Hey brats, I decided it was high time to organize my favorite AOT fics into categories so I can find them easily - kind of like how Levi probably organizes his cravats. First up:
Top 25 of All Time (in alphabetical order):
Ace by Karumen
Ackerman’s Tea Shop by crinklefries
Again by Cherry
Corps-a-Corps by onthearrow
HMS Maria by Anteros
I Will Return Once More by Kanthia
Irascible by bigasstrees, rivai-lution
Listening by LunaticRay
Listing by 35g
lovely by dawnstruck
Natur geht von Lehre by Meaka
Policy of Truth by Azurehue22
Sing Vote by 35g, Misaya
Slippery When Wet by AJSbarcea
Striking Deals by Saurynn
Sugar by imawawlock
The Companion by everythingsshiny
The Laws of Survival by pasiphile
The Means by calacreda
The Program by TheRealHero
Things Fall Apart by Origin_Of_Symmetry
Touche de Désir by Shipping Eruri, TheHeartofStories
im back (and also caught up with Killing Stalking)
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"Relax," Sangwoo commands, hefting up his weight like it's nothing, like he's nothing, and depositing him on a swivel stool in front of the kitchen sink. To contain the mess, Yoonbum thinks, and he almost wants to laugh. Sangwoo's nothing if not practical, really. Behind him, he can hear Sangwoo rummaging in one of the kitchen cabinets he cannot reach. Cloth rustles, and in the next moment, he's being draped with
strangled with
the stifling weight of a rust-stained black sheet around his neck.
"You might even enjoy it," Sangwoo muses, ruffling his hands through Yoonbum's hair, which really has gotten long, now that he can feel it slipping through someone else's fingers. "Don't worry. I won't take off too much. Just enough, so that you don't look like a girl." The last part's scornful, almost hateful, and Yoonbum bites back his admittance that he thinks he will enjoy it, and that's the problem. He's afraid he will, afraid that the carefully cultivated distaste for Sangwoo he's been nurturing inside him like wild seeds will eventually blossom into something hideously beautiful.
He spins the stool around so quickly that Yoonbum's head whirls, and for half a second he feels like he's going to be sick. The curry they had for dinner makes his stomach clutch tightly, violently, and he closes his eyes tightly against the buzzing dim fluorescence of the kitchen lights and tries to think of relaxing thinks. The smell of the rain after a dusty season, multicolored plastic fish floating in a pink tub at a festival stall, warm sunlight and elevator music and the afterglow of a tall can of premixed vending machine coffee.
Concept: In order to document and analyze the emotional undercurrent accompanying any life experience, the US government has mandated a cranial nanochip to be implanted at birth. Libraries start to incorporate digital archives available for checking out, so others can “live” and “copy” experiences they normally might not have been able to.
The Afterglow - John Frusciante and Josh Klinghoffer
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it was 2112, a real palindrome of a year, but if it ended this moment, this very second, the twelve months wouldn’t be bookended with sprays of blood.
January ninth had been a high school shooting, and Grant himself had overseen the transfer of the nanochip’s contents into the Western Sun Valley Digital Archive, restricted access only. The man’s - oh, who was he kidding, really - the boy’s - face stared blankly, sullenly out from screens and monitors and billboards, and Grant thought he might have the image burned into his mind forever. There had been nothing on the analytic printout to show that there had been any sort of emotional disturbance, and that was quite possibly the most disturbing thing of all.
A nail gun, of all things. A nail gun, determination, and the benefit of long summers practicing shooting tin cans off stumps in the backyard of his parents’ cabin in the woods.
Grant had, admittedly, taken a dip into the nanochip himself. Just to see, just to appease his sense of morbid curiosity. The images flashed across his retinas in the darkened silence of the restricted archives, and he watched with growing horror as Jason Bennett emptied silver into a classmate’s face. There was a thrum of deepest satisfaction accompanying the clips, and Grant had to turn it off, nauseated.
But it was December 31st, a quiet New Year’s Eve, and Jason Bennett and his murderous rampage had long since become yesterday’s news. Grant was busy helping the last-minute browsers, trying to hurry them towards the check-out queues near the front of the library, stopping for a moment to answer a question about what digital clips might be best for trying to get someone over their fear of airplanes.
Six-thirty came, the evening growing long and dark outside, and Grant bitterly wished that he’d assigned more volunteers to work the shift with him. But he’d always been too nice, people always said, always willing to take on more work if it meant others could enjoy themselves. Maybe he’d make a New Year’s resolution not to do that so much, then.
He shooed the last patron out the double doors, locking them quickly behind their retreating back before slumping back against the chilly glass with a satisfied sigh. That had been relatively uneventful, then, and all that was left was to -
His thoughts ground to a halt.
The door to the digital archives room was standing ajar, the blue sentry light flickering on and off inside to indicate that the restricted section had been accessed and he needed to close its door. He was quite sure no one had shown the appropriate warrants and passes to access the restricted files that evening, and a cold shiver puddled in the pit of his stomach as he approached the door cautiously.
No one was inside to throw long silhouettes over the door, and the knot in his throat started to loosen a little bit. Maybe he’d just been forgetful, unforgivably forgetful, it had been a long stressful evening to be sure but that was no real excuse -
The Western Sun Valley Library’s digital archive was horribly understocked, and he identified what was missing almost immediately, his heart skipping a beat and his mouth going dry even as a clammy sweat started to chill him to the bone.
Jason Bennett’s archive was missing, and somewhere behind him, a softly playing television indicated that there was Breaking News, This Just In, Unidentified Man Holding Civilians Hostage.
Concept: It’s been years since radiation blanketed the earth’s surface; the people that escaped into the mountaintops receive an unexpected visit.
VEE - World Is Yours
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Aiden was one of the first to never have seen the ground. His parents had told him tales about it, his mother’s lips dry and chapped, the words rattling from her mouth as her lungs still struggled to pull in the air that he’d been breathing forever. They talked about how, ages ago, people forgot that they could be dangerous, and things called nuclear weapons detonated and coated the ground with poison clouds.
The clouds yards below him were puffy and white and pure-looking, and he could hardly believe that what his parents were saying was true. The sparse grass and plants that grew here were a green so vibrant it nearly ached to look at, and the sun glistened and bounced off the half-melted patches of snow and ice in the shadows of the caves’ mouths.
“You could never hope to understand,” his mother finished, and Aiden looked away quickly, sure he’d seen a tear forming in the corner of her eye.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” his father added, coughing and rubbing worriedly at the sickly red sore that’s starting to form on the inside of his forearm. “It can take years to develop, sometimes, but I think you’ll be in the clear.” His father shot his mother a warning glance, and Aiden took it as his cue to leave.
The sun was high in the sky, and the ring of clouds that blanketed the rock beneath the mountain village looked like the waves of the sea, something Aiden thought was just another of the grown-ups’ made up make-believes. His mother had told him sometimes creatures had leapt out of the waves, following the boats people had made to cross the water.
It seemed far too good to be true, but even as he watched, one of the clouds a few miles off swelled upwards, a patch of dark green curve bursting through the white. It rose, rose, rose some more, an inverted water drop with a tip of blue flame beneath it, faint strings trailing below its lips to something that was still beneath the clouds.
His mother came out, squinting her eyes against the bright light, her mouth open to ask him why his water buckets were still empty when she’d asked him to fill them almost ten minutes ago.
Aiden’s quick excuses were cut off by her sharp gasp.
“What is it?” he asked, belatedly realizing that perhaps the strange creature was dangerous.
“They’ve come,” she murmured, shading her eyes against the glare as she looked to where more of the clouds were starting to swell, starting to burst open in downy puffs.
“Who has?” Aiden demanded, tugging at her sleeve. She shook him off roughly.
“The other survivors. The ones who lived on the ground,” she muttered brusquely, even as the other villagers’ noise and the clatter of wooden weapons started to drown her out. “They’ve run out of resources.”
“Can’t we help them?” he asked, with a frown. “They’re like us.”
“No,” she replied, firmly. “They’re not. Look.” His gaze followed her finger, pointing at the flimsy baskets that had started to break free of the cloud cover. The people inside scurried about, looking for all the world like ants with their dark clothing and gas masks. “They’re already sick, and we can’t let them come here and infect everyone else.”
Aiden was thinking of other protests when the first flame-tipped staves were launched. They left trails of blue grey smoke over his head as they whistled towards the dark green masses, ripping into their insides. One exploded, the canvas sighing and slumping over as the flimsy wires snapped and the ant people disappeared into the clouds again.
You grow old slowly, so slowly you wonder if you’re aging, until one morning you wake up and an old man stares back at you from the mirror.
Your wife goes first, sighing away quietly in a hospital bed, her thin and liver-spotted hand placed gently between yours. You don’t cry, not much; it’s been a full life with her, and you wait patiently for death to come and place you in a box right next to hers in the cool, dark soil.
One month passes. Two. The leaves fall, bud, and fall again, and still you wait.
Your hands grow shaky, your bones start protesting more than they ever have. Your vision grows dim and cloudy with cataracts, and milky pale silhouettes flit across your pupils. Every passing day makes them more tangible, and sometimes they pause at the corners of your vision. The heavy weight of someone watching you never fully seems to go away.
It’s November, maybe. The sky is grey outside, and the air smells like rain. She loved the rain, you remember wistfully, and you can almost hear her saying she misses it, too.
“I do, really.”
You start, your back wrenching in pain, and turn to find your wife sitting next to you, pale and smoky and just as beautiful as you remember.
“Ready?” she asks you, and, slowly, tentatively, your hand inches across the seat towards hers. Her fingers are warm and solid in your grasp, and your vision clears.
Summary: After receiving tragic news, a businessman in an international airport travels back in the past until time catches up with him.
Word Count: 3,679
Warnings: Death, alcohol
David received the call at half past three in the morning. Narita International Airport was all but deserted, his only company the lonely grumbles as drinks shifted inside the vending machines and the sleepy yawns of clerks at the terminal desks. His flight to LAX had been delayed slightly, something about a bit of heavy turbulence somewhere over the Pacific.
His few fellow passengers had fallen asleep in various positions in the terminal, curled up on uncomfortable seats, their heads drooping on the shoulders of strangers next to them. Somewhere down the hall, a child cried, complaining about why he'd had to get up so early when the plane wasn't even there yet. David shifted uncomfortably in his seat and silently agreed.
His phone vibrated harshly against his leg, and he hastily dug into his pocket to swipe it open before it could ring shrilly.
"Hello," he said, keeping his voice low as he grabbed his duffel bag and meandered out into the bright fluorescent buzz of the main terminal. There were more people here, the low buzz of several languages competing with the harsh clicks of high heels on waxed tile. "David Wood speaking."
"Yes, Mr. Wood, this is Dr. Bharati." The doctor's voice buzzed faintly, fighting through the telephone wires. David frowned. The name wasn't familiar to him, not in the slightest.
"Dr. Bharati," he repeated, making sure he'd gotten the man's name right. He assented. "May I ask what this is concerning?"
"It is concerning your wife, sir." The doctor's voice had gotten lower, gentler, probably in an attempt to be more soothing. The only thing David felt was a flare of irritation.
He'd spent hours, days, weeks, trying to forget about Sarah. Had deliberately signed on for the trip to the corporate offices in Japan, ignoring the frowns and sideways glances from his boss and the rest of the higher-ups.
What it had boiled down to was, simply, a conflict of interests. After pushing him to pop the question and the flurried, torrid affair of their wedding, Sarah had suddenly grown distant, had pulled away from him until the bare inches of mattress stretched like a wasteland between the two of them.
He remembered it clearly in the silence of the airport, no voices and loud noises to distract him.
"Sorry. I think this might have been a mistake."
She hadn't even looked remotely apologetic, had dropped the words on him like she was discussing the weather.
But Dr. Bharati was talking again, and David forced himself to listen, studying a large advertisement for some sort of energy drink.
"I regret to say that your wife has passed."
David nearly dropped his phone. The girl in the energy drink advertisement's smile stretched ten feet wide, mocking, her dull dead eyes glaring down at him.
"Sorry, what?" he asked, his heartbeat like crashing waves in his ears. "I think I must have misheard."
Dr. Bharati repeated himself. "I regret to say that your wife has passed. My deepest apologies, Mr. Wood."
David leaned heavily against the wall, the cool tile chilly through the thin jacket he was wearing. Unshed tears blurred his vision, turning the harsh fluorescent lights into a cascade of champagne bubbles. He gripped his phone tighter, pressed it to his ear harder as he slumped down to the floor.
"How?" he wanted to know, covering his eyes with his free hand and trying to take deep breaths through his nose.
He could tell the doctor was struggling, fumbling with his words. Maybe he was new. Maybe the surgeon, or whoever, had forced the bitter task on him. David was more than willing to be sympathetic.
"You can just tell me," he mumbled, his voice starting to grow thick. "Please. It'll be better that way. And no medical jargon, hear? I just want the facts."
"Just the facts, then." Dr. Bharati sounded a tiny bit relieved. "Your wife hemorrhaged." After a short pause, he added helpfully, "Your wife lost too much blood. She was pronounced dead on arrival. I am sorry for your loss."
The doctor sounded genuinely regretful, and the steadiness of his tone helped quiet David's jangling nerves. The urge to scream into the quiet terminal had come and gone.
"Too much blood?" he managed. "Was there an accident?"
Dr. Bharati hesitated again. David was starting to grow impatient, and was horrified to find that the irritation felt fantastic in comparison to the overwhelming dread scratching at the corners of his mind. Dr. Bharati sighed heavily, but continued, and David listened intently, his phone glued to his ear, as the doctor talked. The irritation faded too quickly for comfort, replaced with a prickling pain that refused to be ignored.
"Her parents are here?" Dr. Bharati was asking, finally, and David forced himself to concentrate past the numbness he felt molding lead into his limbs. "Would you like to talk to them?"
Visions of his in-laws and their disparaging comments about him flashed through his mind.
"No, thanks," he said, weakly. "I...I need some time by myself."
"Of course," the doctor said kindly. "I will convey your wishes to them."
"Thank you," David mumbled, and Dr. Bharati might have said something else, but he was already lowering his phone and tapping frantically on the End Call button, as though he could physically make the news go away. A janitor was looking at him oddly, and David forced himself to his feet, pasted a smile onto his face, and hitched his duffel bag to his shoulder as he ambled back to his terminal.
He plopped down heavily into a plastic seat, next to a man who was staring blankly at the ARRIVALS/DEPARTURES board and cramming bits of muffin into his mouth.
"Can't sleep, huh?" the man asked, spitting crumbs all over the tops of David's shoes. David couldn't bring himself to flick them away.
"No," he mumbled. "Can't sleep."
"Going home?" the man asked, and David started.
He'd been in a daze, dreaming of Sarah and the memories of her he'd stored up over the years. The way she laughed, the way her hair smelled like sunshine, the way she'd smiled absentmindedly at him and told him she'd loved him...
"Um, yeah," he murmured. "You?"
"Same," the man grumbled, rubbing absentmindedly at his unshaven jaw. "Missus says the kids miss me."
David's heart clutched in his chest.
"You got any kids?" the man asked, not unkindly. The time read 4:03 AM, and the sky behind them was just starting to turn back into the deep blue grey of dawn. David did some quick math, frowning at the pilled carpet beneath his shoes. Seventeen hour time difference from here to Los Angeles, it would be...11 AM there, of yesterday.
"Not yet," he said, finally. He turned to the man, willing a smile to come to his face. "But we're expecting."
"Lovely," the man said, beaming back with a genuineness that David envied. "Boy or girl?"
"Dunno," David said, noncommittally. "We're waiting to find out."
"Go with yellow," the man advised him, craning his neck back to look at their plane taxiing lightly to the terminal. "It's neutral. Or green, maybe. Can't go wrong with green."
"Right," David agreed, staring at the rapidly growing silhouette of the plane and wondering what had gotten into him. "I mean, it's a bit too early to be planning the nursery, the wife's only four months gone."
"It's never too early!" the man proclaimed, stretching in his seat. Their fellow passengers had started to wake up now, too, and were shifting restlessly. "Trust me, you'll want to get yourself and your affairs all squared away before the kid comes. Won't be getting a spare moment of time after that."
"I'll keep that in mind," David promised, watching the plane's passengers streaming out into the terminal and turning it into a bustle. They looked weary, ragged, a tiredness etched on their faces that David fully empathized with. "Looks like this is us."
"Looks like," the man agreed, and David longed for the quiet insulated sterility of the plane cabin, squished between nameless, faceless strangers, alone with a bottle of cheap whiskey in his briefcase and a full set of in-flight movies. The nauseating dread had died down, replaced with a discomforting sense of disbelief, and David absently wondered if this was what shock, true shock, felt like.
He lined up, numbly, with the rest of the passengers, eager to scan his ticket and board, and even managed a smile back at the airport attendant as she wished him a safe flight home.
He had the edge seat, next to a mother and her three-year-old son who'd already eagerly claimed possession of the window and was currently fascinated with sliding the blind up and down as fast as he could. The mother smiled up at him kindly, and apologized for her son's behavior.
David told them not to worry, nudging aside a plastic toy as he sat down heavily.
"I'll have a kid of my own soon enough," he said, smiling wistfully for what he'd had, for what he could have been. But the woman would never know, and there was no harm in pretending for a little while longer, at least. The flight from Narita to LAX was eleven and a half hours, and he felt it might be better to keep his mind occupied.
"Really?" the mother asked, smiling knowledgeably. Her dark hair had strands of grey woven in it, and wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes and mouth whenever she smiled. It was endearing, and David tried hard to memorize the details. Sarah had only been twenty-seven, not old enough to age, not old enough to live. "How wonderful for you and your wife."
David fidgeted restlessly in his seat, impatient, as the other passengers finished boarding and stowing away their luggage in the overhead bins.
"What brings you to Japan?" the woman asked him, and he tore his eyes away from a father who was sternly telling his toddler not to bother the nice lady in 22B. They were everywhere, it seemed. Parents and families and lovers, and David was alone in a way he hadn't felt in ages. "Vacation? Business? You look more like a businessman."
"Business," he agreed. "I'm in marketing."
"Marketing," she repeated, lightly swatting her son as he began to kick at the back of the seat in front of him. "Marketing for what?"
David's mind froze. The numbness was catching up.
"For...for energy drinks," he lied, the image of the Japanese advertisement flickering back into the forefront of his mind. "For energy drinks."
"I see." Her mouth was pursed, as though she didn't quite believe him, but David could hardly bring himself to care, and he hastily switched the subject.
"Dad's not going to LA, then?" he asked, quirking his head towards the little boy, who had amused himself with the in-flight magazine and was scribbling all over some unknown actress's features with a red crayon. "Or are you going home?"
"We're going home," the woman said, skepticism falling away as the conversation reverted back to her. "My wife wasn't able to come, but David's -" she nodded at the little boy, who peeked up at them and waved cheerfully before returning to his coloring - "grandparents wanted to see him. And I thought that maybe they wouldn't understand, anyway."
"Oh, how funny," David murmured, his mouth numb. "I'm David, too."
"Pleased to meet you, David," the woman replied, smiling kindly and offering her hand for him to shake. "You can call me Kiko."
"Charmed."
They sat in companionable silence as the plane taxied to the runway, their hands brushing on the armrest for a brief moment as the plane sped down the tarmac and heaved itself into the air.
"Have you thought about what you're going to name your baby?" Kiko asked him, once they'd passed the cloud layer and little David had all but glued himself to the window, watching the sunrise.
"Not sure yet," David replied, his hands itching to reach into his briefcase for the bottle of whiskey he'd bought in customs. But no, that probably wouldn't look good, not in front of the child. His mouth grew dry at the thought of it, at the memory of the burn of alcohol winding its way down through his body, at the giddy numbness it brought. "She's only four months pregnant, so I figure we've still got plenty of time."
"Hm." Kiko leaned back in her seat, smiling lightly at her son, who had pushed up the armrest and flung himself across her lap. David's eyes were drawn to the shadows her long fingers made across her son's face as she stroked his hair and patted his back. "Plenty of time. That's what all people without kids say."
Her laugh was like music.
"I guess," David agreed. "We're kind of holding our breath though. My wife and I have a bad record of losing babies, unfortunately."
Kiko made a few apologetic noises, her eyebrows furrowed in dismay.
Silence again, punctuated by the grumbles of the plane's engine, the crying of a restless baby somewhere in the back of the plane, and little David's childish snoring. The stewardesses came by with trays of breakfast, and, grateful for something to do, David ate quickly, barely tasting. He could almost feel Kiko's stiffness radiating from beside him, and was more than surprised when she reached out to touch his elbow.
"Hopefully this time will be better," she said, her smile a little strained. "I am wishing you good luck. And your wife and baby, too."
"Thank you," David murmured, touched. A chill shuddered its way through him, and he turned away quickly before Kiko could see the way his eyes had glossed over with tears again.
David dozed lightly, his eyes still burning, and was in the middle of a dream about kayaking with Sarah when he was awoken by little David shoving his way unceremoniously past his legs.
"David!" Kiko hissed, sounding miffed. "Apologize to the nice man for waking him up."
"No, no, it's quite alright," David mumbled blearily, scrubbing his hand over his face and wincing at the gritty feeling of stubble against his palm. "Bathroom, I'm guessing?"
Little David nodded, looking a tiny bit guilty, and David obligingly unbuckled his seatbelt and maneuvered into the aisle to let David and Kiko out. He waited until they'd joined the small queue for the lavatory, then hastily reached under the seat in front of him for his briefcase. The cut glass of the bottle felt comfortingly heavy in his hand, and after a quick look around to make sure no one was watching him too closely, he broke the seal, unscrewed the cap, and lifted the whiskey to his lips.
The burn was lovely. It was painful, it nearly set David to coughing. He relished it, the physical pain of it, and swallowed as quickly as he could.
The bottle was half empty when he heard little David's voice again, asking his mother for sweets or something like that, and he hastily capped the bottle and shoved it back into his briefcase. He smiled weakly up at Kiko as he stood up on watery legs and let them back into their seats, and if she smelled the whiskey on him, she didn't say anything.
"What's your wife like?" he asked, his tongue loose.
The question brought a smile to Kiko's face, and he wanted sorely to lose himself in her happiness.
"She's lovely," she murmured, fiddling with the ring on her left hand, twisting it around and around. It was bright, shiny, well-cared for, and David rubbed at his own ring absentmindedly, knowing how shabby and second-rate it looked in comparison. "Loves outdoor stuff and reading. We're very happy together. How about yourself?"
"She's great, too," David murmured, his words slightly slurry with the drink, tiredness, and the roller coaster of panic and numbness and anger brimming just beneath the surface of himself. "I met her when I was hiking in the Grand Canyon. She's real beautiful." He fumbled for his phone in his pocket. "Want to see a picture?"
Kiko assented, if somewhat reluctantly, and David swiped hastily away from the caller log where Dr. Bharati's number still loomed, glaringly large, to his photographs.
"Look, look, this is her," he mumbled, his fingers shaking as he pulled up a photograph from last winter. They'd been happy, then, their smiles twins of each other, looking for all the world like they were at the height of love. Kiko made some sort of noncommittal noise in her throat and turned away to hush little David, who was starting to cry.
They'd been flying for a few hours now. The time was changing, rolling back into the past.
"She loved hot springs and spas and that sort of stuff," David murmured absently, though a glance over told him that Kiko and her son were sleeping, a blanket wrapped loosely around them. Undeterred, David continued talking in a low voice as he reached under the seat for the whiskey again. He alternated his ramblings with swigs from the bottle, relishing the way the cabin started spinning and lurching around him in giddy fits.
"We were having arguments when I left, you know," he murmured, conversationally. Kiko muttered something in her sleep, her head lolling against her son's. "She said she thought she'd made a mistake, marrying me. That was hurtful, as you can imagine. But I'm going to make her see that it wasn't a mistake. I'll buy her flowers and take her out to dinner and sit down and listen to her. Really listen. You know. So I can fix it. For us and our baby."
The plethora of in-flight movies went untouched, and David ordered pre-mixed cans of gin and tonic to wet his throat as he continued talking.
"Her parents, though, they're a real piece of work. They never liked me, and sometimes I think that Sarah only married me because she wanted to get back at them. To disappoint them, somehow, or something like that. You'd have to ask her; I've never quite found out."
His life story unspooled out before him, growing more frantic and wildly perfect with the empty cans littering his tray table before the stewardesses whisked them away again.
They were well into yesterday and the lunch trays had already been given and taken away when David finally started winding down.
The pilot announced their impending descent, and the fantasy started to break.
"You know," he murmured, staring out at the dark night sky, "we lost our baby. I didn't know there was a baby to lose. Sarah never told me. I guess you can't lose something you never had."
If Kiko heard, through her sleep, she didn't make any mention of it, and the silence grew deafening. David shut his eyes determinedly and turned to the side, concentrating hard on the queasy feeling in his stomach and willing it to go away.
He ambled after Kiko and her son on unsteady legs as they deboarded. The big digital clock in the central terminal read 11:09 PM, and, despite the late hour, a group of people were already waiting at the end of the baggage claim for the newly arrived passengers. A pretty woman with a weary smile and her blonde hair drawn up into a messy ponytail broke away from the crowd and walked rapidly towards Kiko with a smile bright enough to lift the ennui from David's mind, if only for just the briefest moment.
He had to turn away as the small family reunited, his eyes burning again, and he swallowed down the grief that resurfaced quickly at the idea that he'd never be able to kiss Sarah again.
"It was nice talking with you, David! Good luck!" Kiko called, and David smiled vaguely in their direction, waving his hand in acknowledgment as he turned back to the metal gleam of the baggage claim and waited for his luggage.
The apartment was empty when he got home, as he'd expected, but the wall of silence and mustiness in the air knocked the air out of him at the visceral reality of it all.
He dropped his duffel by the front door, ambling towards the bathroom.
The fluorescent lights buzzed in protest when he flicked them on, clutching hard at the doorjamb to steady himself.
This was where she'd fainted, Dr. Bharati had explained. The hot water had gone right to her head, and she'd probably thought it would help her cramps like it had always done before.
David tried to imagine it. Her hair, curly and wavy and messy, pinned up into a bun as she lowered herself hesitantly into the tub, her skin already pinking from the steam. The way she'd lean her head back against the lip of the tub and close her eyes, waiting for the hot water to soothe away the aches.
Some well-meaning individual had already emptied the tub, and a pale pink residue was spattered around the drain where it hadn't been cleaned properly. A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that he'd need to clean it up, otherwise it would stain permanently, and he certainly wouldn't want to remember this, would he?
David lowered himself heavily to the floor by the tub, reaching into it to brush his fingers lightly over the pink, staying until his knees were aching and tight knots had formed in his back and neck.
The bells in the clock tower of the church a few blocks away rang, a deep, solemn twelve. Tears broke the surface, and he curled himself into the tight space between the bathtub and the cabinets to let them fall.
It was tomorrow, again, and David could no longer pretend.
"Temple() // Get You Safe" by _digital cairn
I adore Royce Bracket. I adore Royce-centric fics. This one is, hands down, my favorite exploration of his character. His history with Grant, the possibilities of their early relationship with one another, the turns it's taken since. More specifically, Royce coming into his own. And it's beautifully written. The opening paragraph alone grabbed me the moment I started, and I love every single word.
"Foundations" by runicmagitek, (tumblr)
Speaking of frikkin' Royce Bracket, I love what Runi has done with this drabble series, and I'm still happy to see it going strong. In fact, I'm still in awe of their ability to convey so much personality in such short pieces. Any kind of "who they used to be, how they got here" focus on a character is a sure fire way to my heart, and this series offers so much freedom to the imagination in that respect. Always look forward to the next update~
"A Night in Goldwalk" by plurality
You ever read something and feel transported to that then and now, so vivid in your mind that you're actually there for a time? That's what I felt with this. You're invited into the shoes of an unnamed citizen exploring the night sights of Goldwalk, and the atmosphere is stunning. Leaves you wanting more. Highly recommend their other works.
"Citylights" by Sonntam
Sybil has a soft spot in my heart, partly for the blatant vulnerability she's lost herself to when we're first introduced to her, namely for the razor-sharp resolve I imagine she has in regards to getting shit done. This piece explores both. Sybil's public efforts, her feelings for Red, her confliction. It's very quiet, very reflective.
"Something Shiny" by pseudocitrus
A short and sweet crossover between Bastion and Transistor! You follow Kid & crew through what's left of the world, and the way things come together leaves you wondering about the possibilities beyond. I've yet to play Bastion, but I've read up a good chunk on the wiki, and I can say from that this is a lovely blend of the two.
"Synapse Flood" by NeverwinterThistle
Royce and Asher. Do I see many fics that focus on these two alone? I'm not so sure, and it's been a while since I read this, but I remember being struck by the thought of Royce and Asher together in a sexual capacity at all. There's an interesting twist on their chemistry going on here, and beyond the mild kink (oh, it pleases me) we see Asher expressing doubts in Grant and their cause.
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[ ACE ATTORNEY ]
"Cup of Tea" by pantswarrior
Literally, just fuck me up. Hella explicit, potentially triggering, hella long, but SO worth it. This right here is all I've ever wanted explored in a post-AJ WrightWorth fic. Everything this author writes is golden, but this takes the cake for me because I adore the potential for some Fucked Up Nick like you would not believe. You, much like Edgeworth, learn exactly how deep Kristoph's influence on Nick runs, and it's all masterfully done.
"Legal Partners" by Miggy
Conversely, if you need a fic that will make your little queer lawyer-lovin' heart happy, this is the fic for you. The title pun is hilarious; the premise isn't as silly as I initially thought it would be; and when all's said and done, the writing is very much in the same spirit of the games. You get your doses of WrightWorth and Klapollo in equal measures, and despite some low points plotwise, it's a feel good fic overall.
"Infinitely Late at Night" by xtwilightzx
The characterization's on point and it focuses on my favorite kind of quiet moments between these two--tucked away in bed. I think what draws me to this pairing most is how rich their history with each other is and how much it will continue to be, and this showcases Phoenix reflecting on that somewhere in the middle of it all. Beautiful piece.
"Words, Words, Words" by valentinite
One word to describe this writing style is "jazzy." It's a mix of a letter and exposition, and honestly I've never even thought someone could pull it off in a way that didn't come across as choppy. Not to mention the blessed and tasteful WrightWorth smut, thank you, dear god.
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[ ATTACK ON TITAN/SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN ]
"To the Old World" by OCULOVORE, (tumblr)
Aaah, I read this WAY back when Bel first posted it, and even though I'm not as into SNK like I used to be, this still pops to the top of my mind whenever I think about it. It's utterly gorgeous. The main trio, Eren, Armin, Mikasa, are all there and it's heartbreaking. She explores the mental and emotional costs these kids have to give in this brutal world, and I'm still in love. Bel, bruh, when you read this please know that your writing still touches me and you'll get there. Appreciate you~
"The Father" by Misaya, (tumblr)
Again, I've fallen out of SNK I don't know how long ago, but my friend Amanda recommended this to me and I swear it's enough to pull me back into the thick of it. Levi's a father struggling to make ends meet, struggling to let his heart heal from his former lover's loss. Erwin's a well-off business man coming to terms with his sexuality, his failed marriage, his desire for a child. They meet. Everything hurts. It's beautiful. Read this and don't even stop to question, just let it wash over you.
"Glass Houses" by Misaya, (tumblr)
I'm cheating my guidelines and listing the same author twice, because their writing is just that good. I haven't finished this yet (a lot of my SNK recs are the same), but what portion I have read is stunning. Numbing. Enrapturing. Masterfully written. I could go on, but that would get tiring real quick. You follow Erwin and Levi through time and memories as they learn to cope with Levi's onset of Alzheimer's. When my life gets more settled in the next few weeks, I plan on sitting down and reading this in its entirety, but I can assure you already that this is the gem of gem fics.
"When Daylight Comes (You Feel So Cold)" by fractalbright, (tumblr)
More talented friends, what the fuck. This messed with my heart. The concept and writing style. The tension between Levi and Erwin as they come to grips with an accident that throws their whole lives out of balance. Plus androids and future and cybernetics woven into the everyday like a dream, just goddamn.
"Toeing the Line" by stillmadaboutpetra (tumblr)
Ya'll are lucky I haven't shown my sinning ways as much as I could have in this list, because it would be filled with deliciously kinky fics like this otherwise. Another one I need to finish, too, but I flew my way through half of this and it is divine. The perfect balance of smut and plot, Levi and Erwin feeling out their blossoming relationship, and modern takes on all the characters that just feel right. Keep doing what you do, Mads.
"The Laws of Survival" by pasiphile
Another one I need to finish, but I've read a good chunk of it and holy wow. Honestly, beyond what I've seen from a Choice with no Regrets, I've never given much thought to Levi pre-Survey Corps. I've never given much thought to Erwin and his early start within service either, but this fic gives you that grim picture and then some. Not to mention, any story that develops a generally two-peas-in-a-pod relationship from pure hatred to "FINALLY, goddamn" is A+ in my book. Go 'head on~
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[ LIFE IS STRANGE ]
"No Emoji" by mabufus, (tumblr)
Weeps because talented friends are talented. I sadly haven't read many fics for Life is Strange like I would like, but this right here was such a refreshing little breeze in the midst of all the sad and time-fuckery. It's so in character, and it's the cutest "aha" moment on Chloe's end for her maybe-not-entirely-just-friendship feelings for Max. I'm a sucker for these nerds. Em does them justice, bless their soul~ (Write more shit, you boob.)
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[ MUSHISHI ]
"And Yet" by slire
Stream-of-consciousness moment with Ginko in his wandering. I love this because, outside his younger years, he's always presented as mostly at peace with his lot in life in regards to the mushi; this explores whatever doubts and bitterness he may hold instead. It's a side of him we don't often get to see, and I can imagine this happening on screen as well. Also, lovely play with the formatting. I'm a sucker for that.
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[ SCOOBY DOO ]
"With The Wild Wolves Around You" by padmes
Before you judge me and/or scratch your head like "...Scooby Doo?" Yes. I found it on accident while searching for something unrelated. Yes. A Scooby-Doo fic. Yes, it is legit very well written. And yes, you should give it a read. Daphne contemplates the direction of her life with the Mystery Gang, and it's got such an intimate little vibe that it must be shared.
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I don't know when I'll get around to a part two, but please embrace this list thus far. Each of these authors deserve their props and exposure~
