i wrote this back in september to y’know. break my basically year long record of not completing fics. i wrote this in one sitting, in the middle of the night, on my phone - which, frankly, i think is becoming a trend. Ninjago came out of nowhere and has me hooked so cheers!!
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PIXAL was idly watching the numbers and code flash by on the screen when Zane knocked on the door. She quietly shut down the diagnostics program, disappointed in her findings; nothing was out of the ordinary. All of her systems were optimized and functioning. No mentions of a hiccup or virus anywhere. The code was flawless, like it always seemed to be.
"Come in," she called out, while swiftly but carefully pulling out the clunky cable from the left side panel on her chest, ejecting it with a soft pop . Zane sheepishly poked his head out from behind the opening of the cave, giving PIXAL a little smile.
"There you are," he sighed, an artificial sound created by his voicebank. PIXAL found it odd, but Zane had previously stated that it made him feel 'more like he belonged' - that it made it less obvious that he wasn’t organic like his family all were. "Nya's been looking for you. She said you malfunctioned and refused to let her help?"
PIXAL clenched her jaw and looked away from Zane. Shame flooded her system as she recounted the days events- a totally normal sparring fight between Nya and herself. Losing wasn’t the shameful part; it was how her body reacted to...
Shaking her head, PIXAL stood up from her chair- too fast if Zane's expression was anything to go by. Weaving around the mechanisms and machines, she quickly picked up a sweater that was lying around in the Samurai X hide-out. She didn't need to wear clothes, but she knew that it led to discomfort or flushed looks her way whenever she didn't.
"I am fine, Zane," PIXAL hummed, while pulling the sweater over her head. "You do not need to worry."
Zane frowned slightly, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms. "Forgive me for being blunt, but your powers shutting off because of a simple throw over the shoulder is not 'fine'."
"I ran a diagnostics test," she replied, her eyes drifting to the now turned off screen. "Nothing is out of the ordinary. My systems are optimized and running and I cannot detect any physical injuries that would cause me to turn off." PIXAL sat back down on the chair in front of the control panels, watching as Zane furrowed his brow and grabbing the spare chair that Nya used and placing it next to her.
"Then why did you?" Zane sat down with a soft clunk , his fans whirring softly. His blue eyes flashed, and he sat back with a concerned look on his face. "My sensors cannot indicate anything wrong. Something, however, is clearly distracting you. Your movements were less sharp than usual today."
PIXAL's fans kicked in, and she forcefully archived the wave of embarrassment she felt in her systems. Her cooling liquid rushed through her body, hurrying to lower the temperature of her core and limbs before anything fried or shut off. "Yes, Zane, I noted."
Zane didn't respond, so PIXAL took the time to sort through and analyze the memories from the sparring. Nothing was vastly different from her usual trainings. Everything was running smoothly, until she changed sparring partners to... Hm.
"Zane, how did you..." PIXAL started slowly, breaking the silence. "How did you figure out your feelings for Cole? How did you manage to define love ?"
The titanium nindroid sat up even straighter, somehow, at her question. "Ah, that is a complicated question."
PIXAL looked at Zane as his eyes flashed a darker blue and nervously scratched a hand behind his head. "Well, when did you realize you had acquired more than platonic love for him?"
"I will be fully honest with you, PIXAL," Zane chuckled, "I would have kept analyzing for decades why my systems reacted differently to him if it were not for him confessing to me first."
"What do you mean?"
"Love is very hard to define, and thus to understand. For the longest time I assumed that I would never feel romantic love," He explained, looking thoughtfully at the Samurai X suit stationed in the room. "And yet, after Yang and Stix, I found that my feelings for Cole were different compared to the others. It was not necessarily stronger or more confusing than the feelings I felt for the other in our chosen family, but. It was not the same."
Humming, PIXAL looked down at her hands. That was indeed similar to how she is currently feeling about Nya. Not worse or better, but different to how she reacts to Zane and the rest of the ninja. Stroking her hands across the soft blue fabric of the sweater (of Nya’s sweater, she realised with a start- she must’ve left it here when she last visited), her sensors tingled as the static of her fans mingled with her thoughts.
Ever since her reveal as Samurai X, Sensei Wu had recruited her for proper training. PIXAL didn't need it, as she was a nindroid - she could simply download data and put it to use without training, but Sensei Wu insisted. In usual Sensei Wu fashion, he said a probably inspirational quote, but PIXAL had a hard time picking it apart and understanding it.
PIXAL won nearly every time someone sparred against her. Analysing and predicting her opponents’ movements was something that took no energy at all; Kai was too hectic, and not planned out. Jay flails too often and can't control his strength. Cole tends to rely too much on brute force when he loses his concentration, and while Zane is the most balanced out of the bunch, he can get too caught up in the numbers to fight freely. Nya, however... Nya was the hardest to predict and beat.
Nya banters while she fights, her words smooth and knowing, yet sharp and biting. She's light on her feet despite being a sturdier and shorter build. While she mostly stays in one fighting style, she's versatile and can quickly change to defensive from offensive, and vice versa. Despite being serious in actual brawls and scenarios, Nya laughs and jokes as she spars and trains. It distracts PIXAL too much to predict her blows.
That is just what happened that day. PIXAL got distracted while analyzing a jab Nya had thrown at her, giving Nya the perfect opportunity to strike. She had grabbed PIXAL by the arm and flipped her. Nya had just laughed that loud and spontaneous laugh at her, and extended her hand to help PIXAL up.
From PIXAL's view Nya looked like nothing PIXAL had ever seen before. Around her hair was a soft and warm glow from the sun, a halo illuminating her face and changing the black tint of the loose curly strands sticking out from her ponytail. Her deep brown eyes had sparkles in them and her soft, round flushed cheeks pushed up against them. Between her eyes, her nose was scrunched up, the way it did when Nya smiled genuinely. PIXAL found that she longed to see her this way more often, to make Nya happy and to hear her laugh. How she wished she could stay in that position and admire the woman in front of her more often.
It... It was too much information for PIXAL to handle. Warning notifications clouded her vision, her fans going haywild inside her chest and her motherload heating up. A strange feeling arose in her chest, and the last thing she saw was Nya's expression turning concerned as her systems shut down.
"In what ways was it different?" PIXAL asked curiously. “How did your attraction to Cole change… Well, your behavior?” Zane smiled at her, warm and flustered.
"I was, ah, distracted, mostly. I found myself thinking about him more. I would feel elevated yet terribly anxious whenever I was around him- which was not good for our team, by the way," Both nindroids chuckle, the unnoticed tenseness in PIXAL's shoulders melting away. "My system would generate daydreams and thoughts about him, possible what-if's that were so much more... Involved than it had ever done with the others. My fans would work in overdrive to keep my circuits from frying around him. I put so much of my energy into unwillingly noticing small details, from the cracks in his hands or the texture of his hair. Wondering and wishing about him."
PIXAL softly clenched her fist, remember how pretty Nya was under the sun, and how she had an undeniable need to remember everything about that moment.
"So when he admitted to having... Romantic feelings- you understood what it was that you felt?"
"No, not exactly," Zane grinned at PIXAL's confused face. "I understood that I, too, felt a romantic need to be with him, but I never could, nor have defined love. I still get warnings and emotions that I cannot compute properly or solve. The important difference, however, is that I know the source, and it makes the whole experience easier to pick apart and understand."
Nodding, PIXAL subconsciously opened up her memories. How many are there of her not understanding the signals her systems and body are giving her? How many feature Nya, with her smiles and laughter and wild hjinks and theories that leave PIXAL speechless and bewildered every time? How many memories has she purposefully archived, because they were not memories at all; rather figments of her imagination, puzzling together fantasies of the two together, or of obscure details featuring Nya? PIXAL simply didn't know.
“I do not know if I am capable of loving someone,” PIXAL admitted, her voicebank rumbling quietly. “I do not believe that is in my programming. In the very least not romantic love.”
“And I doubt it is in mine,” Zane chuckled. “Yet, I found that I had fallen for Cole. You are the only one who can find out whether or not you are able to love, PIXAL. And if you aren’t capable of romantic love, you are clearly capable of platonic love.”
"If I were to hypothetically catch these feelings- romantic feelings - for someone," she unsurely spoke, feeling her eyes flash pink and her cooling liquid circulating. Warnings popped up in the corner of her eye how her sensors were overloading slightly. "What would be the best course of action?"
"That depends from person to person," Zane nodded, clasping his fingers together with a click. "What would hypothetically work best for you and your counterpart? What is your raw, unfiltered instinct? Consider before you do anything, but do not overanalyze. You will only get stuck in the numbers and analytics of it all- and those are not to be trusted when it comes to things such as love. They are usually unreliable, since love is an unpredictable phenomenon."
Frowning slightly, PIXAL made a mental note to save this for future use.
"I must go," Zane stated, sheepishly standing up and moving his chair out of the way. "The chicken I am roasting will soon be done. If you wish, I will let you know once dinner is ready."
"I do not eat."
"No, but good company truly never hurts." His footsteps echoed along with his words as he wandered towards the cave entrance.
"Thank you, Zane," PIXAL called out, successfully stopping Zane in his tracks and making him look over his shoulder. "For everything."
"It is no problem," he smiled and resumed his walking. "Good luck with Nya!" he called out right before stepping outside the cave and closing the door, ignoring PIXAL’s offended yelp and giving a clear chuckle in the distance.
Embarrassed but satisfied, PIXAL busied herself with cleaning up the cables she used for her diagnostics check. Nya’s shirt hung around her shoulders, it’s shape too short for her chest but yet too big to sit snuggly. PIXAL found that she didn’t wish for it to fit any other way. The soft blue contrasted well with the purple electric veins that adorned her arms, the color family intermingling aesthetically. Smiling, she decided that was more than enough talk for one day.
Characters: Fire Spirit Cookie & Sea Fairy Cookie (mentioned: Moonlight Cookie, Angel Cookie, Devil Cookie and Peppermint Cookie)
Ships: none
Word count: 1892
Description: Fire Spirit visits his sister.
wow! this blog has been seriously inactive, huh! here’s a fanfic i found on my phone and finished at 2 AM the day before the last day of school this year. not really edited but i love FS + SF content so it was just a matter of time that i posted this anyway. cross-posted on AO3!
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Magic was an odd concept, even for deities like himself. How air could be filled with its properties, morphing and affecting everyone within its range was a mystery. Simply using a spell took a large toll on the sorcerer that cast it. It would drain one both physically and mentally, to the point where they would turn delirious. Only a few prodigies and masters could use spells safely.
Fire Spirit, even though he was made from a spell so powerful it could take down an army, felt these limitations too. The fire underneath his skin would bubble aggressively and he'd feel the ground spiral beneath him.
It made Sea Fairy's final creation all the more impressive.
His fingers ached and each time he moved them they groaned and cracked. Despite being made from ashes, forged by fire and nursed in its flames, Fire Spirit could feel the creeping cold crawling up his back.
The more he thought about how much turmoil Sea Fairy must've felt and how the magic must have started to seep out of her cold, fragile skin, the more bitter he became.
Sea Fairy was barely younger than him. When he started terrorizing the lands under the orders of the Witch, the silent woods and crashing ocean grew anxious. After many moonlit nights, the sea emerged and the forest joined shortly after.
Wind Archer never paid him much attention. The guardian was busy tending to the small villages of the first civilisations of cookies. The destruction Fire Spirit had caused was tremendous; almost no cookies had survived.
The guardian made of sand and water, however, was quick to join Moonlight's side to defeat Fire Spirit and his realm. She had no emotions in her eyes when she first struck at him, her mind was somewhere else when she had him pinned to the grass under him.
He remembered the sharp pointed edge of her crystal sword and the fear he felt when she stared into his eyes. His arms felt scratchy when he remembered the water of her hair hitting his skin, his burning arms turning solid and dark.
Sea Fairy was a deity filled with justice and wisdom. When they first met, she had only existed for a year or so, but her posture and speech made her seem like she was a millennia old.
She was the only reason the fire legend even betrayed the witch. Her hidden kindness and passive interest in his well-being made Fire Spirit realise how pathetic and unhealthy his intentions were.
Their relationship kept on blossoming afterwards. Sea Fairy taught him justice and peace, while Fire Spirit taught her how to let herself feel and disconnect herself from her duties and destiny.
She eventually started falling apart. Fire Spirit could do nothing as he watched his friend- no, sister- desperately long for something else. Being a woman of few words, she never told him what bothered her so.
It only made the sour feeling Fire Spirit had in his stomach worse.
Could he have prevented this? It had been so long since he heard her voice. Where did his morals that she taught him so lovingly go?
Fire Spirit was a prankster. Nobody trusted him; not even his own people. They'd sacrifice things- belongings, money, food, or even other cookies- to keep him 'entertained'. He was a seducer, a gainer. Not someone to trust.
He had pushed away Moonlight when she came to console him. Fire Spirit was a shell of his former self and when he saw Moonlight's concerned eyes, he couldn't feel any pity. Just anger and sadness towards his lost family.
Shaking his head, he dragged his hand against the cold wall of her tower. The frozen bricks sizzled under his hand, but it didn't melt or deform. The enchanted ice was unbreakable, and he wondered how she managed. Just moving a simple flame for a longer period exhausted him- how had this spell not been broken yet? It had been centuries. Her power must surely have run out.
His heels clicked as he briskly walked upwards in the frozen columns. When she first froze all those hundreds of years ago, the tower wasn't a tower. It was merely a swirling wave, connecting at her waist. He vaguely remembers Moonlight making plans in Sea Fairy's honor, to make her final statement to this world a beautiful one. Fire Spirit just thought it was rude.
Grumbling, he grew impatient. Tapping his staff twice, he blasted up the halls, not wanting the lingering guilt to grow any larger.
He landed roughly on the glass surface at the top. Staring down at his reflection, Fire Spirit braced himself.
All around him was an even circle of sea foamed colored blue ice, mirroring the night sky above him. It was barren, nothing misplaced because there was nothing, except her and the small gifts placed around her from cookies brave enough to climb the tower. Enchanted flowers, potions and vials, and conchs and shells.
Frozen and destroyed she stood in the middle, her anguish and exhaustion written as clear as day. For anyone else, Sea Fairy would look longing and mysterious, but Fire Spirit knew her too well.
Her hands were reaching up, her back arched and her long pointed ears pulled downward. The moon shone bright, its light bouncing off her in waves. Sea Fairy seemed almost translucent in the soft light.
The edge of her sword was burrowed into the glass. It stood tilted, as if it froze mid throw. There were no cracks or unevenness around it; the plane stood untouched.
Fire Spirit had many times tried to pull it out- to feel it's comforting weight in his hands and give his beloved friend her life-line back. No matter how hard he pulled or how much he tried to melt the ground around it, the sword would not budge.
Tears were molded into her cheeks, a permanent sign on the aching in her heart. Despite the rumble of grief seeping into the air, her face was gentle and accepting. As if she had no regrets about giving up her life for the moon whom she loved, as if she knew this was the end of her pain.
Fire Spirit swallowed the clump growing in his throat as he looked at the familiar scene in front of him. "You... You idiot," he muttered, no malice evident in his voice. "You really went and did it this time, huh?" The fire deity chuckled, his mouth tasting like ash.
Sea Fairy did not respond. Obviously. Nothing but the waves could be heard, and Fire Spirit peered at his hands to avoid staring at the unmoving face of the individual he considered a sister. The fire under his skin bubbled in shame, and he could feel the weight on his shoulders pressing him down.
"... Actually, I'm the idiot here, right?" Fire Spirit squinted. "I haven't visited in so long, at least a couple of decades. Time flies by so fast when you're busy protecting the world, I guess. Yeah, if anyone's a fool, it's me.
"So much has happened since I last spoke to you- uh, Moonlight rebuilt her tower! Y'know the one... I knocked down- accidentally! But you probably know that," He could hear the sheepishness in his own voice and he cringed. "I have kids now- twins, actually. Devil and Angel cookie. They just showed up and slotted themselves into my life, which is saying a lot- I never was the father type," He smiled despite himself. "You'd like them. I know you always had a soft spot for kids. Even though my kids might both be tiny demons in disguise."
The moon shone quietly above them, luminating her face. Fire Spirit bounced impatiently on his feet as he looked anywhere but her almost closed, melancholic eyes. He hated this. Hated seeing her like this. He knew there was nothing he could do, not really, but the pain latched onto his core and would not let go.
"There's a new kid on the block, too. Pep- Peppermint? I believe? They're a good kid, very quiet," he chuckled, looking at the small blue conch at the bottom of her dress. "They hang around Moonlight a lot. Barely looks at me, but once they looked me straight in the eye and, uh... They have this conch, right? Pretty blue thing, they play tunes on it when they think nobody is around, and- yeah. Anyway, once they looked at me and took our their conch, and said that- ..."
Fire Spirit looked out at the horizon, watching the shores move softly. The moon shone and dispersed among them, and the fire deity couldn't help but feel nostalgic for something long, long ago. Sniffing, he forced himself to look back at the very cookie he considered family and look at her soft, clear eyes.
"... they got it from the sea," he smiled softly, feeling gushy. Stressed, he scratched his pointy ear. "Guess you don't have anything to do with that, huh? Of course you don't."
His feet clinked on the ice below him as he carefully strode closer to the statue. "But, if you do," he mumbled, stopping right in front of the statue. Hesitantly he wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her cold shoulders. It wasn't very comfortable, but his eyes stung anyway. "Can you at least give me a sign? Don't tell anyone, but by Moonlight, I miss you so much, Sea Fairy. I really do."
And so he cried. Warm drops of lava flowed down his cheeks, and slid down to the icy body he held. Despite his destructive tears, Sea Fairy's shoulder remained as still and as cold as ever. Fire Spirit still felt bad though, the twisting warmth of guilt pooling in his stomach. He could feel the orb at his very center cooling down, shifting uncomfortably.
He had no idea how long he stood there, weeping. He did not know whether he was weeping for her, her faith, or what she could have been, or if he was weeping for himself. For what he is, or what he could have done, or what he should have known. He swore he could feel her breath, feel her tears on his back, feel her cool presence drilling into his very soul.
When the sun was rising, he decided it was time to leave, before his surrogate children woke up to find an empty house. But he found as he tried to pull away, that he was locked in a close embrace. His swollen eyes glanced down at the shoulder he was resting on. It was no longer clear or shining by the sun, but rather warm and freckled like the beach. With a shaky inhale, he felt hands grabbing his arms gently, pulling him back.
And there she was. Her blue eyes alive, golden spots reflecting the yellow hue from the rising sun. Her freckled cheeks were peachy, her smile was small and her tears flowing. And before Fire Spirit could try to shake himself awake from this cruel dream, only to find himself alone in his home far away from his family, she spoke. She spoke in that voice he never could replicate in his mind, the voice that was the first thing to get lost to memory.
do you know any good ii fanfics besides skatercheese's works and camp murder? i'm trying to find new reading material but i'm having trouble finding anything decent
sorry, i don’t read much fanfic admittedly! i really only read stuff on ao3 because it’s much harder for me to find stuff i like on wattpad, haha. i also usually go for one-shots though because my attention span: bad
here are some bookmarks i’ve got:
Therapy Session by gamesharkcartridge. A one-shot. A simple inspection within the mindsets of characters. Short, sweet, but poignant.
Turning the Page by sweet_like_sugar. A multi-fic and a work-in-progress. It’s also a High School AU and a shipfic between Fan and Trophy, though it focuses primarily on development of Trophy—specifically, confronting his internalized homophobia, among other things. Trophy Says A Slur And Soap Destroys Him,
Homesick by vemodalarna. Another one-shot, and a sibling-like interaction between Suitcase and Knife. It’s very heartfelt as well as well-written!
Balter by vemodalarna. Yet another one-shot from vemo—they’re a GREAT writer!!! i BEG of you to check out their work, they’re on tumblr ( @vemodalarna ) as well as wattpad (same moniker) PLEASE read their work. Balter in particular is a one-shot shipfic between Microphone and Soap, and I believe it was recommended to me by @paintbrush-stan-babey? The strength of their prose and internal voice is off the HOOK.
i can’t really find anything else that really awestruck me or had me enjoying the ride, tbh. i’m pretty picky w/fiction i guess?
i also only read general fiction because if it’s not, it’s usually sexual. it kinda annoys me because i’ll read anything with good prose, UNLESS it triggers my uhhhh i forgot what it was called, like? the feeling of getting squicked by most things sexual?????? it’s like a THING i can’t remember what it’s called
Characters: Knife, Pickle
Ships: Knickle
Word count: 766
Description: Knife needs to get it off his chest.
This one is short and I wrote it in one sitting after rubbing my fingers sore with toothpaste because of an anxiety breakdown. I listened to conan gray’s cover of dream a little dream of me and felt inspired to write, so! this was a good distraction, even though the fic is a bit of a mess. ao3 link!
The sun was just about to set, lighting the sky on fire with soft pink flames. Cotton candy clouds soared above Knife as he weaved his way through the wood. The ukulele lingered on his back as he picked up small rocks.
He knew the way to the hotel- it wasn’t far at all. Really inconvenient to Mephone, since it’s against the rules to ‘visit Hotel OJ’ but Knife was certain almost every still competing contestant had visited at some point during the season. He’d certainly seen Marshmallow sneak off, as well as both Baseball and Suitcase. Mepad didn’t bother stopping those who came back- just giving them a fair warning.
Knife smiled gently as he carefully put the rocks in his back-pocket. Anyone would call Knife a stone-hearted guy, with a rude attitude, but… He couldn’t act that way around Pickle. He seemed to trigger someone in Knife’s heart, and Knife couldn’t help but smile everytime Pickle crossed his mind. Almost every page of his journal had some kind of mention of Pickle at this point- it was getting ridiculous. Even every one of his poems seemed to be centered around his crush; hidden between the paragraphs were shy whispers about him- the words and feelings Knife couldn’t tell anyone.
Whether or not Pickle was going to accept his confession, he just needed to get it off his chest.
Swinging the borrowed ukulele to his front, he pushed past the last bush separating him from the hotel. Most windows were covered in curtains, only their decorations showing through the glass panes. He could distinctively place where Pickle’s room was; second floor, green curtains that were never drawn closed, window sill covered with small figurines and a plushie or two.
Strumming the instrument gently, he pushed away all the anxiety that was rising in his stomach. He hated feeling nervous and this time he couldn’t add a layer of coldness to hide the beating of his heart.
He just had to do it.
Flinging a rock at Pickle’s window, Knife stood prepared to start playing. Nothing happened for a moment, and Knife had the urge to run away while he still had the chance-
“Knife?” Pickle asked curiously, as he was holding the window open with one arm. “What are you doing here? Is… Is that a ukulele?”
Knife gulped as he stared at Pickle’s surprised grin. Positioning his fingers to the right chords, he coughed slightly.
“Stars shining bright above you,” Knife sung carefully. Man, his voice was rusty. Maybe he should’ve practiced more. “Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’,”
Pickle blushed heavily as he leaned forwards a bit, staring in shock at Knife. The rose pink of the sky reflected in his eyes, and Knife felt more confident.
“Birds singing in the sycamore trees, dream a little dream of me,” Knife felt his worries decrease as he sang.
“Say nighty-night and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,” His heart fluttered as Pickle smiled shyly at him. “While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me,”
The wind rustled the leaves behind him, and soft pink hues seemed to cover everything. Perhaps the sun had finally set- Knife wasn’t sure. All of his focus was on Pickle’s soft chuckle.
“Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss” His voice broke slightly, making Pickle snort in laughter. His own snickering bled into the words, making his voice wobble in joy. “I'm longing to linger till dawn dear, just saying this,”
“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you” Knife gazed into Pickle’s eyes, and Pickle stared back dreamily. “But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me,”
Silence filled the air, and nothing was heard but Knife’s slight panting. Pickle stared at him with a smile, before dashing back into the hotel.
“Oh,” Knife stammered, “Uh.” Did.. Pickel think it was a joke? Or was it that bad that he had to… Run and hide?
Knife shifted on his feet. Should he just go-
He was interrupted by fast footsteps and Pickle flinging himself on top of Knife, making him lose his balance completely. The soft grass basically did nothing to soften the fall, but Knife didn’t even mind.
“Dude, that was-!” Pickle rejoiced, happily. “That was so cheesy!”
“Yeah, I, uh,” he grinned cheekily. “I like romantic songs,”
Their laughter intermingled as they held each other, under the slowly arriving stars. Knife should definitely sneak out to Pickle more often.
Characters: Suitcase, Knife. A lot of mentions of the Poker Pals.
Ships: none
Word count: 1071
Description: Suitcase feels homesick.
Hi there, again! This is a very self-indulgent fluff/angst. This is written to be read as if they were humans, but if you avoid a few details, you can read as if they were objects. Suitcase does have arms in this, but they’re partially paralyzed. Happy reading!
Suitcase didn’t feel like getting out of bed. She’s usually a morning person, and is always out of bed before 8 o'clock, but. Not today. Her limbs were stuck to her mattress, weighed down as if they were made of lead. She was drowsy and thirsty but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for the water bottle next to her bed.
She had things to do. It was late into the morning, and staying in bed any longer would just make her feel worse. Sunlight shone through the partially covered window, making her vision blur from the strong light. How much did she sleep the night before? Honestly, she couldn’t recall.
Everything felt uncomfortable, unfamiliar. A sinking feeling settled into her stomach; she didn’t want to be there. There was nothing wrong with Hotel OJ most of the time, but right there and then? She wanted to get away. Get away from the apartment that she considers her own and out of this place.
She wanted to go home.
Her parents were just a phone call away. She knew this, but she didn’t have the willpower to dial their number. Or to grab her phone, for that matter. It was on the desk, partially covered by the leaves of her numerous plants. She felt too tired to stand up.
Her home. Her fathers, her room, her bed. She missed her dad’s breakfasts, her papa’s smiles when nobody but his family was watching, and her pop’s lullabies. Suitcase was 17, for crying out loud, she should be able to take care of herself. It was her choice to join the competition, even despite her Papa’s complaints.
She had just turned 16 when she left. It had been over a year since she had last seen them in person. Of course, they texted her a lot as soon as the show was over, and called her too. They were there for her in any way they could. But she still missed them so much.
Suitcase missed their weekly poker nights, their weird job schedules, their loud arguing about whether or not they should get a freezer only for Freezy Pops. She even missed said freezer.
Her blanket pressed hard against her. She hadn’t felt this homesick in a while. Her parents were her home, and without them there nothing quite felt right.
A quick but effective knock on her door kicked her out of her thoughts. She sluggishly tried to sit up, but her arms just weren’t strong enough to pull her up. With a sigh, she plopped back down.
“Who is it?” Suitcase cringed at how tired and meek her voice came out.
“Knife,” a gruff voice answered from the other side of the burgundy door. “I’m comin’ in.”
Suitcase assumed it wasn’t much of a hassle for Knife to get in. She heard to clicks and the creaking of the door to her apartment. He had Suitcase’s spare key- just in case Suitcase needed help carrying something up all the stairs.
“Good morning. You look awful,” Knife off-handedly remarked, as he balanced a tray on one hand while pulling Suitcase’s chair next to the bed, sitting down on it.
“Gee, thanks,” Suitcase huffed, knowing he didn’t mean it as an insult. She probably did look like a mess; her hair was everywhere and she probably had eyebags larger than her actual eyes. “Good morning.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Suitcase knew Knife meant well; he just didn’t know how to show affection. He may pretend he’s a jerk but he genuinely cared and worried about his friends. He’d always been the first person to help Suitcase if she needed it, and then pretend like it wasn’t anything personal.
“Have you taken your medicine?”
... Eugh. Her medicine. “.. No.”
He stood, and headed towards her bathroom. He reminded her of her Papa so much; grumpy, and acting like he doesn’t care about anything. Anyone who knew them could tell that’s not the case, though.
“Balloon is really worried ‘bout you. He wouldn’t shut up during breakfast.” Stepping out with a pill bottle in his hand, Knife waltzed over to her desk. Grabbing her phone, checking some notifications, he plugged it into a charger. “Ace called you. D’ya want me to text him?”
Knife knew who her dads were. His guardians and her parents were friends- some sort of job related friendship? Swiss Army Knife and Dagger were both super nice, and she had met them before she even knew about Inanimate Insanity. And now she’s friends with their son. Who would’ve known?
Knife shuffled behind her. Judging by the scrambling of the bottle of pills and the chair’s screeching, he’d sat down. Suitcase didn’t want to explain her homesickness; it was silly, wasn’t it? She could call them, text them, or even book a flight and stay at home for a bit. It wasn’t a big deal. Inanimate Insanity was long over. She should just get over it.
“They’ll understand if you need some alone time,” Knife chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my parents texted me as often as yours do. I love them, but geez. I definitely need to be babied.”
“No, that’s not-!” Turning around, she caught his eye. He looked quizzically at her. “That’s not it.”
Static overgrew the silence in her ears for a few seconds. Her mouth felt dry and her eyes blurred up. She shifted her eyes to look at the ceiling instead of Knife’s questioning stare. Deep breaths. Don’t cry in front of Knife.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Knife shrugged, opening the lid to her medicine with ease. “I get it.”
Suitcase shakily nodded.
“But,” He picked up the glass of water from the tray he had placed on the floor. “You must take your medicine and eat. You won’t feel good, but you’ll feel better.”
“..Thanks,” Suitcase smiled weakly as she managed to push herself up to a sitting position. Grabbing the glass and the two pills Knife had taken out, she swallowed them quickly. Bleugh, gross.
“Don’t mention it. Now, eat up. I had to fight Pickle for that waffle.”
While Suitcase’s homesickness didn’t go away, she started feeling better during the duration of the day. Maybe her dads weren’t around, but at least she had her friend’s there to help her through rough spots.
Charactes: Microphone, Soap
Ships: Microsoap
Word count: 670
Description: “Balter- (bôl´ter) v.
To dance gracelessly, without particular art or skill, but perhaps with some enjoyment.” aka Soap dances and Mic admires her.
First fic I posted on wattpad! This one is short but sweet. wattpad link! a03 link!
So maybe Soap wasn’t the best dancer. Microphone couldn’t help but be a bit embarrassed- her best friend (and crush) was flailing about on the dancefloor for anyone to see. OJ always hosted these parties once a month but Soap had never danced at one before, and Mic was starting to understand why. Of course, many of her previous teammates and rivals weren't necessarily graceful either, but Soap stood out. She was having the time of her life and Microphone couldn't help but to notice how the air around her was different, even from across the room.
Maybe that was just a Microphone thing, though. Maybe, just maybe, she noticed more things about Soap than what others do. Her goofy smiles, her concentration and attention to detail, and the way she carried herself with pride no matter what. The way she sticks out her tongue when reading, or how she always taps her coffee mug in the morning before drinking.…
Yeah, definitely just a Microphone thing. Geez.
Seeing Soap let loose, unafraid and disconnected from her worries, though? It made Mic happy. In a silly and rather dumb way, she realised, as butterflies invaded her stomach. Soap was totally relaxed and oblivious to the world around her. Mic, in all honesty, envied it. She can’t do that, especially in public situations like these.
Mic was alone, red cup gripped tightly in her hands as she peered over at Soap. Everyone was out on the dancefloor, except save a few (none of which Mic wanted to talk to; she didn’t want to converse with Trophy nor did she want to watch Lightbulb drown 50 cookies in a row). Music blared so loudly the ground beneath her shook, but for once in her life everything was quiet. All of her focus was locked onto Soap.
Bright blue and red lights soared over Soap’s body, a flurry of colors overlining and creating vivid images. It was a moment Mic wished she could save; in a blurry photograph, or in a painting perhaps, but a part of Mic knew that she’d never be able to capture the experience or feeling that it contained. The raw power and emotion that Soap’s eyes held was something indescribable. The way she smiled when-
Wait. Soap’s staring straight at her. Oh.
Mic never liked parties. They were crowded, warm and loud. All the colors burned her eyes and she usually wanted to go home after five minutes. But now, she found she was at ease, as her feet stumbled across the floor awkwardly, eyes gazing at Soap as a guideline. She was the light and Microphone was the moth, blindly following her.
...That’s really cheesy. Whatever was in that soda is definitely affecting Mic in the worst way; she’s becoming all… Poetic. Knife and his ‘secret’ poems really are affecting her, huh?
“C’mon, Mic, dance with me!” Soap's voice was muted and overpowered by the party, but Mic still heard it loud and clear.
Soap was definitely out of rhythm. It was as if she was dancing to another song all together. However, laughter was intertwined with every word she spoke and Mic couldn’t help but start to dance, equally as poorly, alongside Soap.
It was a passion, an enjoyment, and a moment nobody could take away from the two of them. Every shared glance, each sprout of laughter, was like a blessing in of itself. So what if Mic felt all tingly everytime Soap accidentally touched her? Or how her face became warm every time Soap smiled at her? She was having a good time.
At some point in their flurry of dance moves Mic must’ve fallen because before she knew it, she was in Soap’s arms. Laughter bubbled out of Soap, and Mic found herself laughing along with a big grin and blush plastered to her face. Mic should definitely dance with Soap more. Soap, despite her balter, was stunning and maybe parties aren’t so bad if Mic gets to spend them together with her.
「 THEME #005: PORTFOLIO by angelicxi 」
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❥ the link to the code is on the sidebar in the theme previews.
Boy was this fun to code! Portfolio is a theme conceived on a whim that I am actually quite proud of. With a design that is, dare I say?, sleek, it can easily transform your tumblr artblog into a digital portfolio! Functions perfectly for both writers and artists.
F E A T U R E S :
— option for 500px or 700px posts;
— home & ask + 3 extra links;
— blog title + slot for your name;
— avatar image (make sure it’s 125x125 px!) on the sidebar;
— slot for description, can be lengthy;
— I recommend you toggle your blog settings to show 1 post per page for the best look.
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