to say, but time and tradition are too much to push back against. He’s fought enough social norms.
Besides, Kankuro tells him, it’s too late anyway.
--
A letter appears every day, delivered by a dutiful hawk.
“How are you?” asks the first one. Signed, Ino and Sai. On the back, a picture of little Inojin playing with a baby shower present, a little mannequin holding a bouquet of wire flowers.
“We’re all worried for you here in Konoha. Get well soon,” proclaims the second. In a corner there’s signs and little pleasantries from flower shop visitors. Sakura, Tenten, Choji. Temari sends her own letters.
He writes his responses, slower and slower, more and more evasive, and leaves them on the window sill for the hawk to return.
The last letter, the one that makes up for years of sleepless nights and open weeping under desert skies, lies abandoned on the desk. Kankuro can’t bring himself to move it to the window.
--
In the winter, letters from Konoha pile up on a window sill. A hawk flies into town early every morning and flies back out in the evening, claws empty.
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The Psychology of Ghosting and Why People Can’t Stop Doing It
http://fashion-trendin.com/the-psychology-of-ghosting-and-why-people-cant-stop-doing-it/
The Psychology of Ghosting and Why People Can’t Stop Doing It
My ghost is named Tom.
He’s persistent, this ghost. He likes haunting my dreams, catching me off-guard in the milk-sweet land of sleep, slipping into my unconscious and rattling the cage of my brain. I dream he’s back in my life, unapologetic and unreformed, still cheating and gaslighting and drinking too much. In these dreams, I am still desperate for answers, asking him over and over why he vanished, why he gave up his flesh-and-blood self and became this ghost that — even after seven years, three new cities, countless dates and the love of a good man, the best I’ve ever known — I still can’t shake.
Ghosting (the term we’ve assigned to the sudden disappearance of a romantic interest) has become synonymous with modern romance: A 2016 Plenty of Fish survey revealed 78% of users had been ghosted. When I did my own Insta-investigation, I received dozens of responses, ranging from righteous indignation to extreme chill. “Rude but inescapable” seems to be the general agreement among those I spoke to about ghosting in the age of online dating.
It’s not that the dating “slow fade” is new (one girl told me she had a friend in high school who called it “two-weeking”: After hooking up with a girl, he’d ignore her entirely for two weeks — just long enough, he said, for her to get the picture), but technology has shifted the landscape by presenting a version of the world that feels both impossibly small and intoxicatingly large. One unreturned letter in the 1800s and you could warm yourself at night with the strong odds that he perished of scurvy; now, we’re able to see our ghosts out in the world, eating brunch, Instagram Story-ing the weird bird they saw on the walk to work. Combine that with the inherent dehumanization of online dating, in which complex individuals are reduced to swipeable avatars, and what we’ve created is a flourishing breeding ground for people for whom honest, direct communication feels not only unpalatable but unnecessary.
F. Diane Barth, a New York-based psychotherapist and the author of the new book I Know How You Feel: The Joy and Heartbreak of Friendship in Women’s Lives, says that while ghosting as we understand it isn’t new, the way we have pathologized it is. “In the past, a person could stop calling or dropping by,” she says, “but now we have so many more ways of disconnecting from a person, like being unfriended or unfollowed.” Online dating also provides the comfort blanket of partial anonymity: There likely aren’t mutual friends to call you out on your callous behavior, nor shared physical spaces that force interaction. “Our communities are larger now,” says Barth, “so it’s entirely possible you might never, ever run into them again.”
The Anatomy of the Ghosted
Modern ghosting can impart a distinct and isolating feeling of shame for those who experience it. “People who have been ghosted often feel that they are the person who has done something wrong,” says Barth. “You’ve been dropped off the edge of the earth, which is very traumatic. You don’t think about how many other people this has happened to, but rather that there must be something wrong with you.”
Barth notes that shame is the brain’s natural reaction when “something or someone interrupts us in the middle of doing something we are enjoying.” Our natural instinct is to “undo the situation” so we can get back to that feeling of happiness. When we can’t — when we are, in fact, cut off completely from the source of the good feeling — we look for ways to explain away the bad feelings: She didn’t want to commit, he didn’t like my laugh. “No matter how you explain it to yourself, though,” writes Barth, “your psyche is trying to undo the sense of disruption of the good feelings. Shame is a reaction to having a circuit in your emotional system broken.”
Am I not funny? Do people not get my jokes?
It’s a very particular wound and one that is becoming inescapably familiar. Former online dater and ghostee Kelsey says her primary reaction to being ghosted was the feeling that she must be the problem. “We’re obsessed with fine-tuning and laboring over our superficial appearances (both in-person and online),” she says. “So when we’re ghosted, I think we often jump to trying to figure out what in that outer shell wasn’t well-received, and we let that disapproval soak into our inner layers that define us. We cycle through our insecurities. … Oh shit, did he not think that was funny? Am I not funny? Do people not get my jokes? Oh crap, is that what I’m giving off?”
The shame is compounded by a feeling of being duped. Alexandra was ghosted by a guy she’d been dating for a few weeks. “On our first date, we talked for six hours straight and ended it in a moonlit make-out,” she says. “He talked about cooking together after we had sex in my kitchen. We went on mini field trips — to the beach! to the cliffs! — and had after-work check-ins where he’d call me on his way home to hear about my day. And then, one day, he went from telling me he was addicted to me to only speaking if spoken to. He would weasel out of committing to a plan. He would hit me with a ‘Hey!’ on the Sunday evening of a weekend where he’d assured me he would be seeing me.”
Eventually, she says, she’d had enough. “I told him I was an adult and needed planning, that I couldn’t just keep my schedule endlessly open for him on the off chance he was free. He apologized, promised he’d do better, promised we’d see each other with more regularity. But it dwindled until our interactions were reduced to him watching my Insta Stories while I was halfway across the world on a hiking trip.”
She’s now happily cohabitating with someone else but still has trouble shaking the experience. “I think he was dishonest about how he felt about me, which made me feel like a fool. And yet he didn’t have the strength to just tell me.”
The Anatomy of the Ghoster
To state the obvious: It’s rude, plain and simple, to fail to consider another person’s feelings. We’re talking preschool lessons, the golden rule. We all learned this. So why do the ghosts ghost?
“For me, the motivation was rooted in a strong aversion to being honest about my emotions, usually for fear of hurting feelings,” says Andy, reforming ghoster. “I found that it was easier to let silence do the talking than force myself to utter, ‘I had a nice time, but I don’t feel a connection’ or whatever you’re supposed to say.”
Others, like the man I have decided to spend my life with, are less apologetic. “It was the path of least resistance,” he says. “It was often because I’ve met someone else [Author’s note: It me.], and I’m just anticipating that awkward conversation and want to avoid it. When it’s someone you haven’t been dating long or you’ve been casual with, I think that there is this emerging establishment of a new norm, which is just — that’s now the way we break up with people. I do think that it’s kinder than telling someone you’re not interested in them or that you met someone better.”
He’s not alone in this; numerous people I spoke to said that in our dating universe, ghosting is both acceptable and even considerate. “It’s almost polite if the relationship was casual enough,” says Aubrey, a former ghoster and ghostee (now married). “There is something humiliating and patronizing in a dude I’ve gone out with twice ‘breaking up’ with me.”
Ghosting seems like a cop-out for people to avoid adult conversations.
Andy, turning over his new leaf, says he gives himself a pep talk before communicating his emotions to keep himself from ghosting. “The question I ask myself when the situation arises is: What’s the absolute worst thing that can happen after telling someone you don’t want to go out again? Maybe they’d be like ‘Fuck you!! You’re a sad pathetic loser! Boy bye.’ I can live with that.”
Barth agrees that some explanation is (almost) always better than none at all. “People say they ghost because ‘they didn’t want to hurt feelings.’ And yes, people who are broken up with directly will likely experience some hurt, but the thing about ghosting is that there’s no closure.” Ghosting, she says, leaves the person who was ghosted with the humiliating impression that whatever relationship they believed existed was all in their head, that they were not worth so much as a farewell text.
Julia, happily single and dating, made it a practice to always offer an explanation after a blind date called her out at a party six months later for not responding to her texts. “I had to sneak out of the party because she wouldn’t drop it,” she says. “I have a hard rule now that I always send a text to say if I don’t want to hang again. It’s awkward, but it saves the drama.”
When I was first dating in New York, I found myself making up excuses and dodging calls to avoid telling guys I didn’t want to see them again. At the time, I was terrified of seeming rude or unlikable, and the attention I received (whether wanted or not) felt like an affirmation that I was worthy and wouldn’t be alone forever. Eventually, the stress of trying to be likable while simultaneously dodging contact became absurd. A few friends and I collaborated on a standard text we’d send when we didn’t want to see someone again (please feel free to borrow, copyright not necessary, works for all genders, just trying to do the lord’s work): “Thanks for a great night! I didn’t feel any romantic energy between us, but I wish you all the best out there.”
Some (again, I’m MARRYING this man) argue that silence is, in fact, an answer of its own. “If you text someone once, twice, and they don’t respond — I mean, that is a response. That speaks very loudly. You just don’t want to hear it.”
The Anatomy of Closure
But the problem with silence is that it leaves a deep, dark hole — one it is all too easy to fill with a foggy combination of insecurity, self-loathing and confusion.
Lauren was platonically ghosted by someone she considered one of her closest friends. “I literally did almost everything with her,” she tells me. “And then one day, she just quit calling and texting and responding to me. And then she unfollowed me on all social. … It was heartbreaking.” There were signs, in hindsight, that this woman had a callous streak; still, Lauren said, she’s unable to come up with any explanation for her behavior, and years later, it still feels like a betrayal. “I feel like I’m a pretty nice and reasonable person, so if something were wrong, I feel as though she should have discussed it with me,” she said. “Ghosting seems like a cop-out for people to avoid adult conversations.”
In the absence of closure, what we are left with is a bewildering array of questions — questions that, it’s important to remember, might never be answered even if the relationship had ended on our own terms. “Relationships are always two-sided, and we can’t know everything that is going on in the other person,” reminds Barth. “If you’ve asked for closure and they haven’t been able to provide it, you’re going to stay stuck if you keep asking. You need to give up the idea that it can be solved.”
Barth recommends talking openly to friends about your experience. “Keeping [ghosting] to yourself increases the feeling of hurt and pain and isolation,” she says. “The more you can talk about it, the more you can get feedback that will help you process it.” Building this support system can also remind you of all the connections you do have: strong, beautiful friendships, a loving family, coworkers who respect you — relationships that rely not on superficialities, but on another person seeing you fully and embracing who you really are. “You need to work really hard to remember that it isn’t about you,” says Barth. “The reason that someone [ghosted] — it’s their difficulty in having to be honest.”
After multiple ghostings through online dating, Kelsey deleted her apps. Getting over being ghosted was going to require a new outlook, she realized. “It took some time and a lot of distraction, but I was finally able to ask myself the underlying question — why were these strangers making me feel bad about myself? Why was I giving up my sense of worth as a companion entirely to this pool of bachelors? Why was my vulnerability extending to all aspects of self, instead of just limiting it to what it actually was — the viability of compatibility with this particular individual?”
When she did start dating again, she says, it felt completely different. “I wasn’t checking the app constantly. I wasn’t eager to swipe and double-tap and labor over the wittiest retort. I didn’t feel the need to calculate the perfect time between responses and, most importantly, I didn’t fill the idle time with all of the reasons I had come to believe he thought I wasn’t worth it. I went out on dates and gave myself one rule of my own — hang out with guys if it sounds fun, and if it doesn’t sound fun, then don’t.”
And when she wasn’t interested? “I would tough it up and politely decline a follow-up date,” she says. “I did that both in-person and over texts, and both are uncomfortable but important. And every guy I did that to replied with appreciation and understanding.”
My ghost and I dated for eight years, and then we didn’t. Tom stopped coming home at night, stopped answering the phone and moved all of his belongings out of our apartment while I was out of town. It wasn’t as linear as all that, of course — he’d call crying or show up unexpectedly and then disappear again over the course of a few months — but when he finally did leave for good, when I found out he had been sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend, the closest I ever got to an explanation was, “I just can’t do this anymore.”
He’s still out there — married, balding, in the city where I left him — but we haven’t spoken since. I do not imagine he ever thinks of me. I hate that I am the one left with these questions, although maybe what I am really left with is simply my own obstinate feeling that I was owed more than what I got. I have filled the space he left behind with narratives I wrote to suit my own purposes, but the truth is, humans are just bad sometimes. We do bad things — things we said we’d never do. Sometimes, the simplest, kindest thing you can do is try to explain why.
Illustrations by Gabrielle Lamontagne.
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