#but then afterwards i must live with the knowledge of every wrong she has ever wronged me with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jewishjon · 3 years ago

Text

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself.

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something.

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’”

Kill. Kill Wylan.

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks.

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night.

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life.

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom.

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow.

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son.

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome.

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down.

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again.

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist.

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #ck #soc #the grishaverse #shadow and bone #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper #gvbb21 #gvbbfic21 #kuwei yul bo #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #netflix #jan van eck #fanfic

23 notes · View notes

deanwasalwaysbi · 4 years ago

Text

This post from @crookedcryptid suggesting Dean and Castiel were canonically together from Dean's prayer confession on put a big stupid grin on my face, and then I went off and analyzed every episode that came afterward. So here you go?

Castiel’s in about every other episode from that point. And they are actually separated in the majority of the majority of the episodes, but the way they interact is just loving.

Episode by episode analysis under the cut.

At The Trap, Dean confesses to Castiel in his prayer how he really feels (but not like that at least not in Chuck's censured version that we see) while Eileen and Sam split up bc of Chuck. It's late revealed that Chuck sent Sam Eileen and Sent Cas & Dean to Purgatory so they'd lose hope. (Cas must have defied Chuck's plan yet again by stopping Dean from voicing his feelings bc that's the only explanation I have to make this make any sense. (x) )

After Dean's confession, the next episode immediately separates Cas & Dean but Dean pines after the domestic life like Garth has with his family, an alternative lifestyle Dean once saw as unacceptably evil. (x)

But then next episode Castiel goes and finds Jack and brings him home. Brings him home to Dean who does this. (See gif above that lives rent free in my mind /\)

He holds Jack’s face just like he did Ben’s. He looks into Jack’s eyes, one then the other, as if to verify that it’s really him. Then he looks from Jack to Castiel.

This dad moment. This neck hold and look to Castiel that simultaneously says, “you brought my son home to me” but also screams in Jensen’s headcanon that Dean used to look at Jack and see Lucifer but now he looks at him and sees Cas.

(Tho that shouldn’t be hard since they clearly cast their combined biological child.)

I’m obsessed with it. It haunt my dreams and inhabits my waking brain.

The fact that this is not before ‘The Trap’ but after is so important. They didn’t set it right between them artificially, by Cas bringing Jack home. Instead, they set it right between them and then they got their son back. Otherwise, it is the last piece of the puzzle to patch their relationship. Dean was envious of Garth’s family, and suddenly Dean has his back.

In Galaxy Brain Chuck’s screen shows a view of Dean and Cas sitting super closely huddled together at the kitchen table. (x) Is actually from an earlier episode. There’s also the dadliest dadstiel moment ever, with Castiel letting his god killing, resurrected, super powered, three-year-old win at connect four, which was not in the script, but added by Misha and Sp8. (x) When Sam and Cas disagree on Jack, Cas backs up Jack and Dean supports Cas over Sam. The husbands share a whiskey while reveling in how they brought Jack up right, “I knew it, Dean. When I was with Jack’s mother, she… You know, Kelly just had faith that Jack would be good for the world, and I felt it, too. I knew it. And then, when everything went wrong, and God took him from us… I was lost in a way I’ve never been before. Because I knew the story wasn’t over. I knew Jack wasn’t done. And I was right.” (Even if Dean’s a little too excited about using Jack as a weapon.) (Maybe this line explains what's been up with the Hellers these past 6 months yall.)

This is huge, because Dean was destroyed at the end of last season, imo, bc his idea of Jack was destroyed and he felt the need to cut himself off from all thoughts that he could have that family. (x)

Cas also wordlessly goes into Dean’s backpack in a moment of routine casual intimacy.

Destiny’s Child & Dean calling Cas an idiot for risking his life yet again- not knowing that Cas felt secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't die bc of his deal. Dean was legit scared to lose him again. (oh no my heart). With that extra knowledge Cas had it's exactly the kind of thing Dean would do. Dean's done this exact thing before both when he was, and was not, suicidal. (S13, S6) They get Jack’s soul back, but first the classic “oh no my child has ingested something”.

Last Holiday- No Cas. 😒

Gimme Shelter - Our boys are separated yet again - Castiel talks to Paster Sexy (recast doctor sexy) who says it’s okay to be gay. We get a lot of charming Cas with Jack moments. Something happens in this episode, it happens off-screen and it's something we've basically have never seen in this series. Jack tells Castiel that he expects to die to defeat Chuck and rather than fall into the pattern we've seen every single season, Castiel immediately tells Dean what is going on, immediately tells Dean everything he needs to know to protect Jack.

Drag me Away From You (ugh oh no and they will) - No Cas

Unity - end of the warm wuvy dov.

Dean lets Jack think he isn’t family. Sam discovers that if they let Jack kill Chuck that Billie will kill Eileen, anyone from another dimension or resurrected and Dean. Looks. At. Cas. (x) The fear in his eyes.

By this point Dean is unhinged. He’s back to the beginning of the season when he was afraid that all of this was Chuck’s control rather than a real relationship between them. This should have been an ‘absolution’ moment for Jack, the one Castiel says here that Jack doesn’t need from anyone but himself. The closest we get to confirmation that Cas has learned that lesson himself. (x) Dean was so destroyed after his idea of Jack died that it split up his marriage … I mean…. Dean already chose Jack’s life once, even after Mary. Dean is choosing him over using him as a weapon to kill Chuck is huge considering how spun out Dean was by this point. I’m convinced that without Cas being there Dean would not have stopped, and might have let Jack sacrifice himself, might have shot Sam giving Chuck his ending.

I’m also convinced that Chuck designed The Trap to have Cas die 8 episodes ago. (x) That Dean was never supposed to have this post trap period with him. So that he would be hopeless just like he was in episode 19. That was in the version Chuck wrote back in episode 4. Without Cas, Chuck would have gotten his ending. (x) Woof there is a sentence that hurts in 15x20

18 - skipping this winchester main pain for the mo-

So this all got me thinking about Dean’s face after Cas says he loves him, the little choked up headshake, like maybe that’s just verbal confirmation of something he, on some level, already knew. (x)

I haven’t hit 15 in my rewatch yet and I’m sure I will find new a different things to piss me tf off when I do.

Morning erybody?

#deancas meta #destiel season 15 #season 15 breakdown #dean was always bi #deancas #spn rewatch #destiel #dean winchester #dragging dean winchester out of the closet #spn #spn meta #original content #spn feels #15x09 #15x11 #15x12 #15x13 #15x15

65 notes · View notes

reginarubie · 3 years ago

Text

Daenerys and narcissism, she also displays it

Daenerys, when the story starts, is a character with which it’s easy to empathize, having been raised on the run by a clearly narcissistic young man (which sets the example for her, because children learn through example and Daenerys has had two examples in her life: Viserys self-entitlement and his weakness and the Dothraki way, she coupled the two things, strength with self-entitlement and she became what Viserys was but more powerful) who abuses her.

But slowly we see her starting to become as narcissistic as Viserys if not more.

Here you find a list of the characteristics of people with narcissistic disorder:

- Have an exaggerated sense of self-importance

“If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VI)

In this excerpt we see her choosing this entity with which she identifies herself (the dragon) over that of a woman. She chooses to see herself as special instead of common. Even though in her world she has been raised to believe herself special (and didn’t feel like a princess until she rode Silver) in this moment she is at a crossroads: being a normal woman with an happy life with her husband and son or choose to be a dragon. She chooses power, to be the dragon.

Now I do believe that as a victim of Viserys and Drogo both as often happens to kid victim of abuse (especially by family) she dissociated and in the rupture she identified with the dragon she sees in her dreams.

But in this moment she believes to be happy with her new life with her first abuser gone and could easily choose happiness in being just a khaleesi and live her life with her family or pursue her brother and hers ambition for the Iron throne.

- Have a sense of entitlement and require constant, excessive admiration

“And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys IX)

“Dany turned on him angrily. "The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike."” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VII)

“They never saw me for a queen, she thought bitterly. I was only an afternoon's amusement, a horse girl with a curious pet.” (A Clash of Kings, Daenerys III)

Which I am sorry, but that is reality doing a check in. No one in Qart cares whose blood she has (from what kings she descend) they care for what she has done, her achievements and for now she is just “the horse girl with a curious pet” we see her own self entitlement, remember this comes immediately after she is thinks that she is not being given not even a cup of water from the Pureborn since she knows she offer poisoned wine to people they deem dangerous.

- Expect to be recognized as superior even without achievements that warrant it

“When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard.” (a Game of Thrones, Daenerys IV)

I choose this snippet for a precise reason, until now Daenerys has done nothing, but be a Targaryen that could warrant her a claim to the Iron throne but her brother is still alive, by her own conception Viserys is the one with the claim to the Iron throne (which it doesn’t apply since House Targaryen was dethroned and he had to take the Seven Kingdoms by right of conquest, but I digress) not her. So why does she assumes that her son will sit on the Iron throne? Her brother’s ambition has already become hers, she does not care her brother might marry and have heirs and kids of his own. Her son will sit on the Iron throne.

And she tries to get the Dothraki to recognize her son’s and hers claim to the Iron throne trying to convince Drogo to take the Seven Kingdoms for her and not for her brother. Despite either of them having done nothing to actually take the Seven Kingdoms.

“Across the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbing in a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought the Lamb Men.

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate. [...] Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys VII)

Here we see that despite having done nothing except working behind her brother’s back to get her son on the Iron throne, she is ready to sacrifice the life and freedom of whoever because that is the price of the Iron throne. If that’s not entitlement without achievements to warrant it, I don’t know what might be.

- Exaggerate achievements and talents

In many instances she keeps reminding everyone who crosses her, or tells her no that what she dreams come true, and therefor she is special.

Her whole behavior in adding title after title, her being convinced that if she dreams of it, it will come true... it’s a good attitude, a powerful attitude, until you use it to justify every wrongdoing you do or to obtain what you want in the way that you want without caring for the prospect of the others.

- Be preoccupied with fantasies about success, power, brilliance, beauty or the perfect mate

“He should never have done that. He is thrice my age, and of too low a birth for me, and I never gave him leave. No true knight would ever kiss a queen without her leave. [...] Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow.” (A Storm of Swords, Daenerys II)

And while, yikes Jorah really is thrice her age and there is nothing wrong with wanting her lover to be handsome, that of too low birth for me never sat right with me, because Daario was even lesser of birth than her but since he was handsome to her and she liked him better than Jorah she took him as her lover.

She likes pretty things and worries about power (see also when she is disappointed in Qart they do not consider her a Queen) and more, she cares to take back the Seven Kingdoms and have power to make her realm filled with fat man and maidens, but she never really puts effort to think how to achieve that. She thinks only how to achieve the power and she realizes that herself “"Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver's Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on."”

- Believe they are superior and can only associate with equally special people

All the times she spews about being the blood of the dragon (they are too many) and uses her being of the Blood of Old Valyria as if she is a goddess among men and should be treated accordingly.

As I have said in the beginning many of this aspects of her personality are due to what she has been taught (that she is special, a notion reinforced because she walked into the fire and survived, but she brings it to the next level and if it was anyone else in real life we’d say they have taken a power trip) and the examples she has been given. I have little doubt that if she had seen people behaving better and in a non pathological way she could stand a chance of not turning in Viserys. As things stand I think she dissociated to survive her trauma (a trauma that still haunts her - she still dreams of Viserys haughtily provoke her) and she identified with the dragon to the point that bit by bit every ounce of humanity is discarded. She still does good, she helps the ill in Meereen and I do believe she is convinced she is helping in the Bay even if she is doing the opposite.

Now, I am no psychologist, I just read and research a lot. If someone else, who is more knowledgeable than I in the matter, wants to give his input I’d be grateful to learn more.

#daenerys stormborn #narcissism

39 notes · View notes

memes-in-a-half-shell · 3 years ago

Text

Business AU - Working Late, Part 6

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Just two cuties learning more about eachother ooohhh u___u 💜

Help, I’m getting too involved in this fic fsdfhsjfbsd

They had agreed to meet at Vee’s apartment building at around 6:30-7:00pm, exchanging phone numbers for easier communication. They had yet to know where they’d spend the evening on this Saturday, but knowing New York was full of surprises, it wouldn’t be hard to find something to do.

Vee was franctically moving back and forth from her bedroom to the bathroom, trying so hard to find anything good to wear. ... They should’ve decided on an activity, dammit. Now she didn’t know if it would be wiser to wear a dress, or something more casual? As her hands were shovelling through clothes in her closet, she heard her phone beep to life, signaling a notification. Glancing at the time, it was barely over 6pm. It was a text from Donnie, to which she couldn’t help raising a brow:

Her lips were pursed in a thin line, answering anyway:

She put her phone away. He wasn’t supposed to get here in at least thirty minutes to an hour, so there was no rush.

*BZZZZT*

She jumped when the door buzzer rang. Her frown was formed in an instant, running to her intercom and cracking it to life.

“Yes?”

“I was curious ‘cause I wanted to come up and see where you live!” responded Donnie’s voice through the intercom.

“What are you doing here? It’s only 6pm!”

“I figured it’d be a good excuse to come up to your place.”

“Donatello you are one sneaky bastard,” sighed Vee. “... Alright, come on up.”

As soon as she unlocked the main entrance downstair, that’s when she realized that she was still only in her underwear. She panicked for a couple of seconds, allowing some time for him to enter the building, then running to her room and grabbing any pieces of clothing she could find; a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Almost falling in her rush, she then rushed to her entrance, opening the door in a hurry. She met face to face with Donnie, the mutant’s hand in a motion to knock, but promptly stopped. His eyes were wide as he noticed her a panting mess.

“... I guess it wasn’t such a good idea afterall,” he chuckled.

“Let’s just say you took me by surprise. I still have yet to decide what I’m gonna wear.”

She moved, gesturing him to come in. As he passed by, she glanced at his look. He was rather casual for the occasion; a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt, not entirely buttoned at the top, giving a slight sight to his plastron.

“Looking at you, now I finally have a better idea of what to wear,” she pointed out. “At least that’s good.”

As she walked to him, she vaguely gestured the surroundings: “Welcome to my oversized closet. One bedroom, one bathroom, the rest is the living space connected to the kitchen. ... This must look like a tiny shithole to you.”

Donnie tsked: “Don’t be so hard on this place, it has its charms! I think it looks nice. ... It suits you in terms of taste.”

“Most of the furniture is second-hand, which is cheaper most of the time,” added Vee, going towards her bedroom. “I wouldn’t say it’s one hundred percent my taste, but at least it fills the space. ... This place is tiny, but good enough for me.”

As she was about to close her door, she did peak back at Donnie, flashing him a smile: “Make yourself at home, I’ll be ready in no time.”

The terrapin took that as an invitation to look around the place. To be frank, he did arrive earlier in order to do such thing. He always thought that a person’s environment could tell so much about them. Overall the place was tidy, with the exception of a few books here and there and some papers and pencils layed on a coffee table. She had a bookshelf completely filled, books about various subjects neatly placed and organized. An electric piano was resting against a wall, various partitions showing on a music stand close by. There were some art and pictures decorating the space - but none were showing people, even relatives if any... He also noticed a faint smell of coffee in the air, judging that she must have brewed some earlier. There was this sense of coziness, something only a small and well-thought apartment could give, and it definitely did suit her well.

Vee’s bedroom door opened, revealing the woman in much proper clothes. Both smiled, Vee playfully adding:

“I figured I’d bring the curse back.”

She had also opted for jeans, her upper body adorning a black tank top and a black blazer over it.

“At least you have more style than me,” added the turtle.

“Nonsense,” Vee scolded in a fake tone, giving a playful slap on his arm as she passed by, going to the kitchen area. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

She got two glasses out of a cupboard, showing them to Donnie: ‘‘Water? ... I don’t have anything else fancy to drink.”

“Water is good,” he smiled, leaning against the kitchen island.

He really didn’t know why, but looking at her go in her own environment was making him happy. It felt much more intimate to see her at ease and relaxed...

“So, what did you have in mind for this evening?” she asked, setting the glasses down and offering one to him.

He took a sip, looking pensive for a moment.

“We can definitely grab a quick bite somewhere, theeennnn...” He looked around quickly, then pointing the piano. “You like music? What genre?”

Vee shrugged: “Pretty much anything, but I do have a preference for classical and jazz. Why?”

“We could definitely drop at a jazz club then! I know some interesting places in Midtown.”

“I’m down for it then, monsieur,” smirked the woman.

***

They had opted first to go to a small local café, indulging themselves to some coffee and simple food. There was no need to be fancy-pantsy, prefering the intimacy and coziness of this small place. To be frank, it was the perfect setting for some casual conversation, finally taking the time to get to know eachother further more.

To quench Donnie’s curiosity, Vee explained why she moved to New York city. She felt like she had been facing a wall for too long back in Montréal. A lot of things had gone wrong in her personal life, her career seemed to go nowhere. All she wanted at some point was to run away. Start from scratch and be on her own... She had visited New York a couple of times before and had been in love with the city ever since. It only felt natural that she’d want to move there - knowing big cities were at least familiar to her, yet she could experience new things out of it. Her family had been furious about her choices, but she chose to stick to it and moved without any help. She found her apartment and her job all by herself. She handled all sorts of paperwork herself regarding her move. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to prove herself that she could make such a huge leap in her life.

As for Donnie, without going into much details, he explained how the Hamato Enterprise came to be. After his father’s death, he and his brothers joined forces and decided to reveal themselves to the world - with the help of some key figures in the city. Their knowledge of New York and its pulse proved to be a tremendous help for developping tactics and plans to advance the city’s security and good life of its people. It was still not perfect - how could it ever truly be anyway? - but the turtles had New York and its denizens at heart, and they would do anything to safeguard it. They had attracted good and bad attention on them over the years, but that never distracted them from their goals to bring out the best out of this city.

Vee could admire the intentions, although she did raise concerns in regards to judging what could be “best” for the city. There were too many variables that would never allow a perfect “cookie-cutter” plan for peace. Donnie was well aware of that and it was something he had personally raised to his brother Leonardo - who was mostly in charge of security matters. Sacrifices had to be made at times for the people’s sake, but at least the four brothers’ different points of view helped painting various scenarios into shades of grey, rather than in a fully black and white picture.

Done with their meal, the duo proceeded towards Midtown. The evening was warm and the streets colorful. Energy and life were coursing through every corners of the city, truly reminding that New York was indeed the city that never sleeps. They found solace in a jazz club inbetween other venues. There was already a good crowd seated there, so they both found their place towards the back of the room, although they still got a nice view on the stage. A band was already playing, setting a smooth ambiance to the scene. After they ordered some drinks to their table, Vee made herself more comfortable as she removed her blazer, revealing her tank top, as well as the tattoo adorning her upper left chest part.

“Oh nice,” started Donnie as he took a better look at it. “I did notice your tattoo by some occasions, but it’s the first I’m seeing it fully!”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s starting to get hot in here.”

“No need to be sorry for anything, I enjoy the sight,” winked the terrapin. “How many tattoos do you have?”

“Let’s see...,” quickly pondered the woman. She quickly gestured or tapped whichever part she was mentionning afterward: “One at each legs - ankle level. Both wrists, on the insides. Inner left forearm. On the ring finger of my right hand. Behind my right shoulder. Do I need to still go on?”

“I’m guessing you want more of them?”

“Oh absolutely,” smiled Vee. “Hopefully I can get both my arms fully covered at some point.”

“I could probably help with that.”

The woman couldn’t help her small frown, slightly curious.

“How so?”

“I know how to tattoo! I did my brothers’ tattoos.”

She hummed in approval, her eyes wide with interest, as well as lightly tapping his nearby forearm by absolute delight.

“Well, well, well. Have I known, I would have asked for that instead of a date!”

“Oh come on, is this evening going so bad right now?” teased Donnie.

“I’m joking,” reassured Vee, her smile soft. “I’m having a really nice time so far.”

Her hand remained on his arm, lightly stroking his scales. Her eyes drifted back to the scene, watching the musicians play. She rarely had the time to watch any live performances nowadays, so this experience was most definitely welcomed this evening.

“I’ll never get tired of music...,” she started dreamily. “It’s been my first real passion and it might forever be so.”

“I suspect you play the piano, since I’ve seen one back at your place,” inquired Donnie.

“I’ve been learning it by myself for so many years now. My main instrument though is the Alto Saxophone and I’ve been singing as well. I do compose in my spare time too.”

“I’m curious about all of that now. When can I hear one of your masterpieces?”

She squinted her eyes in amusement as she glanced back at the turtle.

“In due time, dear. But for now let’s enjoy the music already available to us.”

In answer, Donnie simply moved his arm so his hand could rightfully hold Vee’s, their fingers interlacing - threes and fives. They spent the whole show like this, forever enjoying eachother’s presence. How could this evening be even better than this?

***

“I still can’t believe that last band that played. I’ve never heard a saxophone squeak so much in one performance. It was so bad!” laughed Vee.

“You should’ve gone up on stage and steal the show. That would’ve been fun,” teased Donnie.

“Oh no, no, no!” quickly replied the woman. “This city is not ready yet to hear my talent.”

Her tipsy state did bring more fun into the conversation, Vee holding onto Donnie’s arm as they were heading toward’s her apartment building. She still had all her mind, but her mood was light and happier than usual, definitely on a cloud. As they stopped to the main entrance’s door, Vee couldn’t help tracing a finger over the visible parts of the mutant’s plastron.

“... Wanna come upstair for another glass of water?” she asked.

Donnie showed half of a smile, slightly shaking his head.

“No, I’m good. ... I don’t think it’d be a good idea to go up with you.”

“How so? I’m bad company?”

“No, you’re an excellent one, in fact....”

A shiver passed through Vee as she felt his hand at the small of her back, keeping her close.

“... J’ai beaucoup aimé ce temps passé avec toi (I really liked that time spent with you),” he said, his other hand lovingly cupping her cheek.

Vee couldn’t help her grin, leaning into his touch.

“Not bad. You’re not that much of a lost cause with French after all.”

“Let’s just say you’re inspiring me, all of a sudden.”

A quiet chuckle left Vee: “Monsieur Donatello, vous m’en laissez bouche bée (mister Donatello, you’re leaving me speechless).”

They couldn’t stop reading one another, ever leaning so close...

“... I could leave you even more speechless,” murmured the mutant.

In a joined, yet tender motion, it didn’t take long for their lips to meet, Vee helping herself by standing at the tip of her toes. It simply felt so natural... An overdued resolution that was only bound to happen. It was both brief and taking forever, the feeling sending fireworks through them both. They kept close as the kiss ended, Vee’s blush way apparent as she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well, that’s one good way to end the night,” she said lovingly.

“I wanted to do that for quite some time now...”

“I won’t say no to a second serving, good sir.”

That amused Donnie, indulging himself to a second sweet kiss. He didn’t want to rush anything, keeping it quite simple for the moment. Oh but how did it make him crave for so much more... After they parted once more, Donnie knew he had to leave. They had taken some good steps together, but right now they needed to halt that race... as good as it felt.

“Goodnight, Vee...” he cooed, feeling enamored.

“Goodnight, Donnie. I’ll dream of you...,” sweetly added Vee.

“Then I shall meet you in mine as well.”

It’d be quite pleasant, indeed.

((Part 7))

#it's-a-moi #business au #the usual sorry for any mistakes #IT'S SMOOCHING TIME

34 notes · View notes

primasveraas-writing · 4 years ago

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 4

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

4. Yavin IV

“Captain Kallus.”

Kallus turns the best he can, gripping the handle of his cane as he does. Zeb is making his way over, his tall frame parting the flow of traffic in the hall.

“Kal,” Zeb amends with a smile, brushing a hand against the small of Kallus’ back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kallus nods, and grimaces. “I don't suppose I can use my position to get out of physical therapy?”

“No. I’ll still carry you there myself if I have to.”

Heat flames across Kallus’ cheek, but there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. His daily routine has been centered around his recovery for weeks, despite his protestations. On his first day back, he reported to Command for an extra few hours rather than going to the medbay, which caused a small uproar among the likes of Hera and Zeb. The resulting situation was a lecture from Zeb and the entire medical staff, as well as a warning from Command as to where his priorities should lie.

But aside from the initial excitement, Kallus has settled in quite well. He has his own post and a small command to his name. He’s been forgiven by the Rebels in an official capacity, and has learned when to ignore the snide comments made by his less-forgiving compatriots. For the most part, his job is normal and steady- he’s in the company of fellow spies most of the time, but everyone on Yavin is well acquainted with danger, regardless of their roles within the Rebellion. He nearly fits in.

It would be better if he were not so limited by his physical ability. He cannot stand on his leg unsupported, so he has been using a cane constantly, save for a few small excursions across his quarters, which, so far, have been painful and short-lived.

Suddenly, Kallus is bad at keeping himself out of trouble, between his efforts to heal and his apparently lacking self-care habits. This is yet another change he attributes to rebel influence, but he rather likes it, even if he is adjusting to this new life slowly.

“You’re improving and you’re not going to stop now,” Zeb growls. He may as well be threatening Kallus, who minds this fact very little. His hand tightens on his cane.

“I know,” Kallus breathes, and drops his gaze. His next step forward is slightly unsteady, but he’s overly aware of Zeb watching him closely and that his friend is fully prepared to catch him should he trip.

Kallus hasn’t fallen in weeks. He can make it all the way across base without needing to rest now. The medics say the fracture is largely healed, and he thinks he must have made some kind of progress over the last few weeks.

“Are you coming with me?” Kallus tries not to sound too hopeful or excited; Zeb usually accompanies him to the medcenter for checkups and therapy, if only to ensure that Kallus himself actually attends.

“Of course.” Zeb glances at him. “‘Til you say you don’t want me there.”

“I do,” Kallus affirms, too quickly, and tries to discern if he’s blushing again. His face still feels hot.

They make their way down to the medcenter, where the staff greets him and Zeb both by name. The journey takes longer than he’d like, and Kallus tries not to count how many people pass him. It’s mid-afternoon by then, and his leg has started to twinge, although he turns away from Zeb and bites the inside of his cheek to get through the moments of pain.

Zeb steadies him as he strips off his jacket and boots, clutching Kallus’ left elbow. Kallus shoots him a grateful smile. He wobbles on one leg, unsteady, and he knows he will not fall.

“Ready?”

It’s not Zeb who asks, but a nurse. Cida Amada, who was one of the first people he got to know during his stay in the medcenter. She barely looks old enough to have such responsibility, with her shy smiles and soft tones, but she and Kallus took a liking to each other. They made each other cry, he lost in frustration and agony, and she hurt after discovering his tendency to yell and swear when in crippling pain. Yet once he had apologized, their relationship improved, and Amada became his primary caretaker, which most predominantly includes cajoling him into showing up for his appointments.

She and Zeb seem to adore each other for this fact. Kallus can only pretend he hates it so much.

He nods, his mouth suddenly dry, and she reaches out to take his hand. He lets her, and Cida smiles at him, not meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds.

“It’ll feel better later even if it’s uncomfortable right now, Alexsandr. How have the last few rotations been?”

She is gentle and kind. Forgiving, too, which is the strangest of offerings he’s even been gifted in his life. Kallus mostly expected to be dead by now, rather than guided through a half-stocked medbay by a medic exclusively trained by war doctors. Cida genuinely likes him, too, which is odd. Both Hera and Zeb had to assure him of this fact, though Kallus is sure she wouldn’t be capable of pretending otherwise. He first had doubts about the girl’s abilities as a liar since she apologized for taking a blood sample from him. She is too good to lie, which, he supposes, is why he’s a former Imperial-turned-spy, and she is a rebel war doctor.

Cida stretches his legs and guides him through a few exercises that should be simple but prove exceedingly difficult for Kallus. He has to touch his toes. Climb stairs. Walk 2 meters with support on either side. He grits his teeth and sweats through it, mumbling curses that Cida and Zeb pretend not to hear when he inevitably falters.

His hands shake for an hour afterward. Kallus showers and lies on his bunk, exhausted.

His leg feels better than it did before.

Had he stayed with the Empire, Kallus would have received higher quality medical care.

He might not be stuck with a limp and a cane.

First, he would have needed to swallow his damned pride and ask for treatment, and then the initial break would not have affected him for the rest of his life. The Imperial meddroids would have returned him to normal in a matter of days, if not weeks, and Thrawn would have never rebroken the leg, even if Kallus had pursued life as Fulcrum. The Empire is equipped with better resources and better training.

But he didn’t ask for help, not upon his return from Bahryn nor any of the painful days after. Konstantine didn’t even look up at him. If anyone noticed he was uncomfortable or weaker, they politely looked away and saved that topic of discussion for when his back was turned. Kallus was alone in caring for himself, and it was thus unimportant to everyone in the Empire, including him. He adopted the same attitude regarding his own health.

Hera had caught him when he collapsed, after Atollon. Cida cried when he cried because she hated seeing him in pain. Zeb has been there for him in more ways than he can count.

Sometimes, Zeb calls him Alex. He hasn’t had that nickname since he was a little boy- his parents never bothered with it and he had few friends by the time he entered the Imperial Academy.

Zeb is the only one, in his entire life, who has called him Kal.

That’s yet another thing they share. Kallus has gleamed that Zeb never fully revealed the truth of what happened on Bahryn, even to the rest of the Ghost crew.

He does not know what would be enough to repay the Rebels. They have so little, yet they give to him, in time and effort and supplies and trust. It would be more just if these things were diverted to another, not to a formal Imperial, but they will not let him refuse their generosity.

Kallus would give his life for these people. For Zeb and the Spectres, certainly, but for those he does not know, too. For the ones who hurl dirty looks and harsh words at him in the mess and hallways, for Cida, for the other Fulcrums, for every rebel on Yavin and the galaxy beyond.

His life would not be enough, when they are the very people who have given it back to him. Kallus’ life is marred and stained and broken. He can offer the rebels service and secrets and loyalty, and he will do all he can to see them to victory.

He wonders about that, too. He would be more confident about winning the war were he still an Imperial agent. He is a man of facts and logic, and he knows that the odds are against the rebels to prevail over the Empire.

But he believes in the rebels. Kallus believes in their cause and their people. That alone has carried them further than Kallus ever predicted.

He would give his life for them without thinking. He gives his hope and keeps his doubt and his cynicism, heavy as they are, so that they do not burden those like Pica and Leia Organa and Ezra Bridger.

Even as a rebel, being a spy still demands a certain mindset of coldness and hardness. Kallus is learning mercy, and he is learning how mercy does and doesn’t fit into his role. Draven has told him more than once that they serve the cause of the Rebellion, not its people.

Kallus is not sure he agrees. Draven has the end of the war in sight, and that is what grants Kallus peace of mind while the familiarity of Draven’s words nags at him.

Draven has also told Kallus that he is still useful, despite his leg. The General had looked at Kallus with pity while he had said it. Kallus will prove him wrong, and his heart sings with a small amount of pride with the knowledge of the difference he has made already under and to Draven’s command.

Kallus is trying to be good in his new role. He is also trying to become someone worthy of the friendship and care that the rebels have shown him.

He wants to be accepted by them. He wants to be their friend.

“Alexsandr!”

The use of his full first name startles him, nearly as much as the alarm in Zeb’s voice does. Zeb is staring at him from across the hangar, Hera by his size. The droid, Chopper, makes some obscene noise that Kallus can only assume is scolding.

The trio is at his side quickly, and Kallus grunts as he loads the shipment onto the shuttle.

“I can do that,” Hera says. She sounds mildly scandalized, and she takes the box from his hands. Chopper wags his mechanical arm at Kallus, and emits a horrifying cackle at the indignation on his face.

“No cane?” Zeb sounds surprised, but Kallus has had a good few days. He’s permitted not to use it for short amounts of time, given that his leg doesn’t start hurting. He and Cida are hoping that this will become the norm, that he will only need his cane some days. Kallus has floated the idea of field missions once or twice already, but he’ll push for more unsupervised walking first.

“Not for a while.” It’s nearly strange not to have the cane in his hand, but he’s been making good use of his free hands for a while. Then: “General, I assure you I am very capable of doing that.”

Kallus tries to take the next box from Hera, who passes to Zeb. In turn, he holds the box over their heads, then sets it in the shuttle.

“You could hurt yourself,” Hera chides. “Let us help you.”

“Lifting a few crates will hardly send me into critical condition,” Kallus protests, but the words are weakened when Hera glares at him. Chopper laughs again. “My leg is injured, not my arms.”

“No extra weight,” Zeb reminds him, taking another box from Hera. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“It’s just-”

“We’re happy to help,” Hera interrupts. She exchanges a look with Zeb, and Kallus bites back a retort. He’s perfectly capable.

The next time he sees Cida, Kallus is sure to mention lightening the restrictions on his carrying weight. She’s willing to negotiate, at the very least, and they argue until it’s agreed that Kallus can lift, but not carry, a few kilos. He’s sure to complain very little for the rest of the session, and the nurse sends him away with a smile at the end of the day.

She tells him he’s making progress; a statement constantly echoed by Zeb. Physical therapy becomes easier and less frequent; he’s fully adjusted to using his cane, although he has started to go many days without it. At first, it’s painful- he can only endure the day without his cane if he stays in Command, but then weeks pass and he can move around base on his own. He’s outfitted with temporary mechanical braces, and he goes on his first field mission as a rebel.

The days are not bad, and the initial mission goes smoothly, as do all the ones after that.

When night falls after he returns, Kallus can barely stand, and the pain reduces him mostly immobile.

Cida worms this fact out of him after he spends two rotations chasing down a rogue informant. He had been late to see her, and stiff and quiet during their appointment.

“You’ll make it worse,” she warns him. His leg has been swelling, too. “Too much at once will only hurt you.”

“I’m useful out there,” Kallus insists, staring at his injured leg. It would be a waste if he remained on base all the time. “If I can get stronger, then I can fight.”

Cida sighs, her eyes full of worry. Kallus looks away, his heart poisoned with guilt. “If you keep doing this, you may last a few months or a cycle. After that, you could spend the rest of your life walking with pain and assistance.”

He nods once. That’s as much time as he needs, regardless of what follows.

Kallus has greater potential than what his leg allows. He could be one of the best ground fighters on base, if his body worked right.

“Does your leg hurt?”

Kallus grunts. “My leg always hurts.” He shifts, moving his lower body as little as possible, but Zeb moves into his full view a moment later.

“You shoulda said something on way back-”

“I’m fine, Zeb.”

“Your cane-”

“It hurts with or without the cane,” Kallus snaps, then averts his eyes. Zeb’s ears flatten, and Kallus’ stomach flips.

“Are you gonna use it now?” Zeb asks quietly. They still don’t look at each other.

Kallus reaches for the offending object and thumps it against the ground. “Yes,” he mutters. That’s the only reason he got here, in some dirty corner of the base. The cane saw him back from the medbay and into the spot where he had chosen to sulk.

Apparently, the covert location wasn’t quite private enough. That, or Zeb knows him too well, because he seems to have sought Kallus out with ease. But here he is, sitting on the floor with Kallus and watching the rest of the Rebellion walk by, totally oblivious to their discussion.

“Today is a bad day,” Kallus says. That’s how he measures time- in good days and bad ones. “I’ve been having a lot of those, recently.”

“You’ve been working hard.”

“I want to go back to normal,” Kallus mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m sick of being weak. I’m tired.” He smiles at Zeb, his lips thin and pursed. “I’m done.”

“Alex.” Zeb is imploring.”How could you think you’re weak?”

“Because I can’t walk down the damned hallway!” Kallus scoffs. “Because I have gone through all this suffering and I am not better! And all I wish is that it would end!”

“That makes you weak, does it?”

“It doesn’t make me strong, Garazeb. Not the way you think I am.”

The Lasat next to him snorts. “Kal, I have seen you walk through hell and back-”

“That doesn’t make-”

“- I know how strong you are,” Zeb finishes, talking over him. “Do you trust me?”

Kallus blanches, his heart pounding. “Of course.”

“Then believe me when I say you’re strong.”

“I’ve never seen it that way.”

The words are nearly inaudible. It’s a shamefaced confession, and Zeb stares at him with wide eyes, taking both of Alexsandr’s hands in his.

“Just because I survived doesn’t mean I’m a martyr, Zeb. Or some inspiration to look up to.”

“That’s half of one of the many reasons I care for you,” Zeb whispers, his voice so, so low. “Not because you’ve managed to survive, but because of how determined you are. It’s the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating and the way your voice gets all high when you tell me about how fine and capable you are.” Zeb chuckles, and Kallus is very acutely aware that Zeb is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching. “You’ve always been so damn stubborn.”

“You like that about me?” Some alarmed voice in Alexsandr’s head warns him that this is barely tangential to the topic at hand.

“Yeah.” Zeb’s ears twitch, and he drops his eyes from Kallus’ wondrous stare. “Even if it pisses me off.”

“I know it does.”

“Yeah,” Zeb growls, then he deflates as he sighs. “I’ve always known that about you. Even when you were trying to kill me.” He gestures to Kallus, to his brace and cane. “Seeing you recover is another way you’re proving this to me. Your absurd relentlessness. And your strength.” He glowers at Kallus when he says the last word, as if daring him to object. “You’ve always had that.”

“Someone better would have handled it with grace.”

“Maybe.” Zeb shrugs. “You’re tough, not a saint.”

“Thank you, Garazeb.”

Zeb rolls his eyes, shoving against Kallus’ shoulder gently. “Whatever.” He clears his throat. “Maybe all this made you stronger. I don’t care if you get back to normal, or whatever you’ve dreamed up for yourself. I only want you to be happy with where you were.”

“And go to physical therapy.”

“I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Right.”

Zeb grins. “By the way, if you didn’t want the hurt from your serious injury to go away, then you’re twice as big of an idiot as I thought you were. I have no idea what else you expected.”

“I expected for it to last a few weeks. Not the rest of my life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wishing for that.” Zeb looks up at the trees, and Kallus thinks of a burning world, razed to the ground by the Empire. Zeb didn’t come away from Lasan unscathed, he knows. “Whatever happens though, here you are, Kal. Even if all you’ve done is survive.”

Alexsandr reaches out for Zeb’s hand, and his friend takes it. Zeb’s words are muddled with affection and friendship and respect. The person Zeb describes sounds like someone Kallus can appreciate. Somebody with an iron will and a conviction for the right kind of things. Somebody worthy of love

That night, Kallus cannot rest. He wanders the halls, on a dreadfully familiar path- the one Zeb takes him on when Kallus has to stretch out his leg. His feet carry him into the cool night air, his cane thumping against the stone after every uneven step.

Kallus searches for privacy, but he cannot make it far outside the base. There are still lights blinking from the hangars and a quiet bustle of nightlife shows that the base is still busy, but Kallus staggers along as far as he can and settles on a log under the cover of some trees.

“Can’t sleep?”

Alexsandr jumps, then he squints in the dark. Some 30 feet away is Kanan Jarrus, sitting on the forest floor with his legs folded beneath him. He appears to be meditating; his shoulder pauldrons and mask are off, and he sounds relaxed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Kallus calls. He fumbles with his cane and readies himself to stand; he’s still slightly out of breath and now he has nowhere to go.

“No.” Kanan stands instead and approaches Kallus, nimbly stepping over branches and rocks. Kallus stares up at the blind Jedi, then averts his gaze when Kanan takes a seat next to him.

They sit together in silence. Kallus doesn’t mind the company very much; he fiddles with his hands and does his best to ignore the aching in his leg.

“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Kanan says finally. He turns to Kallus expectantly.

Kallus gives a nervous chuckle. “What is?”

“Healing.” Kanan opens his hands as if he’s referring to the whole jungle, instead. “Even with the people who love you at your side.”

Kallus opens his mouth to protest- he’s not sure who loves him, even if a few people come to mind- but the depth of Kanan’s words hit him a moment later.

“I don’t-” Kallus struggles for the right words. “I don’t believe I’m alone.”

Kanan nods slowly. “I had Hera with me every step of the way. She’s the most understanding, caring person I know.” Then, Kanan shrugs. “But it was impossible for her to understand what it was like, no matter how hard she tried. It was lonely.”

“Yes,” Kallus says slowly, exhaling. “Even- even-”

“Zeb doesn’t understand?” He can hear the humor in Kanan’s voice, although Kallus cannot piece together why Kanan would be amused. “I think that’d be impossible unless he’d been through it, too.”

“Do you know anyone who did?”

Kanan shakes his head. “Not quite.” He smiles, and again, Kallus can’t comprehend why. “I had to find solace in other places.”

“Do you think you’re on the other side?”

“Of recovery?” Kallus inclines his head. “Yes. It’s different now.” Kanan’s smile becomes wistful. “But there’s no going back.”

“You made it through.”

“I did. And you will too. In time.”

“I want it to be over.” The confession falls from Kallus’ lips before he can help it. “I’m so tired of being in pain.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think it will ever pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then…” Kallus sighs. “Then I move forward with it, anyway.”

There’s no other choice. He will stay with the rebels until the end, and he will do so however he can. He could lose his leg tonight or he could wake up entirely healed tomorrow morning. Either way, there will be little change to his plans.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kanan rests his hand on Kallus’ knee. “It gets easier.”

“I know.” It has already. Maybe Zeb is right. Maybe he is strong because of what he has survived, and maybe there’s truth to Kanan’s words, too.

“I think you’ll find someone who makes it less lonely. I believe you’ll find yourself on the other side.”

Kallus bows his head in acknowledgment, suddenly exhausted. “Zeb will be yours again, once we get back from Lothal.” Kanan’s seriousness disappears, and Kallus knows the moment has passed. He can’t help that the corners of his lips are quirking up, and Kanan seems to both know and enjoy this fact.

“You leave soon?” The thought is bittersweet; the Lothal rebels returning home again, and Zeb will leave his side.

“Three rotations.” Kanan answers. His tone has become heavy again, but the Jedi does not sound afraid.

“I wish you luck.”

The earliest sign of civilization is a healed femur.

#kalluzeb #kalluzeb fanfic #swr #rebels #kallus x zeb #alexsandr kallus #kallus #agent kallus #star wars #star wars fanfic #sw rebels #rebels fanfic #star wars rebels #SWR fanfic #star wars rebels fanfiction #kalluzeb fanfiction #kalluzeb imagine #kalluzeb headcanons #and in darkness i stand

57 notes · View notes

chubbybuckydumpling · 4 years ago

Text

A Doctor’s Tale

words: 6.9k

relationship: Bruce Banner x desi!daughter!Reader

warnings: character death, slight spoilers for Marvel Studio’s The Avengers, fluff, angst

A/n: thank you so much @gotnofucks for helping me with this idea! You’re so kind and I hope I didn’t make this offensive in any way. I’m happy for any corrections. Please be kind, this was very difficult for me to write and I committed a few writing sins. I hope you’ll enjoy this any way :) (gif by @steves-on-a-plane)

My Masterlist | Part 2

The air was heavy with moisture, yet the heat of the day has not passed. Bruce heaved with exhaustion, the new climate put a noticeable strain on his body. The temperatures made him sweat vigorously and gave him a headache, especially on his way up these damned stairs. He would need to get adjusted to his new surroundings before he could work efficiently.

Another thing he would need to tolerate were the bustling streets. Everywhere Bruce looked, there were crowds of people, so close together it made his hands shake with anxiety. He preferred taking longer routes that were less public and less triggering.

After he had become afflicted with the other guy, Bruce couldn't stay. He was hunted down by the United States Armed Forces, so he had to flee. He knew he could hide in India without much trouble. He read about the country and their societal norms, so he felt somewhat calm, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of Kolkata.

The city was beautiful, of course. He admired the architecture and the many different buildings. He loved the parks, the bridges and the temples. The different kinds of food made him especially happy, yet he hated how talkative and social everyone is. No matter where he went, someone would try to bond with him, which triggered his anxiety.

Generally speaking, he enjoyed life in India, if it weren't for that unbearable weather. As he arrived at the top of the stairs, his shirt was wet from his sweat and the overly high humidity. With a sigh he pulled out a bottle of water to rehydrate – the amount of water he must have lost is remarkable. The water was warm and not as relieving as he had hoped, but it would have to suffice.

With one arm, Bruce wiped away the sweat that formed on his forehead, before he entered the house he was looking for. He heard about this shelter where some women took in ill women and children who could not afford to go to the hospital. Bruce had admired their dedication and hoped they would accept him as a volunteer.

With cautious eyes he looked around the room. He could see that the owners try their best to keep it clean and welcoming, but the smell of illness is prominent in the air. This chamber is obviously designed to be a reception area to check in their patients, but the cheap chairs and chipped wooden table were a sign of a lack of money. They were probably spending it on medical supplies and food.

Bruce stepped further into the room, the floorboards creaking, “Hello? May I speak to anyone?” Shyly, he began to play with his fingers, feet shuffling nervously.

A beautiful woman entered the room from one of the four doors and Bruce sucked in a breath when her sparkling eyes met his. She looked exhausted, but nothing could ever dim her beauty. The floor creaked slightly as she made her way to stand in front of him. She was small, yet her confidence was unmissable.

The woman raised an eyebrow, “What can I do for you, sir?” Bruce swallowed and let out the breath he had been holding, “I'm Bruce Banner. I heard about your work here. Uhm, are you the head doctor?” She crossed her arms and tilted her head, looking at him sceptically, but nodded nevertheless. “I would like to offer my help. I think this non-profit is incredible and I would love to assist?”

Finally, he broke eye contact and stared at the floor, terrified of the woman's reaction. Now, he could not see the amused smile playing on the smaller woman's lips, “Well, Bruce, how could I ever deny any help. However, I would quite like to learn something about your background, you know. Any qualifications?” Quickly, Bruce looked up a panicked look in his eyes, “Of course, I'm sorry, I should have mentioned that beforehand. I'll answer any questions, I'm sorry!”

She smiled a big toothy smile and jerked her head towards the sink, “Let me just...”. Bruce nodded quickly. It seemed that his usual knowledge of words had disappeared. All he could think about was how soft her brown skin looked and the gentle curves of her face.

“It's Aarohi, by the way”, she spoke as she washed her small hands, “Well, actually Dr. Verma, but we're friends now, right Bruce?” He smiled, completely smitten, “Right”

It was at this point that Bruce knew he would fall in love with her. And he was right. She brought out the best of him, her outgoing and confidant ways helped him to learn about himself and he rekindled with his body and soul. The three and a half years he had been in Kolkata taught him to love himself, admittedly that was still hard for him, but being able to help women and children in need made him feel good. And Aarohi had been by his side the entire time.

She opened her arms and heart for him and lead him through his issues. When he'd wake up screaming from his nightmares she was there to calm him down. His head between her hands as she pressed small kisses all over his face.

When he was too shy to talk to anyone but her, she would do her best to try and include him. By now he was way more comfortable talking to others. It was still scary, but not as panic inducing as it used to be. Bruce became a better man, all because of Aarohi, which is why after only a year and a half, he got down on one knee, hand shaking.

“You are the light in my life. When I arrived in India, everything was dark, but you showed me how to live again. I am a better man, because you bring out the best in me. I love you, with all of my heart. And I know that getting married is not possible for us, at least at the moment, but will you take this promise ring, for I promise I will forever love and cherish you, support you through thick and thin, in times of hardship and in times of ease. You are my world d without you I'd be lost. Aarohi, please accept this ring as a sign of my devotion” - and she did.

It wasn't really a surprise when she became pregnant shortly afterwards. Bruce had never been so happy before. Sometimes he feared about the other guy. What would happen if he came out or even worse, if their child would have his monster DNA, but his spouse reassured him and kept him calm as best as she could, “He hasn't come out for your whole stay in Kolkata and even if he would, I love every part of you, Bruce”

And once their baby girl was born, he was head over heels for you. From the moment he layed eyes on you he knew that he would do anything for you. “Bruce, do you want to hold her? Do you want to meet your daddy, shona?” It felt like time was frozen when he held you in his arms, your tiny fingers mindlessly holding onto him, a tiny yawn falling from your mouth.

And at times it was really hard. Bruce nor Aarohi wanted to stop working, their little clinic meant to much for them. So they switched between watching you and working. Bruce would have loved to bring you with him, but the chances of you catching a disease were too high to risk it. And therefore, your parents spent most of their time apart, yet their relationship kept growing stronger. Bruce's love for your mother increased every day and even now that you're eight months old his heart still swelled when he looked at her.

It's another hot day, the heat and humidity weighing heavily over Kolkata. Bruce is sitting at the kitchen table shirtless, his skin glistening with sweat. The smell of tea fills the air as his thick and delicate fingers fumble with the warm cup, his eyes trained on your sleeping body. He smiles and walks over to your crib, a smile on his face, “I love you, shona”, he whispers before he gently takes you out of your little bed and cradles you in his arms.

Bonding with you means everything to Bruce. He adores you with every fibre of his being, which is why skin on skin is one of his favourite activities. To feel you and to know you're alive coats him in a sense of calmness. He sits back down at the table and rubs soothing circles onto your back, “Daddy's got you, shona don't you ever worry your pretty little head. I promise I'll protect you” Soft lips press onto your forehead, your father's scent surrounding you, “Always and forever”

Bruce gently rocks you while humming a soft melody and simply enjoying the moment. Peace and quiet are a rare occurrence in his days which is why he cherished them so deeply. Bruce loved to trace your features, to see how you look so similar to him.

He could hear Aarohi return before he spotted her through the window which allowed him to quickly dash to the door with you, still safely pressed to his chest. The door creaks as he opens it, a smile immediately covering his face as he spreads his arms for a hug, “ Welcome home Momma, we missed you so much” She laughs at his adorable greeting and steps into his embrace. Both of them are sweaty, but the feeling of their loved one is overpowering, dulling the stickiness of their bodies. Bruce gazes into her eyes as if she had hung the stars and he feels his heart flutter. It only takes a moment before their lips meet in a gentle kiss, emotions and love poured into it, “I love you, Bruce” - “I love you too. So much”

Suddenly, a small cry disturbs their moment, “Oh Y/n, shona, what's wrong? Did you miss Momma?”, she coos and takes you out of Bruce's embrace, “Don't cry, Momma's got you. Are you hungry? That's fine, I'm here” She smiles and gently strokes your hair. “She's had some fruit and veggies and a bottle that you've prepared”, he mentions as he walks into the bedroom to fetch a shirt. Aarohi smiled down at you, her beautiful daughter, “Have you been such a good girl eating all your veggies?” She takes off her bloodied and stained shirt from work and lets down her bra to feed you.

Exhaustion is clear on her face, but even when she sighs, she's the most beautiful woman Bruce has ever seen. Especially while she nourishes you, his own flesh and blood, he can feel his heart swell. She keeps you alive and healthy, the biggest gift he could have ever received. He makes his way over to the two of you and brushes some strands of hair out of her face that must have come loose from her tight bun, “How is everything at the clinic?”

“It's really stressful. I think something is going around. We'll see more of this virus for sure.”, she sighs looking down at you, “We need to be especially careful. I don't want Y/n to fall ill. Not with this” Their gazes meet “I'll make sure to be extra sterile then”, he whispers before pressing his lips to her temple.

She leans into him with a smile, eyes closed, “Thank you” His hand gently rubs over her arm, his thumb drawing circles. After a while you let out a whine, fed and sated. “Oh, shona, are you done? Does Momma need to burp you?” She wrestles you up on her shoulder to pat her soft hand against your back.

“It's very busy back there, you should hurry. Our doctors can't keep up with them alone.”, she whispers, turning her head to look at Bruce. He nods and leans down to capture her lips into a kiss. It's gentle and sweet, just like her, “I love you”, he mumbles against her lips. Then, he leans down to press a kiss onto your head, “I love you too, shona” Aarohi grins and turns you around to face him, “We love you too, Daddy”, she says and waves with your hands in her hands.

Bruce had absolutely no idea why he let himself get dragged into this mess. Actually he did, how could he ever say no to the pleading eyes of that little girl. She looked so tiny and scared and he could see you in that girl. Hopeless and scared. So he followed her, clueless about the events that were to follow soon.

Regret fills Bruce the moment he enters the house and helplessly watches as the girl leaves through a window – no ill father in sight. He huffs, a self-deprecating smile on his lips, “Should have gotten paid up front, Banner”

“You know”, a voice calls out to him suddenly, “For a man ho's supposed to be avoiding stress, you picked a hell of a place to settle” A woman appears out of the shadows, short, curly, red hair frames her face. She looks absolutely stunning. Carefully, Bruce puts down his medical bag and turns towards the female, “Avoiding stress isn't the secret”

She raises her eyebrow, “Then what is it? Yoga?”, she jokes, no humour in her voice. Nerves arising, he rubs his hands together to calm himself, “You brought me to the edge of the city”, he remarks, looking out of a window, “Smart”. With his hands clutched, Bruce walks towards it in an attempt to scan the area “ I uh,”, he mumbles, “I assume the whole place is surrounded?”

The woman takes off her red cardigan and moves towards him, “Just you and me”. “And your actress buddy?”, he questions, “She was a spy too? They start that young?” He walks back towards the middle of the room. “I did”, she answers. “Who are you?”. He is nervous and he feels his anxiety crawling up his back. “Natasha Romanoff”

Silence. Bruce still fiddles with his fingers, but after a moment he looks directly into her eyes, “Are you here to kill me, Miss Romanoff? Because that's not gonna work out... for everyone”. Natasha slowly moves closer to him, “No, no of course not”, she shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed, “I'm here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D”.

He looks down and rubs his hands, “S.H.I.E.L.D”, he states monotonously, “How did they find me?” Looking up, Bruce sees her looking at him, “We never lost you, doctor. We've kept our distance. Even helped keep some other interested parties off your scent”, her voice is low like she's trying to speak extra calm. “Why?”, Bruce asks.

“Nick Fury seems to trust you”, she answers seriously, “But now we need you to come in”. He can't help but smile, “What if I say no?” Natasha smirks, her eyes twinkling dangerously, “I'll persuade you” He looks down, his pink tongue licking over his lips in thought, “What if”, he pauses to look up, “the other guy says no?” There it was, the elephant in the room.

Bruce is very proud that ever since he fled to India, the Hulk has not made an appearance. He did not receive any unwanted attention and lived life normally. He was able to be a good partner and father, never giving in to his anger. But now, things might change and that scares him. He does not want to let the monster out. It seems like Natasha knows that as well.

“You've been more than three years without an incident, I don't think you want to break that streak”, she says and turns away from him. The echo of her steps fills the room. “Well I don't every time get what I want” When he looks at the woman, she is walking towards him, a phone in her hands, “Doctor, we're facing a global catastrophe”

A self-deprecating chuckle escapes his lips, “Well, those I actively try to avoid” Without giving any thought to his statement, Natasha sits down at a small table that is situated in the room and shows him a picture of a bright, blue glowing cube, “This”, she starts and slides the phone towards him, “is the Tesseract. It has the potential energy to wipe out the planet”

Bruce fetches his glasses out of his spectacles case and puts them on. Cautiously, he grabs the phone to get a better look of the cube, In confusion, he lifts his head, “What does Fury want me to do, swallow it?” Natasha leans forward while keeping eye contact, “He wants you to find it. It's been taken. It emits a gamma signature that's too weak for us to trace. There's no one who knows gamma radiation like you do. If there was, then that's where I'd be”

Natasha leans back in her chair as he takes off his glasses, “So, Fury isn't after the monster?” “Not that he's told me”, she says calmly. “And he tells you everything?”, Bruce retorts. Slowly, but with grace, the woman stands up, “Talk to Fury, he needs you on this”. But it's too late, he can feel his fear rising, “He needs me in a cage?”

In an attempt of reassurance, Natasha begins to speak, “No one's gonna put you in a-” but she's interrupted as he suddenly slams his fists onto the table, “STOP LYING TO ME”, he shouts. With the blink of an eye, the woman grabs a gun from under the table and cocks it right into his face. A scared look settles on her face which she quickly tries to fight back.

Bruce steps back from the table. When he speaks again his voice sounds calm and collected, “I'm sorry”, he says, “That was mean”. A smile plays over his lips, “I just wanted to see what you'd do”. Natasha still holds the gun in her hands and Bruce puts his head in front of him to calm the woman down, “Why don't we do this the easy way where you don't use that”, he points to her gun, “and the other guy doesn't make a mess. Okay?”

Silence. “Natasha?”, he asks. The woman slowly lowers her gun, her gaze never leaving Bruce. After a few seconds she activates her earpiece, “Stand down”, she commands, “We're good here”. The eyebrows rise on his face, smile still on his lips, “ 'Just you and me' “, he mocks her earlier words. Natasha doesn't answer, she just stares at him from a few feet away.

“I need to tell my family. I have a daughter I need to tell her goodbye”, he suddenly realises, a panicked look on his face. Tenderly Natasha walks to him and places a hand on his shoulder, “Bruce this is urgent, there's no time”. There's a wild look in his eyes as he frantically runs to grab his bag, “No, please I have to. Y/n she's my daughter, I love her, I- I need to speak to her”

“Bruce”, the woman's voice is powerful and makes him stop in his tracks, “this is a global threat we are dealing with. There is no time. You can write a letter while we're on the jet. S.H.I.E.L.D will make sure it will arrive as soon as possible”. Bruce looks at the woman with a look that is similar to that of a kicked puppy and yet he sighs in defeat. He will soon come to learn that Natasha Romanoff does not negotiate, she gets what she wants, no questions asked. “Okay”, he whispers and follows the woman outside.

This is why you grew up being raised by a single mother. You love her more than anything in life. She made so many sacrifices and worked harder than any other person you know. She taught you everything she knew, about her work as a doctor, important life skills and most important how to be a decent human being. You try to be as kind and empathetic as you can, but you know your worth and found confidence in yourself.

Of course you're not perfect. You are insecure from time to time like any teenager and you are very temperamental from time to time. However, you are especially sensitive when it comes to the topic of your father. Ever since you could remember your mother talked to you about your father. She told you how kind and caring he is, how he loved you so much. But if he loved you so much, why wasn't he with you, with his family?

He sends letters to you and your mum and money to help you out and you appreciate that, but you wish he would just come up. Sometimes there are articles and reports about the Hulk. Aarohi had told you that your father could turn into him, but that you never had to fear him. And you don't, really. You love your father, but there's no solid relationship between you and your dad.

That is mostly your fault. You never answered your father's letters. Every time you sat down with a piece of paper and a pen nerves got the best of you. With shaky hands you put the pen down before you cried into your hands, careful to evade your mother. So one day you stopped trying.

Currently you're sitting in your room tinkering on one of your inventions. School has been quite easy for you and your mother kept telling you that you inherited your father's intelligence, a proud smile on her lips. Science came to you easily and physics as well as chemistry became your best friends. When you weren't busy helping your mother at the clinic you were experimenting with different chemicals and the laws of nature to try and broaden your understanding of the complex reactions and procedures.

The smell of spices and lemon fills the air in your room from your diffuser sticks while some soft rock plays on the radio. Your head nods involuntarily to the beat of some catchy chorus when you hear footsteps approaching. Not your mother's, she walks lighter than this. You turn around in your seat so you have a good view of the door as it opens to reveal one of the nurses that work for your mother. She frantically runs towards you, her eyes are wide and her lower lip is wobbling.

“Y/n it's your mother”, she whispers and takes a deep breath, “She just collapsed, we don't know why, I'm sorry, Y/n” You freeze at her words, eyes widening. Panic is bubbling up in your chest as your muscles tense, “What do you men? W-Will she be alright?” The woman just looks down which is as much of an answer as you need.

All of a sudden your body releases adrenaline into your bloodstream and you jump from your chair, your heart beating in your throat, “What are you waiting for?”, you yell at her, “Move!”. Your feet are moving on their own accord, the path to the clinic embedded in your brain from the thousands of times you have walked it. Hot wind is whipping your face as you run along the streets, the gravel and dirt scrunching loudly under the soles of your shoes.

You're panting once you arrive at the steps leading to the clinic, the humid air not helping with your struggle for oxygen, but you don't stop moving. The fear coursing through your veins overpowers the exhaustion. “Momma?”, you shout once you've barged through the doors. The floor creaks mournfully under your weight as you fiddle with your fingers. The smell of diseases and antibiotics hangs in the air. Usually you like being here, but now it feels like a weight that presses you down the further you walk in.

A doctor runs down the stairs, her steps rushed. She fixes you with her pitiful eyes and you feel anger bubbling up in your chest. “Y/n, my child, I'm so-” “DON'T”, you interrupt her, tears brimming in your eyes, “She won't die”. The snarling sound that leaves your mouth scares the doctor, but you run past her without care and sprint up the steps.

Upstairs, your mothers is lying on a thin mattress on the ground. Two nurses surround her, one presses a cold, wet cloth to her forehead, the other sits next to her to hold her hand. When she sees you she immediately gets up to make room for you. When your eyes land on your mothers face you release a gasp. She looks nothing like this morning when you saw her last.

She is pale around the nose, all her beautiful colours lost, and her skin is sunken down. Sweat is pooling on her forehead and runs down her temples in miserable lines while her eyes are hooded and half closed. The sound of heavy, flat breathes reaches your ears which finally breaks you out of your shock.

A few strong steps are enough to reach your mother's weak form. You fall to your knees with a soft thud and grab her hand, “Momma?”, you whisper, the first tears falling. A groan leaves her lips and she coughs nastily, “Shona?”,she croaks. A sob leaves your body and you press your head to hers, “Momma, what's happening?”

Her free hand moves up to cup your cheeks and you straighten to look into her strangely clear eyes, “I'm going to die, shona. I need you to listen to me”, she whispers hoarsely. “No”, you cry. Tears are freely rolling down your face. “No. momma you're not going to die, I won't let you, I promise”, you tell her desperately. You wipe away some tears with the back of your hand, before you open your mouth again. “Y/n”, Aarohi interrupts and you still. She never calls you by your name.

“I beg you, listen to me. I'm sick, been for a while. It's only transmitted over blood, so don't worry”, she pauses to take a breath while she shakily brushes some strands of hair out of your face. “You're a strong woman and I couldn't be prouder of you. Are you listening, Y/n?”, you nod, your vision blurry. “All I want for you is to be happy, okay? No matter what you do as long as you're happy that's all I could ask for, do you understand?”, she rasps out.

“Momma, what-”, you whimper, but she interrupts you again, “Y/n, do you understand?” You sob, but nod through the tears, “Yes, Momma” Her thumb moves to wipe away your tears and she sighs,”Good, That's good”. She coughs again and groans in pain,”Please talk to your father, shona. He loves you so much. Can you promise me that you'll write him?” Her voice sounds even weaker now, but your heart beats way too fast. The only thing cursing through you is fear. “I promise, Momma. I love you”, you cry, snot and tears mixing together.

Aarohi's hand falls from your face as her breathing becomes flatter. She closes her eyes, “I love you too, shona”, the words clumsily tumble from her lips. Your whole body trembles as it convulses. All your power leaves your body and your left to loudly cry next to your mother's death bed.

The next few weeks were hard for you,but you could never forget your mother's last words. You promised her you would reach out to your father, so you did. It wasn't long before you received an answer. His handwriting was shaky and hard to read, but you managed to figure it out, somehow. He told you he could not leave the United States by law, but he would be more than happy to welcome you into his home back in the USA.

You froze when you read his words. He wanted you to leave India, your home? You couldn't, this was your mother's everything. All your belongings and memories are in Kolkata, how could you abandon that? But then you thought back to your mother. She wanted you to be happy, right? And maybe a new beginning wouldn't hurt. After sleeping about your father's letter you realised that a blank slate is exactly what you needed right now. Because you wanted to heal.

So you wrote your father another letter in which you agreed to move in with him and began to pack your bags. You carefully chose which of your mother's things you wanted to bring with you. Many of her clothes ended up in your luggage, her distinctive smell still lingering on the fabric. The two photo albums land in there too. How could you not, they kept all the beautiful pictures of your Momma. You also brought her favourite movies, some cooking books and lots of blankets.

Packing all these things was very hard for you and you lost a lot of tears, but now when you look at all of your bags you feel very accomplished. “I'll make you proud, Momma”, you whisper and grab the one of your stuffed furry toys that you did not put into a bag. It's a medicine bottle with huge eyes and a big smile, which your father gifted you for your third birthday. It's your favourite and you decided to keep it close by for emotional support.

With one last look you sit down on your old bed and wait for your ride. Bruce wrote you that someone from the agency he works for will come and get you. Now, all you have left to do is wait.

“Come on, Bruce. It will be fine. You're shakier than me when I've been running on coffee only”, Tony smirks and pats his friend on the back., “She's your daughter, she loves you”. Bruce looks up at him with wide, slightly red eyes, “Tony, her mother just died”. The news of Aarohi's death hit him hard. Ever since he had to leave India his mental health has been suffering.

The government didn't allow Bruce to leave the country without a written agreement signed by the president. He begged them to let him return to India, but they wouldn't budge. The only thing he achieved was tighter security to keep an eye on him. He doesn't remember how many nights he cried himself to sleep. He couldn't see the love of his life or his daughter. Never before has he felt that low, not when his father murdered his mother nor when he tried to commit suicide after turning into the monster he is, but he could not give up. He wanted to be a better father than his own, he wanted to make you feel loved and appreciated.

So he settled on writing letters to you and your mother. Nothing scared him more than the thought that you might forget him or worse, hate him for leaving. He wrote you letters every months and sent you presents he hoped you would like. His biggest wish was to be as present as possible throughout your life. The only replies were from Aarohi though. She reassured him that you still loved him and talked about her life and the clinic. He wished he could be there with her.

When he finally received a letter from you he was ecstatic, but as soon as he started to read, his face fell. The love of his life is dead. Gone. He sat in his lab in shock for two hours, not moving an inch until Tony entered the room. That's when he broke down crying into his best friend's arms, “She's dead, Tony”, he whispered through his tears.

It was the billionaire's idea to invite you to live in the tower, “I know you miss her. Plus I wouldn't mind having her here. Don't tell anyone I said that, but I'd love to see you smile more often”. This was like the light at the end of a tunnel for Bruce. The thought of having you with him made his heart beat faster. Could he finally become the father you deserved?

And you agreed to his proposal. He opened your letter together with Tony as emotional support and when he read your beautiful, neat handwriting tears of joy shot into his eyes, “She said yes, Tones, she actually wants to come!” and Tony was happy to hold Bruce once more as he let out all of his tears, the tension slowly leaving his body.

Now he is waiting for the Quinjet that carries Natasha and you to arrive back in New York. She volunteered to be the one to accompany you. Even though Bruce told her he wasn't holding any grudges, Natasha felt guilty for ripping Bruce out of his family, so when the chance opened to help reunite them, she jumped at it.

“Tony”, Bruce asks, his voice wavering as if he's not sure whether or not to continue, “I'm scared, what if she doesn't li-” , but his best friend stops him, “Ah ah ah, no such negativity under my roof!” He pauses to glance at his surroundings, the wind howling around his ears, “or, you know, on my roof” Their eyes meet for a second, before Bruce goes back to rubbing his hands anxiously.

“Seriously Banner, you'll be fine. I've known you for sixteen years and I know that I have fallen in love with you at least three times”, the philanthropist says and smirks at the others shocked expression.

Before any of them can say another word the whirring of the Quinjet sounds from the distance. Bruce immediately straightens all colour draining from his face. A cold sweat is breaking out on his forehead and his hands become clammy. Tony leans forward and whispers gently, “You've got this, Banner”.

It feels like a lifetime, but also only a few seconds before the S.H.I.E.L.D plane lands on the roof and the motors slow down. Bruce holds his breath, scared, but hopeful. His life is about to change in just a few moments, for better or for worse. Nervously, his eyes focus on the exit of the Quinjet as he awaits to see you again, after sixteen years of missing you with all of his heart.

The electric sound of the gate opening makes his hands shake in anticipation. And then he sees you standing next to Natasha in all of your beauty. Your hair is pulled back into a braid which makes your eyes pop all pretty. A thin long sleeve and a pair of mum jeans hug your body nicely, yet you avoid to look into his eyes. Natasha and you both carry two suitcases each, but there are still some more bags on the plane.

The older woman gently nudges you forward with a smile to be encouraging. The cold New York air makes goosebumps rise on your arms and you shiver. This is it, you will finally meet your father. You swallow down your fear and move forward, eyes still trained on the floor. Natasha's footsteps are right behind yours which comforts you greatly. You've come to like her during the flight.

It's only when two pairs of shoes come into your vision that you stop dead in your tracks. The luggage that you've been carrying drop to the floor and you use all the courage you can muster to look up at your father, your heart beating loudly. Bruce looks as nervous as you feel, pale face and sweaty hands, but he puts on a brave face and forces a crooked grin to appear.

“Hey, shona”, he mouths your pet name. The look in his eyes is so hopeful it makes your heart churn. All the fear and anger you've carried with you is suddenly forgotten as tears collect in your eyes. The only thing you feel is the longing for your father's love that you've been deprived of for all these years. “Daddy?”,you whisper. As the words leave your mouth you start to run forwards, right towards Bruce.

He opens his arms right in time for you to fall into them, your face buried in his chest. Sobs leave your mouth as your tears stain his graphic tee, “I missed you so much”, you whimper and fist his jacket to pull him closer. He wraps his strong arms around you and carefully places his head onto yours, “I missed you too, shona, so much”. His voice breaks and a few tears begin to fall, some out of relief, some out of guilt.

The sound of your sobs and sniffles fill the silence. It's like a heavy weight was lifted from your shoulders. You were so scared to arrive in New York and how different things were going to be, but being in your father's embrace is all you needed. All this time you've been so occupied with being angry that you never realised how much you wanted any kind of fatherly love.

When you pull back to look into Bruce's eyes you stare into his red rimmed eyes, some single tears resting on his cheeks, “Y/n, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have returned home, but I had to sign these agreements and they wouldn't let me. I never forgot about you, shona. I love you so, so much”. His voice is shaky and rough and he reaches out to cup your face, his fingers wipe away your tears.

“It's okay”, you find yourself saying, “You're with me now, that's all that matters”

You both smile at each other, happiness radiating from you, when your moment is rudely interrupted. “I told you everything would be alright, Banner, Just shows you should listen to me more often”, Tony declares with a smirk to which Natasha responds with a warning glare. “Oh come on, Nat. I'm just joking”, he shouts before turning to you and winking obnoxiously.

“Y/n”, your father begins, “this is Tony, my, uh, best friend. This is his tower in which you'll be living with me. We have our own level”. Your eyes widen, “We have our own floor? That's insane!”

Tony laughs and puts a hand on your shoulder, “Of course, only the best for my science buddy and his daughter. If you have any questions, you may ask F.R.I.D.A.Y, she is an artificial intelligence built into the tower. She'll be available whenever”, he states, his eyes sparkling, “Isn't that right, F.R.I.D.A.Y?” The AI answers immediately,”Anytime, boss”.

Bruce smiles at you. His heart feels light and happy and he looks over to Natasha who gives him a thumbs up and a wink. “Dad?”, you ask him, shivering a little, “Can we go inside? I'm freezing”. “Of course”, Bruce nods eagerly, “let me just help with some of your bags”. Happily, he skips to the Quinjet to grab some of your luggage and hauls them over his shoulder. “Let's go, then”.

You walk behind your father, Natasha and Tony close by, as you take in the inside of the Avengers Tower. You can't believe your eyes: The sheer size of everything is overwhelming to you, but you're very excited. Meeting your father was scary, but now that the anxiety has fallen off of you, you're all blissed out and floaty.

The lift is very smooth, but the glass floor makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. Bruce notices your nervous shifting and slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to him. Grateful for the warmth, you turn to him with a smile and mouth a thank you. In just a few seconds you've reached the right floor. Once all your bags are moved into your apartment, your father turns to his friends with a smile, “I think we've got it from here. Thank you, guys”

They nod at him and leave to give you two some privacy. “Do you want to see your room? We can unpack your things”, he asks, a nervous waver in his voice, “if you're okay with me helping, of course”. You take one of his hands in your own and grin, “I want you to be there with me. I spent so much time wishing you were home. I'm not letting you go any time soon”.

Hearing these words, he can't help but tear up, “I'm so happy you're here, shona. I wish your mother could have been with us too”. You release a shaky sigh and try to hold back tears of your own, “Me too, dad. Me too”. The feeling of being pulled into a hug by your father pulls you out of our head and you realise you started crying again. “I just miss her so much”, you sob into his chest.

A sniffles sounds from above you and you raise your head to see Bruce crying, “I'm sorry”, he whispers and wipes away some of his tears. “It's okay. At least I have you back now, daddy”. Gently, he cups your head and presses a kiss to your hair, “We've got this, shona. We're not alone anymore”, he tells you meaningfully, trying to convey that he meant what he said.

“Shona, I love you”

You breathe in and place his hand on your erratically beating heart.

“I love you too, daddy. So much”.

Taglist: @winteralpine @gotnofucks @lifeizlife

I’d appreciate some feedback and reblogs! That means the world to me :)

Be added to my tag list here :)

#Bruce Banner #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #Hulk #hulk x reader #Marvel #Bruce Banner x daughter #Bruce Banner x daughter!Reader #Bruce Banner x desi!Reader #Avengers #original character #Bruce Banner x female character #Bruce Banner fluff #Bruce Banner angst #Bruce #Tony Stark #natasha romanoff

113 notes · View notes

captain-danwilds · 4 years ago

Text

One Step Forward

Hi @avengerpercy! I realize I didn’t take Brazil’s timezone into account when posting this so I’m sorry this is technically late, but here’s your @aftgexchange gift. I hope this is good enough for you Cristal. This is my first time playing in the AFTG sandbox, so I wanted to live up to your expectations. I ended up using your prompt “Andrew and Aaron talking and solving their problems” for a little outsider POV Andreil fluff with a large helping of twinyards.

A few quick notes. Betsy and the joint sessions set the backdrop for this fic even though I am not a therapist and also not trying to make some statement about therapy in general (Personally I’m a big fan, but also recognize that Aaron really doesn’t seem to be in we’re in his POV.) I’m not trying to demonize Aaron or Andrew here. Aaron just fundamentally misunderstands Andrew. Also Raven King/Drake Incident references.

Ever since Aaron had found out Andrew existed, he’d felt unsteady. It wasn't just the sudden knowledge of how different his life could have been if Tilda hadn't decided to come back to get him or even if she'd just taken the other baby. It was the fact his brother was a mass of contradictions piled on top of each other and every aspect of their relationship was built on the idea of one step forward and two steps back.

Aaron wasn't an idiot. When the officer at the stupid game had mentioned Andrew, Aaron didn't expect his long-lost brother to immediately love him. This wasn't a television show. He knew by now that blood only went so far, that it hadn't stopped his mother from raising her hand to him or Uncle Luthor from sending Nicky away only for his cousin to come back a shell of himself. But he couldn't deny he wanted it to work desperately, for there to be another little boy out there whose life might be made better by having a brother in it.

His first step forward a letter that had to be rewritten at least twice because everything sounded wrong. His bedroom trash can overflowed with pieces of notebook paper crumpled in frustration or with ink smeared from tears he'd never admit to anyone he'd actually shed. Aaron must have spent hours writing the letter, typing it up in stolen time at the school library and sneaking to the post office while Mom had been out of it.

Hours completely wasted when the only reply was two words: "Fuck Off."

That should have been the sign to leave things well enough alone.

But instead, he'd taken the return address and written a second letter to "the guardians of Andrew Doe."

And instead of an answer from his brother, Aaron had gotten a voicemail saying Andrew had gone to Juvie.

Even the slightest hint of progress was met with resistance.

Gaining a brother meant losing his mom and never being in control of his decisions anymore.

Andrew lived by his own rules, an unspoken tally system of betrayals where Aaron would never be the one who measured up. Andrew wouldn't say it, because Andrew didn't say anything now that he was off the drugs. Aaron knew his brother only cared about him in context of proving that he'd never broken their deal. Until he called the whole thing off for Josten.

Josten, the idiot that would say things like "Andrew doesn't lie" as if he actually believed him. As if there truly was some magical code his brother followed that made sense.

"If you really don't care about Andrew, why does Neil bother you so much?" Dobson asked during their Wednesday session.

Aaron dug his fingers into the couch. He hated this. Hated that the only time he could get answers out of Andrew was when he was sitting in front of a shrink. A shrink who was undoubtedly on his brother's side. And that in order to get answers he had to rip himself raw first.

"I understand that therapy isn't for everyone," She'd said smiling gently during their first mandatory meeting freshman year. "More than that, therapy with me might not be your answer, so don't let today stop you from seeking help in the future if that's what you decide you want. I can direct you to one of my colleagues who you might feel more comfortable with."

They'd been meeting for almost a year now and Aaron still wasn't comfortable with her, no matter how many cups of hot chocolate she offered or how many smiles she gave. They'd come a long way from the complete silence and blank expression of his first individual session or even the harsh words the first time he'd shown up to Andrew's session, but it wasn't comfortable by any means.

The point was he wasn't about to pour his heart out to her even if Andrew wasn't in the room. With Andrew there, Aaron had no good way to answer the question without giving too much of himself away again, of being hurt when everything went to hell. Still, Aaron couldn't help but let the multitude of answers flow over him.

Because Josten waltzes in, every ounce of him screaming lie and danger, and this team bends over backwards for him. Because Aaron's seen enough to know Josten is dangerous. Because he will kill him if Josten doesn't keep his big mouth from bring the mafia down on them again before Aaron graduates and he can't handle another murder trial. Because Josten makes it so easy, throwing as many insults back as he gives. Those are the easy answers, because Aaron's life doesn't revolve around Andrew. He can hate Josten because Josten is a piece of shit who makes every aspect of his life harder.

But that's also not the whole truth. Because he saw the way Andrew looked at him in Baltimore, the tender movements in his hands completely at odds with the angry spark in his eyes. Because Andrew hates people touching him and yet he doesn't hesitate to wrap his hand around the back of Josten's neck. Because there's something aggravating in the way that Andrew can look at Josten and see something precious when he never looks at Aaron like that.

Aaron doesn't want to think his life revolves around Andrew, but his hatred of Josten certainly does. It’s partially jealousy. Why does this nobody get easy answers from Andrew? What makes him so special?

But the larger issue is that Aaron has seen Andrew broken. As much as Aaron wants to wish Drake away, he can’t. He’ll never be able to get Andrew’s face out of his head or the manic laugh left by the drugs. There are nights where he wakes up feeling like he still has the blood on his hands, that he’ll never be free of the feeling of Andrew knotting his fingers through his hair in worry when Andrew’s the one covered in bruises. Seeing his brother like that once was enough to break him. He doesn’t understand how Andrew can let Josten so close when Josten is a walking danger magnet. He doesn’t know what he would do when Josten inevitably hurts Andrew, because that’s the type of danger Andrew can’t just stab with a knife.

Betsy gave a small cough and Aaron knew he'd been quiet too long. He avoided Betsy's gaze to look at the clock. They were already a few minutes over their time. He wouldn’t have answered at all, just turned back to glare at Betsy until she dismisses them both for the day except he saw Andrew.

Andrew was still angled away from him on the opposite end of the couch. His mouth was still turned in a slight frown, but Andrew’s gaze had sharpened. Even months ago, Aaron might have missed it. It was a sign of amusement, slight exasperation maybe, but also one of want. Aaron had never seen that expression for any reason other than Josten, and now it’s directed at him.

“Josten isn’t safe.”

Andrew gave a huff that might even be considered laughter.

“I’m serious. You’re giving him the power to hurt you. Just because you don’t care about your own wellbeing, doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let him get away with it.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Andrew waved his hand dismissively. “Which is good because you’re shit at picking the right battles.”

Aaron groaned. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Neil won’t hurt me.” He said it like it should be obvious, like he can’t believe Aaron missed something so fundamental.

“But how can you know that?”

“How do you know Kaitlyn won’t hurt you?” The words were thrown like a weapon to end this conversation.

But Aaron isn’t about to rise to the bait. Andrew seemed to think that every girl was just going to be another Tilda, that Aaron would let them hurt him for the scraps of affection. He knew Andrew didn’t decide Kaitlyn was safe out of the goodness of his heart, so his answer made no sense.

“Why shouldn’t I be worried about Neil hurting you?” Aaron repeated himself more directly, even calling the idiot by his first name as a sign of good will.

Andrew looked down at his hands, his right-hand tracing seemingly random places around each of the knuckles on his left. The gesture seemed both familiar and wrong. Finally Andrew took a deep breath and looked directly at Aaron.

“He listens when I say no.”

The words are simple, but Aaron can hear the depth of meaning there. He gave a slight nod.

Andrew must still see that he doesn’t fully understand, because he continued softly, “He promised he’d stay” before nodding at Betsy and leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Aaron doesn’t hear Betsy’s chipper goodbye or even comprehend most of practice afterwards. His mind is reeling and even though Andrew only gave him ten words, it feels like one hell of a step forward.

It’s only later at one of the Fox movie nights that Aaron realized why Andrew’s fidgeting looked wrong. He’d seen that gesture before. Andrew’s right hand gently tracing the scars on Neil’s as they sit side by side in silence, barely acknowledging each other but still taking pleasure in each other’s presence. It’s easy to miss the moment when Neil leans easily back into Andrew and Andrew only tugs their scarred hand closer.

Aaron hated that it’s this little action is what finally makes him understand. Andrew’s words about Kaitlyn no longer felt like a dig. It was his brother’s roundabout way of trying to phrase his relationship with Neil in a way Aaron would understand. When you love someone, the world seems safer with them in it. Andrew might not have said the word love, but he didn’t have to.

#aftg #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #neil josten #twinyards #andreil #aftg fic #my fic

55 notes · View notes

sadoeuphemist · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, what do you think about Medea? I know people portray her as a cruel witch but I think she never had someone besides her than her aunt; Circe. She really deserved to be happy, right?

This is the story of the wicked villain’s daughter who whispers in the hero’s ear and teaches him how to overcome every trial. Through her magic she transmutes the most insurmountable labor into triviality, she foils the villain’s pursuit so that her father cannot catch them in their flight.

(she chops her brother into pieces and casts the pieces to the sea, so that her father’s fleet must be hindered dredging up every bloody portion so that their king might bury his son)

She is wise, and she is good, and she is wonderful, filled with wonders, and the story never thinks to ask:

Why, with all her knowledge and her power, in all the years before the hero came, did she do nothing to curb her father’s wickedness?

---

When Medea excoriates Jason for his betrayal, he snaps back in retort:

“You exaggerate your favors,” he sneers. “Should I thank you? Did you act purposefully? Or was it not the shafts of Eros, as Aphrodite willed, that compelled you to save my life?”

---

Medea loves her children dearly, and she kills them, and in that she is beyond compulsion.

---

We might ask instead what purpose Jason served in the story, if Medea and the Argonauts accomplished all his feats for him. Did Jason on his own slaughter the six-armed Gegenees? Did he know how to withstand the fiery breath of the Kolkhis Bulls? Did he know the dangers of sowing the dragon’s teeth, how to lull the sleepless dragon into sleep?

Could he have outplayed the sirens, killed the bronze man Talos on his own initiative?

What was the point of him, then?

(the answer is: it was his story)

---

When Medea returns to her home of Colchis many years later, after all the unpleasantness with Jason is well and done, she discovers her tyrannical father has been overthrown by his brother Perses, the new king.

Unfortunately for her, this is no happy ending. Perses hopes to purge her father’s bloodline and eliminate all other claimants to the throne.

So, she kills him.

(she is good at that, killing family)

It was said that when the Golden Fleece was removed from Colchis, so too would the king be removed from his throne. Medea returns, years later, and kills her uncle and restores her father to the throne, and the old wrong is finally set right.

The dead are all still dead, of course.

---

After Medea kills her brother, the gods demand she must be cleansed.

The Argo sails through storm and hellish steam and darkness, and finally docks at Circe’s island. Circe slits the throat of a piglet, stains their hands with its blood. The hearth fires blaze bright, and many cakes are brought out to be burnt as offerings to Zeus.

“There,” Circe says afterwards. “All done.”

Medea sits next to her on the polished chairs, looking at the thin dark line of pig’s blood still beneath her fingernails. “I don’t know that I can ever be cleansed of this.”

Her aunt smirks. “Too bad,” she says. “Ceremony’s over. You are.”

“I just -” she says, and looks towards the Argo where Jason is waiting, and feels her throat close up with emotion. “I feel like I’m going insane. I don’t know what I’ve done. I feel like I would do anything for him.”

“The only morality in the world is love,” Circe says. “Everything else is mere ambition. Falling headlong into someone else’s story, and selfishly living out your own.”

“I helped kill him,” Medea says. “I killed my brother.”

“He was hunting you down. They would have killed you both, if they caught you.” Circe looks meditatively into the fire. “The gods have done worse, for worse reasons. Zeus, the Cleanser of Sins, once tried to devour his own daughter.”

They are silent for a time. The fire crackles cozily, and the burnt fragrance of cake hangs in the air. “I don’t deserve any of this,” Medea says.

“Ah, that’s the cruelty of it.” Circe sighs. “You are part mortal and part divine, a truth unto yourself, consequence unmoored from judgement.” She lays a hand over Medea’s. “You don’t deserve a damn thing.”

---

When Medea kills her children, she weeps.

(but she has wept before, and gone on to do more wickedness, and so tears are neither salve nor salvation)

After her children are dead, Helios sends down a golden chariot from the heavens to carry her away, to carry away with her the bodies of her children, so that she might bury them with her own two hands in Hera’s sacred grove, safe from any further indignity or harm.

(as a sign from the gods, this might be taken as approval)

---

This is how Medea’s story goes: Time passes and wounds slowly heal. She falls in love again, and has another child. She falls into old habits and once again tries to kill her lover’s son, but this time is unsuccessful. She is forced to flee, and at last returns to her father’s kingdom. She kills her uncle. More kinblood is shed.

Her son Medus grows up to take the throne, and he is so renowned in conquest that the Aryans rename themselves the Medes, in his and his mother’s name.

He is her darling son. She loves him dearly.

This is a happy ending, perhaps.

#fiction #greek mythology

133 notes · View notes

sssrha · 4 years ago

Text

Imposter

Later, Lan Xichen learned what, exactly, his mother had done. Later, he would learn that the normal punishment was death. Later he learned that his father had married her so she could escape that fate, only to lock her away from the world she loved so much.

But, at that moment, Lan Huan was five and anything was possible, so he told himself he didn’t need to be Sect Leader Lan—he would be A-Huan, travelling the world with Mother (and maybe A-Zhan) and making her smile. That’s all he ever wanted.

Or: When the people spoke of the Twin Jades of Lan, Lan Xichen could never push away the distinct sense of wrongness in his stomach. They didn’t know that he was an imposter, after all.

[written for XiSang Week 2020. read it below or on AO3.]

Lan Huan’s mother used to card her fingers through his hair once a month, pulling and twisting the strands into elaborate braids that Lan Huan would spend hours looking at, if given the chance. When Lan Zhan would, inevitably, fall asleep to her quiet humming, she would turn her twinkling eyes upon Lan Huan and Lan Huan alone, and she’d keep on braiding and unbraiding his hair, singing sweet nonsense into the silence.

Afterward, right before leaving, he would quietly unbraid his hair, each movement leaving his limbs increasingly leaden until he was but a human caricature, inanimate and yet still breathing, unable to finish what he’d started. His mother would press a kiss to his forehead and finish for him. “Look at you,” she would whisper, careful not to rouse Lan Zhan, “you’re the perfect Lan. My son—so handsome!”

She’d brush her fingers against Lan Huan’s cheek—she did it so often that Lan Huan memorized every scar and callous on them…and there were many. Lan Zhan had only truly learned how to count after their mother let him count every blemish across her palms. When asked, she would say, “I didn’t always live here, A-Huan.”

That made sense. She probably earned those scars in the same place she’d learned how to braid Lan Huan’s hair—the very same braids that sat atop her own head. It must have also been the same place she’d chipped her front tooth and lost the very tip of her left ring finger.

He would ask her about that far off time which he wasn’t alive to see, and she’d regale him with stories of warriors, of freedom, of ancient forests filled with beasts ready to fight, and many times, she’d tell him about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. It was his favorite story. When he unbraided his hair and felt his limbs turn to lead, his mother would tell him the story, and suddenly, things weren’t as bad.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last.

***

Lan Huan is eight, and he is floating. He thinks he’s cold, too—he must be, sitting out in the snow like this for so long, nowhere near close enough to his brother to share any warmth. He knows that he should go, but he’s floating over his own head and it’s hard to see anything other than Lan Zhan’s form, crystal clear against the rest of the world.

He cannot leave his brother sitting out in the cold, and even if this is a dream, like he’s starting to suspect, it’s still the principle that matters; Lan Huan watches himself stay completely still until his fingers turn so white that it must be frightening. He watches them curl, one-by-one, creaking in protest after their disuse, and he hears himself say, once again, “A-Zhan, let’s go.” Lan Zhan glances at him once before going back to staring at the door—the one that will never open, no matter how long he waits, no matter how much his older brother wants him to be happy—

Lan Huan floats, and he can’t come back down.

He watches himself hunch over and, slowly, feels the dizziness run rampant through his mind.

The first time Lan Zhan moves that evening is after Lan Huan’s body tilts sideways and doesn’t get back up.

“Brother!”

The world whirls away.

***

That should have been the end of it.

It is not the end.

***

The Cloud Recesses’ infirmary stands apart from the rest of it. It’s in its own nook of time, unchanged by the ebbs and flows of the world and Lan Xichen is sure that if he were to trace the lines of the blanket covering his form, it would remain with the same folds and contours as always. He can almost see the world whirl by, the sun rising and setting with the sands of time.

He sees two winters pass before he’s finally back in himself, fingers running through his own hair, unconsciously folding the roots into braids before undoing them. He should most definitely stop—before someone sees, before someone realizes that he’s dared to keep this little part of his mother for himself—and he seizes when he hears footsteps nearing his area.

Briefly, there is hesitation thick in the room, but then a voice quietly murmurs out a greeting. “Brother,” Lan Zhan says, his voice quiet and full of concern.

He said the same thing two years ago, when Lan Xichen collapsed in the cold, but back then he’d been apologetic, asking for forgiveness for letting him collapse. Now, he just hesitantly places his fingers on Lan Xichen’s hair, carefully helping him undo the last of the braids. “Brother,” Lan Zhan continues, “Uncle said you threw up.”

He had, right in the middle of class. He remembers the gasps that had rippled through the room, the plain horror on the instructor’s face, and the pain in his stomach as he retched. “I did,” he responds.

“What did the physician say?”

Lan Xichen says, “Nothing is wrong. She doesn’t know what happened.” He does. He knows exactly why his head started spinning and his breath came heavy and oppressive. He knows exactly how his world turned upside down. It started with his new instructor smiling at his class and saying, “Today, we will discuss a story.”

It was a story about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. For a second, he could almost hear it told from his mother’s lips.

So he threw up.

Lan Zhan doesn’t believe him, he knows, but he doesn’t say a word, still dutifully unbraiding his hair. Lan Xichen lets it happen and wonders, briefly, if he should warn Lan Zhan of this travesty, this complete invasion of their mother’s privacy, but he realizes that Lan Zhan wouldn’t understand. After all, their mother never told the story to him, only to Lan Xichen, unbraiding his hair in the Jingshi. (And, for a moment, Lan Xichen wonders at how similar Lan Zhan is to their mother. Their uncle is always on the lookout to ensure neither of them turn into their father, but…but Lan Zhan really is a carbon copy of her in every way but mannerisms.

And so, Lan Xichen loves him even more than before, surprised at how that’s possible.)

Lan Xichen doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, he asks, “How was class today?”

He asks this every day, and he always receives similar answers: easy, difficult, interesting, uninteresting, etc. Today, however, Lan Zhan says, “Unimportant.”

That stops Lan Xichen dead in his tracks. “Every class is important,” he says firmly, wondering what on earth Lan Zhan was taught to inspire such a response.

Lan Zhan frowns. “You are more important. What happened?”

Ah. Lan Xichen once again finds himself turning away, shame coursing through him at the realization that his little brother is so concerned for him. “I will talk to Uncle about it,” is the only response he gives.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Lan Zhan nods and continues to unbraid Lan Xichen’s hair.

Lan Xichen wonders when his brother got so grown up.

***

Every night, Lan Xichen and his family performs a ritual: their uncle wishes them both a goodnight, gives them a hug, and then heads to sleep. Lan Xichen has learned that, as of late, Lan Zhan has taken to not hugging their uncle, but Lan Xichen still does—it’s a rare bit of his childhood that he does not want to let go of, and his uncle does not mention it.

Tonight, however, Lan Xichen doesn’t let his uncle go without a word. “I have a question,” he says.

Lan Qiren pauses, obviously taken by surprise. “What is it?” he asks.

Lan Xichen says, “Today, in class, Teacher was telling a story. I didn’t get to hear all of it.”

Lan Qiren frowns, contemplative. “What do you remember about it?”

He wets his lips. “It was about a butcher,” he explains. “That’s all I heard.”

“Ah, yes, the founder of the Nie Sect, Nie Fan. He was a butcher that started cultivating, as our Lan An was a monk who began cultivating. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story since you missed it in class. For now, sleep.”

Lan Xichen does not want to sleep. He wants to know why the story was known by others, why it wasn’t special like he always thought it was—why his story was out in the open, like a festering wound that no one let heal. However, exhaustion pulls at his features, dragging him under its spell so effectively that he knows that he will fall asleep soon, whether he likes it or not, so he nods in acceptance and watches his uncle’s form as he leaves Lan Xichen’s room.

Lan Zhan is probably already asleep, and all Lan Xichen will be, too, soon, but—he needs to do something. The endless itch lingers beneath his fingertips, and he finds himself moving before he even realizes what he’s doing. He is sitting in front of a mirror, hands in his hair, braiding and braiding until three long strands sit atop his head. His fingers shake and his shoulders ache, the only thing going through his head being variations of “Mother’s story, my story, our story” until it’s too much and he feels a pressure growing behind his eyes, his shoulders tensing.

He focuses on the chattering of his teeth and the texture of his hair, and by the time he finally stumbles over to his bed—forced into it from exhaustion, no longer quivering—his head is in braids.

That night, he dreams of his mother’s voice singing a song that he will never know the words of.

***

Once upon a time, there was a boy. Every day, the boy dreamed of being a butcher just like his father, so he learned everything he could. One day, his father passed away, but the boy was ready—he used his knowledge to become the best butcher in China. However, soon, his village was plagued by monsters of all sorts. Qinghe was sparsely populated back then, and cultivators were few in numbers, so unless a rogue stumbled upon them, his village was doomed. Nie Fan, seeing all the pain his peers were facing, decided to take matters into his own hands.

Using the very butchering knives he so dearly loved, Nie Fan cultivated until he had a golden core and then saved his village.

This is the story that Lan Xichen knows. What his mother never told him, though, is that there is more.

After becoming the protector of his village, others joined alongside him, cultivating in his manner. Their numbers grew and grew, even past his death, until it became a great sect: the Nie Sect.

Lan Xichen listens to the story with a bowed head, and he wonders what else his mother had kept from him.

***

The forests of Qinghe dwarf Lan Xichen, who is all of thirteen years old. Coming here was never his plan, but his uncle insisted, explaining that Lan Xichen needs to get accustomed to meeting with important people if he’s going to be Sect Leader one day. Lan Xichen nearly hissed back that no one ever asked him if he wanted to be Sect Leader—he doesn’t, not in the slightest, but no one ever asked his uncle if he wanted to rule the sect in the absence of his brother, so Lan Xichen held his tongue.

Now, he wishes he had said something—anything—to stay away from Qinghe, because if he had never come, then he would never have to see the Nie boy.

Gusu and Qinghe are not close geographically, and the GusuLan and the QingheNie are not close politically, so Lan Xichen has never had the (extremely dubious) pleasure of meeting a Nie cultivator until now. Of course he’s taken by surprise.

The boy swept up to the Lan contingent, drenched in olive and gold, saber held tightly in hand. When he bowed, Lan Xichen got a clear view of his head…and of the braids that sat on it. For a second, he was back in the Jingshi on that last day, before everything went so wrong, listening to his mother tell story after story, singing a sweet song.

This boy is like his mother, and he doesn’t understand why.

***

The Unclean Realms sprawl outward, a fortress made for the protection of its inhabitants without a care for aesthetic, but Lan Xichen sees beauty in it, anyway. He sees the thought in every wall, every door, every tile on the floor. While the people in it make Lan Xichen’s heart hammer in his chest, fingers shaking while hidden deep in his robes, the Unclean Realms itself feels like a haven, the likes of which he had never known before.

The meeting with Sect Leader Nie goes smoothly, and Lan Xichen even finds himself unwinding until Sect Leader Nie and his own uncle send him off with another boy. “Play,” Sect Leader Nie had said, and though Lan Qiren had made a face at the phrasing, he hadn’t contradicted him.

Nie Mingjue is broader than Lan Xichen, though a few inches shorter, and he is wearing the same braids as everyone else, broad saber clutched close. It looks a bit too big for his body, suggesting the expectation of future growth, and considering the height of his father, Lan Xichen doesn’t doubt it.

Nie Mingjue drags him around the Unclean Realms, showing him every nook and cranny, an interesting story accompanying every single one of them, chattering on and on until Lan Xichen could recognize his expression by just the dips of his voice.

It’s when they sit beneath a willow tree—a desperate attempt to escape the heat—that Lan Xichen finally asks him, “Those braids…where did you get them?” His voice is so soft, so hesitant, and for a moment, he thinks that Nie Mingjue didn’t even hear him over the rustling leaves.

Then, Nie Mingjue says, “Oh, these? Everyone in the Nie Sect wears them. I’m Sect Heir, so I know how to do it.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t look at him, eyes intent on staring into the horizon and whatever is beyond. He asks, “Can you teach me?” Perhaps they merely look similar. Perhaps it is a different braid entirely. Perhaps Lan Xichen is concerned about nothing.

But Nie Mingjue just laughs. “I can’t teach it to someone who isn’t from the Sect!” As if the mere idea is silly. Then a mischievous look falls over him. “So unless some beautiful maiden sweeps you off your feet and brings you here as her groom, you won’t be wearing the braids any time soon.”

Lan Xichen stays silent.

***

The Lan contingent stays the night, readying to depart tomorrow.

Right before bed, Lan Xichen braids his hair as well as he can, and he stares in the mirror for much longer than is appropriate. He lets his fingers glance over the hardening edge of his jaw, the point of his nose, the skin of his lips. He peers at the warm brown of his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and the paleness of his skin. Then, finally, he looks at the braids, and he realizes that his reflection is more real than he will ever be.

Breaking curfew is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but Lan Xichen isn’t in the Cloud Recesses. So, when he slowly opens the door to his quarters and steps outside, he’s not doing anything wrong. He stays cautious, anyway, looking over his shoulder to ensure that his uncle hasn’t magically appeared to scold him.

The Nie Sect has no official curfew, as far as he can tell—if it does, then it’s much later than the Cloud Recesses’, for disciples are still wandering the halls, attending to duties and chatting animatedly about this or that. They all ignore him, and Lan Xichen feels invisible, like he’s blended into the wall, and he’s all the more grateful for it. After all, the braids still sit on his head and if anyone were to notice him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. (In reality, he is probably not invisible. Instead, he’d slipped on the night robes that the rooms had stored away. He thinks he must look like a normal Nie disciple. He quite likes the thought.)

Lan Xichen is a ghost, haunting these halls without rest until it is well past his bedtime. He is unseen and unknown—until a voice calls out, “Young Master Lan?”

He sees himself turn around, still feeling lost in a dream. His hands go up to his hair, wondering who has discovered him and how he is going to explain his impropriety. For a second, he fears it’s Nie Mingjue, who will take offense to Lan Xichen wearing these braids even after being told they were only for Nie disciples. He thinks of the boy who he’d become rather fond of twisting his face in rage, and shame courses through him, hot and unbearable.

But it is not Nie Mingjue who finds him. Instead, it is a young boy—younger than Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, definitely, though he distinctly has Nie Mingjue’s eyes and nose. Vaguely, Lan Xichen remembers Nie Mingjue mentioning a younger brother who was Lan Wangji’s age. “…Second Young Master Nie?”

Nie Huaisang shrinks backward, obviously startled by Lan Xichen’s recognition, but then squares his shoulders. “Young Master Lan, are you okay?”

Lan Xichen sees himself turn. “I…” How is he supposed to answer that? He doesn’t feel all that here. He’s watching himself, no control over his own body, everything out of focus, and—

He’s floating.

“Young Master Lan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you lost?” Maybe he is. Can you get lost in a dream? “Young Master Lan, can you hear me?”

“I can,” Lan Xichen hears himself say.

“Do…do you want to come with me for a bit?” Lan Xichen doesn’t see a reason not to, so he follows Nie Huaisang without protest. “Oh, good.”

Good? He doesn’t think so. Vaguely, Lan Xichen hears Nie Huaisang talk—about what, he can’t tell. It blends into the background along with everything else, but there’s certain dips and edges to it that pull him closer, even as he floats. Soon, he finds himself in what he assumes are Nie Huaisang’s chambers as Nie Huaisang prattles on. “I smuggled some sweets from the kitchen but they’re new kinds that I’ve never tried before. My tastebuds are delicate—Brother always scolds me about it, but it’s not my fault! Young Master Lan, can you tell me what it tastes like? I need to be prepared.”

Soon, a few pieces of candy are shoved into Lan Xichen’s hand. His head shifts upward and Nie Huaisang encourages, “Go on! Just tell me the taste and texture.”

Okay. Lan Xichen slips the first piece into his mouth and focuses on it as much as he can manage. “It’s sweet,” he says.

“How sweet? Honey sweet? Sugar sweet? Berry sweet?”

“Honey, but it feels like…sand. Gritty. Do you like gritty things?”

“Maybe,” Nie Huaisang allows. “Does it have a bad aftertaste?”

Lan Xichen swallows and then waits. “No. It’s good.”

“What about the others?”

So Lan Xichen goes on, describing candy after candy until he’s actually holding the pieces, not watching himself eat them. He stops abruptly, placing his palm on the table and then asking, “What was that?”

Nie Huaisang smiles kindly. “Are you feeling better now?”

Better, yes. Good, not precisely. But certainly better. Moonlight streams into the room from the open window, clashing with the flickering of Nie Huaisang’s lamps. Disciples are still chattering, doing their duties, and the Nie night robes that Lan Xichen has thrown on are light and freeing despite the terrible pressure creeping up his spine. “I am,” he says. “What did you do?”

“Helped you come back to yourself,” Nie Huaisang explains. He stumbles to his feet and then goes deeper into his chambers, still talking. “It happens to my cousin, sometimes, too, so I learned how to help.” He comes back with a cup of water, sloshing against the opening with each step he takes.

Lan Xichen takes it and drinks. “I apologize for any trouble—”

“No trouble!” Nie Huaisang immediately insists, only to go red. “I mean, helping people is what cultivators do, right? I might not be that great of a cultivator in any other sense, but I can still do this!”

Ah, yes. The Second Young Master Nie who hates cultivating. “Then, I thank you.”

Nie Huaisang’s face flushes even deeper and he turns away. For a moment, Lan Xichen rests in amused silence, but then Nie Huaisang says, “Young Master Lan, those braids…”

Lan Xichen freezes. “Oh,” he says immediately, hands shooting up to his hair, “I apologize, I’ll take them off immediately.”

“No! I mean,” Nie Huaisang backtracks, “you can wear it! The Nie disciples all wear it but. No one ever mentioned that anyone else couldn’t.”

“But your brother…”

“Brother says a lot of things!” Nie Huaisang says. “Don’t always listen to him! You can wear the braids if you want. You look good in them, anyway. And with those robes, I almost thought you were a Nie disciples!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah!”

And Lan Xichen smiles. He smiles when he goes back to his room as well, and he even manages to smile as he unbraids his hair.

It’s the first time anyone has told him that he’s looked good in these braids—not even his mother had said such a thing. Lan Xichen thinks that, for now, everything is going to be okay.

***

The first time Lan Xichen really breaks a rule is when he sneaks into the Cloud Recesses’ weaponry. Only the senior disciples are allowed in—which a fourteen-year-old Lan Xichen very distinctly is not—but he has a question in mind that can’t be solved in any other fashion.

Carefully treading the wooden floors, he enters the side room that not even the senior disciples are allowed into, and he observes its contents. Stacked into neat little rows are hundreds of swords, all belonging to his deceased martial siblings. Off to the side, however, he finds a crypt—wholly out of place.

Slowly, he slides the lid off. Just a bit, just enough to peak inside, and he finds a saber—broad and imperious, to be wielded by a master. Its glare is blinding in the dull light of the room, its sharpened edge pricking him without needing to touch him. Atop the casket, there is an engraving that he will never forget: Nie Jiaying.

“Jiaying.” It’s what his uncle used to refer to his mother on the rare occasions they spoke. “Jiaying.” It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. “Jiaying.” It’s for a wonderful woman with scars, braids, and a saber.

“Nie Jiaying.”

And she’d told him that he was the perfect Lan, but she was a Nie and Lan Xichen had always loved her so much. Lan Xichen bows his head and cries.

***

Lan Huan was five when he found out that, one day, he was going to be Sect Leader. When Lan Qiren told him that, he buried his face into his uncle’s robes and said, “But I don’t want to. A-Zhan can be the Sect Leader.”

Lan Qiren’s face hardened and he spoke, voice sharp, “Don’t forsake your brother when this is your duty.”

Lan Huan buried his face deeper into his uncle’s robes. “But if I’m Sect Leader,” he says, voice muffled, “then how will Mother and I travel around China?” To see all the places she’d told him about, to make her stop looking so sad when she talked about them. He wanted to see them all and…and then maybe he’d pretend to be Sect Leader so A-Zhan could do the same thing, too. Then they could both go with Mother and Mother would get to go twice, because she deserved it.

Lan Qiren’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“You will be the Sect Leader, and your mother cannot leave the Jingshi.”

Lan Huan looked up. “Even then?”

“Even then.”

“Why?”

Lan Qiren pursed his lips. “Your mother did something very bad, A-Huan. This is her punishment.”

Lan Huan didn’t understand. Whenever he got in trouble, he had to copy lines and do handstands. Sometimes he saw the older disciples get hit with the discipline rulers. He’d never heard of a punishment like having to stay inside all the time. He didn’t think he would like it.

***

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue stay in contact through letters, talking about when they’ll next meet and what they’re going to do. As Nie Mingjue’s sixteenth birthday draws closer and closer, they also discuss all the things that they plan to do when he comes to the Cloud Recesses.

Three months beforehand, news arrives: Nie Mingjue’s father has died, leaving Nie Mingjue as Sect Leader Nie. He sends a very formal apology letter, explaining why he can’t attend classes in the Cloud Recesses, and it is not in his handwriting but Lan Xichen keeps silent about it. Lan Qiren heads to the Unclean Realms as soon as news reaches them in an effort to help Nie Mingjue deal with his new responsibilities, and Lan Xichen is left behind.

Lan Wangji approaches him that night. “Brother,” he says, sweeping into Lan Xichen’s quarters and seating himself across from him, “I heard what happened.” Lan Xichen seals his eyes shut. Lan Wangji continues, “You…did not go to the Unclean Realms.” He’s surprised that Lan Xichen hasn’t gone to comfort his friend.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Uncle said that my being there would make things more complicated for him. I’ve arranged to visit in a few months.”

Lan Wangji observes him. “Second Young Master Nie,” he says, “has informed me that Sect Leader Nie would not be opposed to your presence.”

Lan Xichen pauses. “You’ve spoken to Huaisang?”

“He and I have kept up a correspondence.”

Lan Xichen knew that the two were in contact, but he never expected them to talk about these kinds of things. Lan Xichen looks up, staring at the ceiling. “Is he positive?”

“Yes.” He hesitates. “And he mentioned…he would like to meet you, as well.”

This causes Lan Xichen’s head to spin in confusion. “What?”

“Second Young Master Nie wishes to meet you.”

Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang exchange gifts—little, useless trinkets that are technically not allowed, but to which Lan Qiren always turns a blind eye when he visits Lan Xichen’s residence—but they haven’t written actual, substantial words to each other. And why would Nie Huaisang want to meet? The last time they’d met for longer than a few minutes was on that first time he’d visited the Unclean Realms and caused Nie Huaisang so much trouble.

Nie Huaisang was being polite, Lan Xichen decides. And his uncle is right, anyway—Lan Xichen’s presence will only make things worse for Nie Mingjue. Who knows what kind of power struggle is happening within the walls of the Unclean Realms? Having to deal with Lan Xichen won’t be helpful at all.

“I shouldn’t impose, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looks like he wants to protest, but no words leave his lips. Instead, he bows his head and says, “Yes, Brother.” The amount of skepticism and exasperation he manages to pack into those two words is astonishing.

Lan Xichen pointedly ignores it.

***

Lan Xichen expects Nie Mingjue to never again step foot in the Cloud Recesses. It’s unconscious and illogical, but he sees an ocean between them now—an ocean he so desperately wants to cross, even when everyone insists on him making his home on the other side.

That ocean seems a little smaller when Nie Mingjue sends him a certain letter. Its contents are very simple: Nie Mingjue cannot attend class at the Cloud Recesses, but Nie Huaisang most definitely can and he will be when he turns 15. Nie Mingjue came to iron out the details and they sat and spoke as if nothing had ever gone wrong—as if they were still just two Young Masters, hiding from the sun beneath a willow tree.

The day before Nie Huaisang is due to arrive, Lan Xichen receives a letter from Nie Mingjues. “You and that brother of yours better take care of Huaisang,” it says. Affectionate as always, and Lan Xichen’s lips quirk upwards as he passes it over to Lan Wangji. He gives it a deadpan stare.

“Rules are rules,” he intones. “If Nie Huaisang breaks any, he will get punished.”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow. “And when did you start calling him by his name?”

There is a pause before Lan Wangji’s ears flare up, brilliant red. “Brother…”

It’s nice to know that his brother has a friend.

***

Nie Huaisang’s arrival in the Cloud Recesses is marked with all the fanfare that a Young Master of his status deserves, and he delights in every bit of it. It’s nothing material, of course, but there are a great deal of greetings and tours and fawning over the quality of robes—something Lan Xichen had never before taken into account, but now he runs his fingers through his own and wonders if it will live up to Nie Huaisang’s standards. It will, most likely, since his are among the best quality in the Sect.

His robes are special. They’re a cocoon with which he wraps himself, an illusion behind which he hides. These robes say that he is Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Lan, the most eligible bachelor in China. He is none of these things, but it’s easier to pretend when he wears these robes. (Sometimes, though, the robes are not enough. Sometimes, when nothing seems right, Lan Xichen is not even sure if he is Lan Xichen. And at those times, his robes hurt more than they help.)

Lan Xichen makes sure to check in on Nie Huaisang often, just as Nie Mingjue asked him to. He mentions time and time again to focus on studies and get enough sleep, to come to him if he ever needs anything, and every time Nie Huaisang giggles and says, “Of course, Brother Xichen!” And then he never comes.

Lan Xichen almost thinks that Nie Huaisang has resolved to ignore him entirely when, close to curfew, he gets a knock on his door. It’s a bit late for visitors, but far enough from curfew that any visitors can still arrive back at their residence after a decent conversation. He does not expect to open the door to Nie Huaisang in tears.

“Huaisang?” Lan Xichen gasps, ushering him inside.

Nie Huaisang clings to him, sobbing into his night robes. “I can’t do it,” he gasps. “I can’t do it, Brother Xichen. It’s too hard.”

“What are you talking about?” Lan Xichen asks.

“School!” he exclaims. “I just don’t understand! I try and I try but I’m just—just stupid!”

“You’re not stupid,” Lan Xichen says immediately, sitting him down. “Come, Huaisang, let’s—” He suddenly freezes when the smell hits him. “Are you drunk?”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang admits, and there’s so much shame in his voice that Lan Xichen can’t bring himself to be mad at him.

“Oh, Huaisang,” he says. “Is school really troubling you that much?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I don’t know! I just…this isn’t working, Brother Xichen.” He lets his head fall onto the table with a soft thud, and Lan Xichen grimaces.

Carefully, he pries Nie Huaisang up and says, “I’ll help.”

“How?”

“I’ll teach you in the evenings,” he says. “Hopefully, some extra attention can help you absorb the information better.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Lan Xichen blinks. The obvious answer is because Nie Mingjue asked him to look out for Nie Huaisang, but what actually comes out of his mouth is, “Because you’re my friend.”

Nie Huaisang stares, then smiles. “I’m really lucky to have both Jades of Lan as my friends.”

Lan Xichen perks up, delight seeping into him. “Wangji actually admitted that he’s your friend?” he demands.

“Not yet, but he’s getting there! I’ll wear him down eventually…” he says. Lan Xichen lets out a light huff of amusement.

They continue like that, time whirling alongside their words, moon rising ever so slightly higher in the sky, until Lan Xichen has to finally put an end to it. “It’s nearly curfew,” he says. “I’ll overlook your drinking just this once, but you should get back to your room before curfew. The disciples on patrol won’t be anywhere near as kind as I am.” He’s already setting the tea away, rearranging the miscellaneous objects that had fallen out of their places along the way. Nie Huaisang watches it all happen.

Then, Nie Huaisang says, “Do you have a mirror?”

Lan Xichen blinks. “Of course.” He immediately points him in the direction of his mirror, which sits, largely concealed, by his bed. Nie Huaisang ambles over to it with a hum, out of Lan Xichen’s sight. He doesn’t pay it any further mind until he hears Nie Huaisang give off a huff of frustration.

“What’s wrong, Huaisang?” he asks, approaching him.

Nie Huaisang’s fingers are tangled in his own hair, sloppy and shaking as he tugs on the strands. “My hands won’t work!” he says. “They’re all…” he waves his fingers around in an approximation of something Lan Xichen doesn’t quite understand.

He settles for a laugh. “You’re drunk, of course your movement is impaired.”

“I’m not that drunk!” Nie Huaisang exclaims. Lan Xichen merely raises an eyebrow and watches as Nie Huaisang shrinks away from him. “Fine,” Nie Huaisang admits, “maybe I’m a little drunk.” His eyes suddenly widen in an epiphany. “Brother Xichen!” he says. “You do it!”

“Do what?”

“Braid my hair for me!”

Lan Xichen’s world grinds to a halt. “What?”

“My hair! I know you can braid!”

He should not. He most definitely should not. The braid is not for him, it is for an entire sect surnamed “Nie,” and he is not part of that sect. He will never be a part of that sect. The knowledge of the braid is merely a relic left behind by his mother, who had a right to it. It is not for him to indulge in. “Huaisang,” he whispers, “I can’t.”

“You can,” Nie Huaisang insists. “I’ve seen you do it before! Please, Brother Xichen, my fingers are too…too slippery!” He demonstrates by trying to braid his hair. All he succeeds in doing is mashing the strands together. “Brother Xichen,” he whines.

Lan Xichen should not—but Nie Huaisang is staring at him with such open desperation in his eyes, and how can Lan Xichen refuse? So, very quietly, he says, “Okay.”

Braiding Nie Huaisang’s hair is different from braiding his own. Working on the heads of others is entirely new territory for him—he’s never done it before. Not to his mother and not to Lan Wangji. And yet, he finds himself doing it with such ease on Nie Huaisang’s head, carefully untangling knots and twisting them into braids that fall against his robes so neatly that Nie Huaisang marvels at them. “Brother Xichen,” he says once, “you really are good, aren’t you?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t say anything, because lying is forbidden and he doesn’t have the heart to explain to Nie Huaisang that he’s really, really not. So he keeps braiding, long past the grease that crawls up his spine and the terror that sits in his throat, until his own hands are shaking so badly that he can’t braid anymore. He’s done at that point, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

Nie Huaisang marvels at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re the best, Brother Xichen!” he insists.

Lan Xichen turns away and doesn’t say a word, clutching his own robes tighter around him in a desperate attempt to ward off the shivers that wrack his body. Nie Huaisang, too drunk to notice the change, smothers Lan Xichen with a hug from behind, startling him so badly that he immediately turns around to steady him. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang whines, “you’re really going to teach me, right?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen manages through chattering teeth.

“Then I’ll bring my books! I promise!” He bounds out of the room without so much as a goodbye, leaving Lan Xichen clutching at empty air.

He closes his eyes and he’s still shaking. Sleep does not come easy that night.

***

There are good days, and there are bad days. The bad days were getting fewer and fewer, but they hadn’t disappeared—not at all. Two weeks after Nie Huaisang first enlists his help, he has a bad day. He wakes up coated in grease, head too light and too heavy at the same time. His chest aches, his back aches—his very being aches, and he can’t do anything about it.

He does not know if he can help Nie Huaisang today, but he decides to try, anyway.

There is a cup of tea in his hands, scalding hot, when Nie Huaisang bounds through his door, smiling brightly. “Brother Xichen!” he exclaims. “Brother Xichen, I kind of understood what Teacher Lan was talking about today, so I don’t have to take up too much of your time today! I can—Brother Xichen?” He stops abruptly.

Lan Xichen’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

Lan Xichen swallows. That is a very good question. Unfortunately, it only has one answer. “I don’t feel good.” It’s the only way he can think of to describe the claws that scratch down his neck, leaving his jaw clenched and head bowed. Spiders crawl up his spine, fire burns behind his eyes, and through it all he can only manage to sit still and wait for it to leave him alone.

Carefully, Nie Huaisang sets his books on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We should start doing your homework.”

“But do you want to talk about it?” Nie Huaisang insists.

Lan Xichen takes in a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know, then?”

Lan Xichen’s jaw aches from the effort of keeping it still. Then, very slowly, he raises his hand to his hair and cards his fingers through it, trying to grab hold of a few strands. His hands won’t stay still and suddenly, Lan Xichen knows exactly what he wants. “I want to braid my hair.�� He sets his hands down. “But I can’t.”

Nie Huaisang brightens. “Ah, then I’ll braid it for you!”

Lan Xichen bows his head and he can’t find it in himself to turn Nie Huaisang away, so he forces himself to relax as Nie Huaisang places his hands on Lan Xichen’s head, stroking his hair gently. If Lan Xichen closes his eyes, then he can almost pretend it’s his mother doing it for him, instead. Nie Huaisang doesn’t have any calluses on his arms, no scars or discoloration, but he doesn’t need them because his fingers follow the same patterns, do the same dance, and, in the end, he sings the same song.

Lan Xichen’s eyes fly open. “Huaisang!” he gasps. “Where did you hear that song?”

Nie Huaisang blinks, startled. “O-Oh, it’s a common song from Qinghe. Should I not have sung it? I’m sorry if it—”

“No,” Lan Xichen immediately denies. “Don’t stop.”

Hesitantly Nie Huaisang continues. They manage to stay like that for a few seconds before Lan Xichen whispers, “My mother used to sing that song.” Nie Huaisang stops. “She also used to wear these braids and she had a saber and—and her name was Nie Jiaying.”

For a moment, there is silence. Then, “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before,” Nie Huaisang murmurs, lost in thought. “She must have been part of one of the branch families…I’ll look into it, if you want.”

Does he want it? Maybe. He’ll think about it later. For now, he says, “I loved her so much, Huaisang.”

“I know, Brother Xichen. Her loss must have hit you really hard.”

“It was worse on Wangji.”

“But it was still hard on you.”

Lan Xichen squeezes his eyes shut. Then, “I’m still mad at her, though.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“She…she would unbraid my hair and call me the perfect Lan.”

“Is that bad?” Nie Huaisang asks. His head is tilted sideways, genuine confusion resting on his features. “You are amazing, Brother Xichen.”

“But I don’t want to be the perfect Lan.”

“What do you want to be, then?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone so indulging, so willing to talk to him at his worst moments. Lan Wangji would stay a silent guardian at his side, and his uncle would help him get his mind off of bad thoughts, but Nie Huaisang is here and he’s…he’s talking to him about it. So Lan Xichen answers. “I want to go to the places Mother talked about. I want to go to the forests and see the beasts and wear the braids. I—” he swallows— “I don’t think I want to be a Lan.” And it’s true, he thinks. It’s selfish of him to want so desperately to abandon his home for a place he’s only step foot in a handful of times…but it feels so dear, so intrinsically important to his very being, and he wants it so badly.

Nie Huaisang looks contemplative. “You don’t have to be a Lan. You could join the Nie Sect. Brother definitely wouldn’t stop you.”

“But how can I just leave?” How can he leave his brother? How can he leave his uncle? How can he leave his mother’s saber?

“It doesn’t have to be forever. You could visit. You could come back. I don’t think Grandmaster Lan would stop you, either.”

And then he thinks of telling these ideas to his uncle, who will definitely be against them, and a feeling of such complete and utter helplessness enters him that he can’t blink away the tears that gather in his eyes, and he desperately tries to wipe them away as they fall over onto his cheeks. “He’d be upset,” he sobs. “He wouldn’t let me.”

Immediately, he’s enveloped by a hug—this time from the front. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang says, “he doesn’t get to decide for you! If you want to run away and join another sect, then he’ll just have to suck it up! And…and he really does adore you, you know. He’d be mad but I don’t think he’d stay mad.”

“And Wangji?” Lan Xichen whispers, still holding him close.

Nie Huaisang pulls back a bit and laughs. “Oh please, Lan Wangji would cheer you on even if you murdered somebody.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.” He can’t believe any of it. They’d hate him for the rest of his days, he’d never get to see them again, and even though he would be free, he’d have to live with the knowledge that his own family hated him. “I can’t do it.”

Nie Huaisang grabs him fiercely by the shoulders. “You can!” he insists. “You’re strong. Everyone believes in you, Brother Xichen, I promise. If anyone can pull it off, then it’s you.” He looks frantic, voice stubborn and unyielding, and Lan Xichen can’t think, doesn’t understand—

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang moves and Lan Xichen doesn’t realize what’s happening until Nie Huaisang’s lips are on his own, and the world grinds to a halt as Nie Huaisang grips the front of Lan Xichen’s robes. For a second, Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to do, but then he tugs Nie Huaisang closer, desperate to keep his warmth, letting it chase away his shivers. It’s a chaste kiss, from what he knows. Lips on lips, completely still, moving only with their breathing, but Lan Xichen wouldn’t change it for the world.

When Nie Huaisang finally does pull back, he presses their foreheads together, not moving to escape Lan Xichen’s grip. “I believe in you,” he says. “I always have. Do what’s right for you, Brother Xichen. I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lan Xichen bows his head onto Nie Huaisang’s shoulder and decides that, maybe, he’ll give it a shot.

***

Once a year, Lan Wangji skips every class he has for a day and kneels in front of a long-forgotten house in a corner of the Cloud Recesses. It’s always in the snow, where he bears the cold—with plenty to keep him warm, of course.

Today, for the first time in eight years, Lan Xichen kneels with him. Lan Wangji does not turn to look at him, keeping his back straight, staring stubbornly ahead. Lan Xichen starts the conversation. “She deserved so much better,” he says. “I didn’t understand it back then, but she did.” Back then, all he’d known was that his mother wanted to travel but she wasn’t allowed to, and that made him sad. That was all. Now, he comprehends the true horror of what their mother was put through. Being locked away in such a small house for the rest of her days—no wonder she died so early. (And he never did learn how she died. He’s not sure he wants to find out.)

Lan Wangji still doesn’t turn to him, but he says, “She did deserve better.”

Lan Xichen blinks, surprised that his brother responded at all. Then, “I don’t want something like that to ever happen again.”

“I won’t let it.” There is steel in Lan Wangji’s voice, the unbending strength that Lan Xichen knows means that he will keep his word. There will be no more prisoners in the Cloud Recesses as long as Lan Wangji has any say in the matter—and long past it, too.

“It would be easier for a Sect Leader to accomplish that,” Lan Xichen says, forcing his voice to level out.

“I know,” Lan Wangji replies.

“You’d have an easier time if you were Sect Leader.”

Now, there is a brief bit of silence. Hesitation, Lan Xichen knows. Confusion, a break to comprehend new information. Then, “Brother?”

“You’d be a better Sect Leader than me, Wangji.”

“Brother, I’m…I’m not good with this.” With politics. With talking to others. With so many things. As if Lan Xichen is any better.

“But you want to help,” Lan Xichen whispers. “And you can only ever do everything you can if you’re Sect Leader.” Lan Wangji’s heart is pure and radiant, and Lan Xichen sometimes doesn’t know how they could be siblings. People call them the Twin Jades of Lan, but Lan Xichen knows the truth: Lan Wangji is the only Jade. Lan Xichen is an imposter hiding in his silk cocoons.

Lan Wangji stays silent for some more time. Then, “What are you saying?”

“Would you be Sect Leader if you were given the chance? Be honest, Wangji.”

The very world slows around them, as if it, too, is holding its breath for Lan Wangji’s response. And then he says, “Yes. What about you, Brother?”

Lan Xichen hums and closes his eyes. “Mother used to tell me so many stories of far away places. Of brotherhood. Of fights and battle and glory.”

“Is that what Brother wants?”

Lan Xichen thinks of Qinghe and its vast forests, and then the Unclean Realms and its unrestrained inhabitants. “Yes,” he decides. “That’s what I want.”

“Then Brother should have what he wants.”

“So should you, Wangji.”

It’s nothing official, nothing definite, but—at that moment—everything suddenly feels so much easier than it ever was before.

Lan Xichen kneels in the snow with Lan Wangji for the rest of the day, just as he had eight years ago, but now he stands tall and he doesn’t float. When he returns to his rooms, there are a few pieces of candy placed on his table and a letter from Nie Huaisang: “So you don’t forget when we first met.”

Lan Xichen pops one into his mouth and he remembers a night spent laughing with Nie Huaisang in the halls of the Unclean Realms, and he smiles.

For the first time in forever, he looks upon the future and he smiles.

fin

#xisangweek2020 #xisang #lan xichen #nie huaisang #lan wangji #nie mingjue #lxc has a bad time yo #but it gets better!!!#and that's what matters uwu #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #my fic #idk what else to tag this tbh #ummm i hope you like it??#ye that works.#also #sssrha fics

67 notes · View notes

ineloqueent · 4 years ago

Note

hi tina 💞 not sure how easy this is, since my astrophysics knowledge is nearing -273 *C, but you could do mutuals as astronomical sights? comets, planets, galaxies etc... sorry if not!! 💖✨

anna! and anon! you’ve given me a wonderful chance to ramble about space. you may come to regret it, however...

if i’ve forgotten you, please do not take it personally! i didn’t mean to. my mind is just but a glorified puddle :)

@archaicmusings — vega

vega is the brightest star in the constellation lyra, and happens to be my favourite star. don’t ask me why vega is my favourite star, or why lyra is my favourite constellation, because i haven’t got a coherent answer for you. i’ve just always been drawn to them. a bit like cal, really. i feel like we’ve known each other for far longer than just four months, and she’s so lovely that i’m fairly sure i could say anything to her and she’d just accept me for whatever rubbish i’m rambling about this time. and, in the depressing year that’s been 2020, cal has been a bright star.

@drivenbybri — halley’s comet

honestly, is there anything more iconic than halley’s comet? there can’t be much. probably the best known comet of all time, halley’s comet is a short-period comet (and if you’ve read starstruck, you know how much i prefer short-period comets to those long-period comets with their damned 200-year perihelions, even if certain people suggest that this makes them quite special), meaning that it is visible from earth every 75-ish years. halley’s comet last made an appearance in the lovely year of 1986, and will thus appear next in 2061 (i’m so excited for my 59-year-old self!!!). halley’s comet, though well-known, is still a rare breed, so to speak. it is rare, and extraordinarily beautiful that a comet appears to a human twice within their lifetime. sofie is rare, just like halley’s comet, and equally beautiful, both in heart and with that lovely curly hair of hers. i’m honoured to know her, just as i shall be honoured to see halley’s comet one day.

@brianmays-hair — cassiopeia a

cassiopeia a (or rather, the remnant of cassiopeia a) was a supernova within the constellation of cassiopeia. for those of you who do not obsess over interstellar matter the way that i do, supernovae are explosions of massive stars, or white dwarfs drawn to nuclear fusion, within their final stages of life. not much is known about how these explosions necessarily take place, and nasa has only caught on video one such explosion, back in 2016. the most commonly presented image of the remnant of cassiopeia a is a false-colour image, composed with three different wavebands of light. it is, as you can see, very beautiful. supernovae radiate energy and light throughout the cosmos during their existence, and thus having a great effect on the space surrounding them. i therefore liken jess to cassiopeia a because she has a brilliant personality, vibrant and inspiring, which comes across especially in her writing. but of course, the beauty of cassiopeia a has nothing on her.

@deacyblues — sirius

as far as we humans and the scientists among us know, sirius is the brightest star in the observable universe. housed within the constellation of canis major, sirius has always been monumentally important in terms of navigation, since ancient times. i tell pearl this all the time, but truly, i mean it; her outlook on life is inspiring, how she never fails to be positive even in times of great trouble. like sirius, pearl is a light, ever-present within the mindset of living for today, ever-determined, and unfailingly kind.

@joemazzmatazz — black hole

please let me explain before this gets taken the wrong way: I LOVE BLACK HOLES. i specifically want to study black holes, whenever i get the chance to specialise within astrophysics. they fascinate me to no end, with a kind of allure that only the mysterious can hold. furthermore, black holes may be the key to understanding the universe; if we understand black holes, we will be able to make headway on other matter, such as dark matter, and dark energy, the latter of which makes up the majority of the observable universe, and will lead us to astronomical (if you’ll pardon the ill-worded expression, and the unintentional pun) conclusions concerning both the beginning of our universe, and the eventual end. regan, just like a black hole, is a wealth of information, especially concerning the knowledge she harbours about disney, and the business management sector of it. it’s quite truly inspirational.

@im-an-adult-ish — the milky way

ah yes, the milky way. home to all of us. and that is the essence of my explanation here. meredith has such a friendly way about her, and she’s the kind of person you can easily turn to and feel welcomed. a bit like our little corner of the universe <3

@almightygwil — the sun

i think this is probably self-explanatory, if a bit repetitive, but ellie is a ray of sunshine. but perhaps that sells her a little short, because ellie is just so genuinely lovely that she must herself be the sun. her writing talent astounds me (you could say it blinds me, ha ha), and she never fails to be somehow both sweet and very chaotic at the same time. it’s very admirable (and certainly relatable, on the chaotic front). the sun itself, if we think about the surface and the fusion that takes place there, is both the sweetest sight ever seen, and quite chaotic, so i think it fitting that ellie is the sun.

@hijackmy-heart — callisto

callisto is one of jupiter’s moons, and my favourite, because it looks like a piece of the night sky decided to curl up into a ball. i don’t know nat too well, but i know that she’s gorgeous, like callisto, and loves roger taylor. let me explain. jupiter, in roman mythology, is the god of the sky and of thunder. in norse mythology, thor is the equivalent of jupiter, and to me, roger has always had a bit of that typical scandinavian look going, with the blonde hair and blue eyes (not to say that all scandis look like this, but he fits the stereotype :)). nat loves roger, and callisto orbits jupiter, so there you have it.

@six-bloodyminutes — the moon

the moon has a serenity about it, and mo has a knack for telling quite wild things with a most casual air. for instance, according to my sources, when a certain dorm room caught fire (?). mo thus bears this serenity, akin to the serenity i associate with the moon, with equal grace and chaos.

@dancingdiscofloof — pluto

pluto! the not-planet-oh-wait-maybe-it’s-a-planet-jk-jk-unless..? i still think that pluto should be considered a planet, despite the many arguments against the poor sod. pluto was once a planet, and should therefore have remained a planet, for the plain and simple fact that taking away its planethood was like giving a person a present, and then taking it back immediately afterward. anyway. i’m rambling. i also do not know rove very well, but i know that she’s kind, and, judging by the memes she shares, both of ryan gosling and tom hanks, that she is quirky— a bit like our beloved pluto.

@imcompletelylost — aurora borealis/aurora australis

also known as the northern lights/the southern lights, the polar lights, the merry dancers, the fox fires, or swarms of luminous herring (you can thank my ancestors, followers of norse mythology, for that one), the aurora is an astronomical phenomenon precipitated by the complete ring of light surrounding the poles, “which at its brightest has a distinctively green tint” (may, brian, et al. the cosmic tourist. carlton books, 2016.). yes i just made a citation from one of brian’s books. don’t worry about it. anyway, particles emitted from our sun are caught by the magnetic fields of earth’s poles, and thus produce this ethereal effect. but you know what the aurora has always reminded me of? disco lights. and libby is noting if not the queen of disco. oh, and, libby’s makeup talents? the aurora could never.

@aprilaady — butterfly nebula

the butterfly nebula is incredibly beautiful. but also, depending on from which angle it is beheld, it looks quite different. dor will surprise you, in the loveliest way possible (and sometimes the funniest) with a kind word or a joke, or even just a relatable comment. she has so many talents, being rivetingly smart within so many fields, especially the sciences, and in this, conveys multitudes, like the butterfly nebula. one might say her soul is painted like the wings of butterflies...

@doing-albri — solar eclipse

the alignment of the sun, moon, and earth. difficult to see, especially in totality, if you continually live in the same place. but there’s something magical in that alignment, i think. something quite poetic. it’s partially in the name ‘eclipse’ and partially in the nickname— a “ring of fire.” i saw the solar eclipse in august of 2018, and looking up at it, i was quite awestruck. you’re not supposed to stare directly at solar eclipses, because despite the moon overshadowing the sun, you can still damage your eyes significantly by looking at them. vi is so bright, both in her attitude and in her intelligence, and thus i’ve chosen the solar eclipse for her. also, when a solar eclipse occurs, using a piece of cardboard with a hole (or generally any thick-radius circular object with an opening), you can recreate the phenomenon on another surface, resulting in beautiful patterns and light-art, which i think speaks to vi’s eye for aesthetics.

@imalososos — meteor shower

meteor showers are perhaps some of the most beautiful phenomena i have ever seen. back in the summer of 2016, i stayed up all night to watch the perseids rush across the sky, and i was not disappointed, by any means. within the early hours of the 12th of august, an estimated 80 meteors darted across the heavens each hour. meteors, in essence, are clusters of mineral, usually debris from comets, which enter the atmosphere of a planet, and thus seem to shoot across the sky. now, you may be wondering, what’s the bloody blooming difference between meteoroids, meteors, and meteorites, and why are we talking about meteors in particular? well, meteoroids are cosmic debris that have not yet entered an atmosphere; as soon as a piece of cosmic debris enters a planet’s atmosphere, it is classified as a meteor. as for meteorites, nothing is a meteorite unless it strikes the ground. anyway. you didn’t come here for my science ramblings. meteors are also called ‘shooting stars,’ and let’s be honest, they’re space’s idea of art. streaks of light across the sky? sounds like a painting to me, and darya, among many other things, is an artist— and a brilliant one, at that. so i think it very fitting to describe her as the art of the universe <3

@mazzell-ro — saturn

i! love! saturn!!! being the only planet in our solar system with highly visible rings, it just stands out to me. it’s absolutely gorgeous, and an object of much inspiration to me, when i was little and decided that space was absolutely something i wanted to see. i could write an eight-verse song about saturn, i love it so much, and honestly, i think ro could write one too; she’s an excellent musician. but aside from its lovely rings, saturn is unique because its composition, in the ratio of its gases, would allow the planet to float in water. ro is uniquely wonderful, and her writing!!!!!!!! makes me so soft and happy and makes me want to give her the word. quite how i feel when i look up at saturn.

@mistiermistshazierdays — zodiacal light

you may recognise this term as brian’s speciality from when he was studying astrophysics. but what is it? zodiacal light is that strange triangle of light that appears glowing in the sky after twilight and before dawn, and is the subject of much earth-based astrophotography. extraordinarily beautiful, scientists are still not entirely sure what the phenomenon is, but most research and practical experiments are in favour of zodiacal light being sunlight reflected off of cosmic dust (also known as stardust!). now, if my knowledge of ancient greece and its mythology serves me, the name phoebe comes from phoebus, and (thank you google) means ‘bright.’ zodical light… bright… phoebe… you might say it’s a match made in the heavens. quite literally if we’re talking space. phoebe, you kind soul, you are stardust.

@speciallyred — andromeda galaxy

and last, but certainly not least, dear anna. i name thee the andromeda galaxy, partially for your own name, and partially for its poetic beauty. andromeda, the neighbour galaxy of our deal ol’ milky way, is actually about 2.5 million lightyears (15 trillion miles, 22.5 trillion km) away from us, here on earth. call me vain for the number of times i’ve described the beauty of space throughout this rather extended exposition, but andromeda is startlingly beautiful. one reason for this objective beauty is that andromeda is estimated to be home to roughly double the number of stars within our own galaxy. anna is one of the most talented poets i have ever come across, hands down, and what be the food of poetry, if not the stars?

#happy christmas to those who celebrate it!!!#mutuals tag #space

33 notes · View notes

whenihaveyouromione · 3 years ago

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 37

Find on Fanfiction.net and ao3.

For my other stories (which I am gradually publishing) follow @firethecanonsfanfiction

----

Chapter 37

There was a sense of giddiness in Ron as he stared at the tiny box in the palm of his hand. He had it. He finally had the ring. And it was just as stunning as the first and only other time he’d laid eyes on it. It was the perfect choice for Hermione, and he had the special engraving on it that he really hoped would mean something to her.

A phrase he’d lived by every day since he'd been with Hermione — one that had helped him get over all of his doubts, all his insecurities, and wondering if he was enough for her.

He was enough for her. She would tell him if he wasn’t.

And now that he had the ring he could finally ask her to marry him. He had it all sorted. The lake, the fireworks (George had teased him relentlessly when Ron had asked, but that was okay, because it just meant even more of George’s sense of humour was returning), the evening picnic with the wine, and the stars (he hoped) and the ring. He wasn’t even going to tell Hermione about it until the day of. Two Saturdays from now. That way she would think it was just a spur of the moment decision to go there — something that wasn’t unusual for them. Occasionally, if they had nothing better to do on a Saturday night they’d clutch hands and Disapparate to that lake just to look at the stars, or to talk, or to just enjoy one another’s company.

He hoped to catch her completely by surprise.

But for the time being he had to keep it safe in a place where she wouldn’t find it.

He took one last longing look and then closed the box with a light snap. On the bed was another, larger box. A plain old shoe box that wouldn’t catch Hermione’s eye even if she was to see it. But still, he had protective enchantments around it just in case.

With a smile on his lips, he placed the tiny red box into the shoe box and closed the lid. He then tapped it with his wand, and when he opened it again, it gave an illusion of a stack of Chocolate Frog cards. Hermione knew he had collected them as a kid. It was the most obvious thing to disguise it with if she ever discovered it. All she would see was a box of old Chocolate Frog cards, and that wouldn’t interest her in the slightest.

Two weeks seemed so far off, but it was the right thing to do. Harry would be at Ginny’s Holyhead accommodation right now, preparing his dinner and his surprise. Two weeks seemed a respectable enough amount of time to wait before he intruded on their happiness. It would give everyone a chance to be excited and then forget about it.

It was just so hard to wait. Now that he had it all planned, he wanted to do it right away. He wanted to Disapparate her to the lake tonight and take her in his arms and just declare his love for her and his desire to spend the rest of his life with her.

He hadn’t even realised he was staring stupidly at the shoe box until the sound of footsteps at the bedroom door brought him out of his reverie.

He spun, turning to find Hermione still in her work robes. Her hair was a little askew, which meant she’d had a busy and rather stressful day. Not unusual, even if by Ron’s standards it might have been a rather relaxed one.

She just didn’t know how to relax when it came to work.

He held out an arm, grinning at her, and she came over, falling into his embrace. “Rough day?” he asked.

“Just busy.” She stifled a yawn, and her eyes drifted to the shoe box on the bed. “You bought yourself some new shoes?” And before he could stop her, she leaned forward and opened the lid.

Ron winced, momentarily worried that the spell had worn off, or he’d performed it wrong. But as the lid opened, all that he could see (and therefore all that Hermione could see) was Chocolate Frog Cards.

She smiled. “You’ve been sneaking them in without my knowledge, have you?”

“No,” Ron said, a little defensive despite himself. “Mum found them and gave them to me. They’re from when I used to collect them. She didn’t want them.”

“So that means we have to keep them?” Hermione asked.

“It’s not like they’re taking up space,” Ron said, taking his arm away from her. He opened the wardrobe and kneeled down on the floor, shoving the box right in the back. “You won’t even know it’s there.”

Hermione smiled. “Fair enough. I won’t ask. How was Harry today?”

“A mess,” Ron said, standing back up. “Panicking, sweating, fidgety. For the first time ever, I outperformed him in today’s tasks. Merlin help us on the day of his actual wedding if this is how he acts when he’s not even engaged.”

“Give him a break, Ron,” Hermione said. “Anyone would be nervous in this situation. I would be.”

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it. He watched her for a moment, resisting the urge to go and get the box out of the wardrobe and tell her exactly what was in it. “I’d be excited,” he said after a moment.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. “That, too. But also nervous. It’s a big thing. Oh, I can’t wait until they announce it to everyone else. Your mum will be so thrilled.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, putting his own arms around her. “She will be.”

“You want to get dinner tonight?”

“Hm?”

“I’m far too tired from work and far too nervous for Harry to think about cooking. And you seem distracted. We can just get something. Eat it here.”

“That sounds good,” Ron said. “And afterwards, I’d really like to just cuddle you.”

Her face still pressed against his chest, Ron felt the vibrations of laughter.

“Why must you always laugh?” he said. "But when you ask, it's all adorable."

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, lifting her head to look at him. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was just laughing at how sweet you are." She moved her arms around his neck. "Dinner and cuddling sounds wonderful. My favourite part of the day."

Ron pulled her back against him, tightening his hold on her. "Mine too," he mumbled into her hair, knowing full well that she would be able to hear his thumping heart that was threatening to jump out.

Two weeks couldn't come fast enough.

…

Ron didn’t sleep much that night. He just couldn’t get his plan out of his mind. Every time he started to drift off, another thought popped into his mind — something he’d forgotten, something he could maybe go without. Something that the more he thought about seemed utterly ridiculous, that she’d be more likely to laugh at him than agree to marry him.

He rolled one way, which was facing away from Hermione, then he thought maybe if he looked at her, the right idea would pop into his head. But then he had to roll back over again because his mind would start going into overdrive.

He stumbled into the kitchen at around seven, which — in his opinion — was far too early for a weekend morning. But Hermione was already up, and she had brewed a pot of coffee.

“Morning,” she said as Ron sat down, yawning. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“What do you mean ‘either’?” Ron asked. “You hardly moved all night.”

“I just couldn’t get to sleep,” Hermione said, sitting opposite him with an excited grin. She slid a mug of coffee across to him, which he accepted gratefully. “I couldn’t help thinking about what was happening with Harry and Ginny. I mean, they’re probably engaged by now, and I just want to know how it went. I hope Harry didn’t mess it up.”

“Have some faith in the bloke, would you,” Ron said, smirking. “I’m sure he did just fine.”

“He was so nervous about it all.”

“He’ll be fine.” Ron took a sip of the coffee, almost gagging on it. He hadn’t expected it to be so strong.

Hermione winced. “I thought a double hit might be good this morning. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

Ron pushed the coffee to the side, smiling at her. “Breakfast?” he asked.

“What’s on the menu?”

“What do you want? I’ll make it.” Ron stood up and started to rummage through the fridge. It was still a weird contraption to him, but he was getting used to it. He was starting to think his dad was right about Muggles. They had an answer for everything wizards used magic for.

“We have eggs?” he said with his head inside the fridge. “Er… some, sausages?” He looked over his shoulder. “Bread? We really need to do some shopping. Mum’s cooking and your parents’ groceries are running out.”

“Well, why don’t we head into the city today and get some stuff?” Hermione asked. “We haven’t really ventured into Nottingham city yet. Maybe even lunch together?”

Ron set the eggs and sausages onto the bench. “I’d love that,” he said. “This is our last Saturday together for a few weeks. How many weeks do you have to work Saturday?”

“Until the law is — hopefully — passed.”

Ron grinned. “You’re working wonders in that department, you know? People are talking about it all throughout the Ministry. Dad said the whole department has never been more organised.” He cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them together.

“Every department wants you,” he added.

“That’s not true,” Hermione said.

“It is,” Ron said. “I’m going to lose my girlfriend to her work entirely. They’ll be asking you to be Head of the whole Magical Creatures department soon. The only times I’ll see you is when you come home, and you’ll be gone so early the next morning I probably won’t even be awake when you leave.”

Hermione didn’t speak. Ron set about separating the sausages, and he pointed his wand at the stove to turn it on.

“That doesn’t seem to bother you,” she said, her tone thoughtful.

Ron shrugged, looking at what he was doing with the food.

“A while ago, you were almost ready to break up with me over it. But now, you sound —”

“I’ve grown up a little bit since then,” Ron said. “Done some thinking. Besides, before, it was you not knowing how to relax and prioritising that over all your relationships. Now, you manage to separate it all, and we still get quality time together. And this is because you’re doing such a great job, and they love you there and they have every right to love you. You’re amazing at what you do. How can I be mad at that?”

He hadn’t seen her approach him, but as he dropped the sausages into the frying pan, she spun him around and kissed him with a lot of force.

“Careful,” Ron said, stepping away from the lit stove top. He pulled her back towards him, returning her kiss once away from the danger of an open flame.

“Maybe we should do lunch and see a movie?” Hermione suggested.

“I don’t mind,” Ron said, shrugging. He kissed her again.

There was a knock at the door, and then the sound of the front door being opened and closed.

“Hello?” It was Ginny. “We knocked this time. Are you decent?”

Hermione looked up at Ron and they both smiled at each other.

“In the kitchen!” Hermione called.

“Still didn’t answer my question.” Ginny’s and Harry’s footsteps echoed down the hall, the pair appearing in the kitchen a moment later.

Hermione dropped her arms from around Ron’s neck and turned to face their friends. “It’s just after seven in the morning. What brings the two of you here so early?”

Subtlety, Ron realised, was not Hermione’s strong point. Come to think of it, it probably wasn’t his either.

Their future children were doomed.

“Yes,” he said, turning back to check on the sausages. “Last time I checked, you needed an invitation to come over to someone’s house. Especially at this hour.”

“Oh, lighten up, would you?” Ginny said cheerfully. “There’s a reason we’re here so early.”

“I wonder what it could be,” Ron muttered, suddenly feeling irritated and he didn’t know why. It probably had something to do with the lack of sleep and what he had come to recognise as envy that everyone else’s plans were working out and his weren’t.

He felt a kick to his leg from Hermione.

“What’s up with him?” Ginny asked.

“He didn’t sleep well last night,” Hermione explained. “We were… thinking about you guys.”

Ron placed the eggs into the pan beside the sausages and finally turned around to look at his beaming sister and best mate, who both looked as equally happy as the other.

“I take it everything went well?” Hermione asked, sounding excited.

Ron glanced up and caught Harry’s eye, who gave a small nod.

“Oh, that’s so exciting!” Hermione cried, and she hurried forward to hug both Ginny and Harry. “I’m so happy for both of you!”

“Thanks!” Ginny said. “I had a feeling you two would have known already. Harry said he told Ron about it, and of course he would have told you, Hermione.”

Charming the spoon to continue scrambling the eggs, Ron turned back to look at his sister, and smiled. “Congratulations, Gin,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, beaming at him.

“Did Harry get you an engagement ring?” Hermione then asked. “I know it’s not as common in the wizarding world, but I think they’re so beautiful and really special.”

“Yep,” Ginny said, and she held out her left hand to show Hermione the ring. Ron peered over Hermione’s shoulder and was pleased to know that Harry hadn’t gone as extravagant as he had. That was something, at least.

“It’s stunning,” Hermione said. “Ohh, I’m just so excited for you. For both of you. My two best friends, getting married.”

“Want breakfast?” Ron asked, suddenly getting the feeling that his plans with Hermione were not going to happen today. Everyone — including Hermione, it seemed — was much too preoccupied to worry about lunch and a movie now.

“If you two don’t mind?” Harry said.

“Not at all!” Hermione exclaimed. She Summoned two chairs from the dining room into the kitchen and then got out four plates. “Ron’s cooking. He’s a good cook. Come and sit and tell me all about it.”

While Ron finished the breakfast, throwing in extra eggs and sausages to cater for their two unexpected guests, he listened to Ginny and Harry detail the events of the night before.

It turned out Harry had really pulled through on his attempt at romance, and as Ron (and Hermione) had thought, the quiet affair had appealed to Ginny greatly. She had said yes in a heartbeat, and then they had enjoyed a nice dinner together, glad to see each other over a Quidditch weekend.

It had been a nice surprise for Ginny to have him there.

“Which got me thinking,” Harry said as Ron brought the food to the table. “Well, us. The whole distance thing is really tricky, and we miss each other a lot when Ginny’s away, which is like seven months of the whole year. You know I’ve never seen Grimmauld Place as a permanent spot, so with getting married and all, I think now is the perfect time to sell it.”

“Sell Grimmauld Place?” Hermione asked, shocked. “But, Harry… that’s all you have left of… Sirius.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But he hated the place, too. It’s not like it meant anything to him. And I should be able to get enough from it for us to get our own place… in Holyhead.”

“You want to move there permanently?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Ginny’s locked to the place during the Quidditch season, and I have no such restrictions, so it’s easier for me to do it.”

“That’s so far away from everything, though,” Hermione said.

“Well, not for anyone who wants to come and visit us, is it?” Harry said.

Hermione smiled. “I guess Grimmauld Place kind of grew on me after a few years. The two of you added a warmth to it since you’ve been living there.”

“Hey,” Ron said, reaching a hand out to touch Hermione, “not your decision, is it?”

Hermione blushed. “Right. Yes. Sorry.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll think about selling it then, alright? But for as long as Ginny is playing with the Harpies, I’ll be moving there.”

“Should we toast?” Ron asked.

“With coffee?” Ginny said.

“Do you want some Butterbeer?” Ron replied. “I can get the Butterbeer.”

“Coffee is fine,” Hermione said, and she refilled everyone’s cups. “This is to all of us moving on with our lives, finding our way, and… for being happy.”

Ron beamed at her as she cast a glance his way.

“Here’s to being very happy,” he said.

And soon, he added privately, we’ll be just as happy as Harry and Ginny are now.

#ron and hermione #ronandhermione #ronandhermionefanfiction #ron and hermione fanfiction #romione #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #ronxhermione #hermione x ron #hermionexron #hermioneandron #hermioneandronfanfiction #ronweasley #ron weasley #hermionegranger #hermione granger #hermione #slice of life #romance

5 notes · View notes

chidoroki · 4 years ago

Text

Emma - 63194

So, it’s August 22nd, otherwise known as the best day of the month because we get to celebrate Emma's birthday! I feel like she doesn't get enough credit, especially as a shōnen protagonist, probably because she's just a normal kid compared to others with overwhelming powers/magic/quirks/etc, but I think that just makes her feats all the more interesting and amazing. So, here I am, ready to praise the hell out of everything she's done, what she's capable of, and who she is on her special day.

(spoilers for the entirety of The Promised Neverland, so if you haven't read/completed the manga yet, consider this your first warning, because I'm literally going from start to finish with this.)

This is gonna be one hell of a long post, so here we go.

- She's one of the smartest kids at Grace Field, alongside Norman and Ray, who all get full scores on the house's daily tests, which is by no means a simple task.

- This is thanks to her ability to learn things quickly, which she puts to the absolute best use throughout the entire story.

- She's undoubtedly the most athletic out of the full-score trio, as she can pull off a leap like this with no issue!

- I gotta give her voice actor credit here because her scream at the end of EP1 is simply fantastic.

- She noticed the windows in the house were screwed shut, which reinforced the idea that the kids were merely raised like cattle. (Ray was also aware of this, of course.)

- Suspects the use of tracking devices. (The anime had Norman voicing this realization, so whoever you want to give the credit for this is up to you.)

- Believe me when I say that her acting skills are top-notch.

- She's so good that she was able to control her emotions enough and even regulated her pulse to fool Isabella.

- This! Just all of this. Her crazy ideals, her never-give-up mentality, her ability to stay optimistic and strong despite everything they're up against.. just amazing.

- She always thinks of her family first. (she honestly rarely cries too, now that I think about it.)

- By using what she overheard from the demons at the gate and the “blood tests” Isabella once told her about, Emma was able to figure out where the tracking devices were located on her own. (Yeah, Ray knew of this too, but he kept that info to himself.)

- She then created a situation that allowed her to confirm this and that yes, Isabella is indeed always checking their trackers.

- It was Emma's idea to train the other children by playing tag. Not only did this help them during the escape, but afterwards as well.

- Takes advantage of every opportunity to learn. (also, the strength she has!)

- Amazing learning ability x2 (I'm aware the manga says 10 instead, but still! I bet she could memorize 100 too!)

- She believes in everyone and makes Norman realize that no one in their family is truly bad and that leaving anyone behind, even the “traitor,” could cost them their life.

- She called Ray out on his bluff about him actually being willing to help everyone escape.

- Then confronted Ray about the possibility of him experimenting on the tracking devices of their siblings, thus resulting in their early shipments, which is something Norman didn't even realize, if his surprised expression is anything to go by. (Emma scolds him and hides her anger well, though she only stays mad for like, a minute.)

- She, along with Gilda, notice Isabella disappear every night after 8pm, leading them to assume the house might contain a secret room. They eventually pinpoint where it's located. (Ray suspects such a room must have existed, but wasn't certain.)

- Introduces the boys to William Minerva's books and the morse code bookplates they held, which the trio all know how to decode and understand. (I know Phil pointed them out to her originally and manga Ray was also aware of them, surprise, but..) the hunch she had about the two special books being important guides for them turned out to be true later on after the escape.

- Accepts her mistakes and is quick to apologize when she's wrong.

- Thank you anime for giving us these wonderful lines.

- Has her leg broken and yet she doesn't shed one damn tear. (the horrific sound still haunts me.) Ah, might as well also mention this now, but her theme, 63194, is one of the best songs on the soundtrack.

- Once again caring about others more than herself, as she was ready to destroy her leg/foot even more if it allowed Norman a chance to escape.

- This absolutely amazing moment right here! Easily one of the best panels of her by far!

- Used what she heard from Krone and spent two months hiding her emotions and plans from Isabella. Learning ability & best actress x10.

- Isabella actually believes this. Seriously, someone give Emma an award. Best actress x50.

- Do y'all know how strong physically, mentally and emotionally this girl must be to cut off her own ear? I know she was in a rush to escape while Isabella was busy with the fire, like she literally had about ten seconds (anime) to remove her tracker, but damn! Not once does she ever cry over it either. May I remind you she's only 11!

- Stops Ray's suicide attempt by catching the match, thus burning her palms.

- It was her idea to let the other kids know of the escape, which helped in proceeding with the preparations behind Isabella's back.

- I love Ray x fire jokes as much as the next person, but we all know who the real pyro is. More props to her voice actor again for the scream that follows!

- Successfully carried out Norman's plan and escaped Grace Field with 14 other children.

(post-season one spoilers beyond this point)

- Keeps her cool in dangerous situations, which helps calm down the younger children. Also fairly knowledgeable of the books from Grace Field's library, such as “The Adventures of Ugo,” which came in handy in the demon forest.

- Remains positive and completely hopeful after learning the truth about the demon world they're living in from Sonju.

- It only took three days for her to become proficient enough in archery in order to hunt successfully. She apparently also knows how to use a harpoon (ch49) (but I don't think we ever see that, sadly). Learning ability x20.

- She also didn't panic when she was held at gunpoint. She stayed reasonably calm and forced her way free instead.

- Didn't even flinch when Yuugo's bullet grazed her cheek.

- Can she just get a round of applause, please?

- Emma is just so fearless. Gun to the head? Knife in her face? Doesn't matter. She'll threaten you right back.

- Kudos to her learning ability yet again x50.

- Her quick reflexes and accuracy are phenomenal.

- Of course, cue the talk-no-jutsu skills that every shonen protagonist is undoubtedly skilled with.

- Even Lewis knows at a first glance that our girl is good. Takes a lot to receive praise from this demon.

- Offers herself up as bait to lure the poachers away from the other children.

- Literally cares for anyone, as she helped countless kids she didn't even know during her first hunt at Goldy Pond by keeping them safe.

- Thanks again to her knowledge of the “The Adventures of Ugo” novel, she was able to locate the memory chip for the pen that contains information about Minerva's supporters, the paths to cross over to the human world, Goldy Pond, The Seven Walls and Project Lambda 7214.

- The damn skill she has in handling guns in the matter of two weeks is astonishing.. and she's still only 11.

- Informed the Goldy Pond kids on how to accurately aim for the demon’s center eye, which greatly helped them take out the poacher Nouma.

- She has the audacity to taunt Lewis right back and I love her for it. She also offered to stay behind in order stall Lewis on her own, despite knowing he's the most dangerous of the poachers.

- When the talk-no-jutsu towards the crazy demon fails, she summons a wide array of guns against him, because why the hell not, right?

- She once admitted that she was no good at reading an opponent's moves, but after watching many people in her life who are skilled in such a way (Norman, Ray, Isabella, Krone) and thanks to the knowledge she recently leanred about Goldy Pond, she manages to catch Lewis off guard and electrocute him. Her level of adaptability is wonderful. Learning ability x100.

- Can we all just take a moment to obsess over Emma's Goldy Pond outfit because it is fucking fantastic! She just looks so damn good! (I owe Demizu my life for this.)

- Actually manages to get Yuugo to call her by her real name after he was so adamant to no learn them or get attached to the kids.

- This bright smile adds five years onto my life.

- She’s the first to notice the disadvantage demons have with regeneration, which ultimately leads to their winning strategy against Lewis.

- She somehow survives this. (plot-armor, I know, but goddamn!)

- Now presenting, the exact moment I fell in love with Emma, because holy fucking shit! Not only does she survive getting stabbed like that, but she gets back up and continues fighting! Can I get a big ol' HELL YEAH!!

- She busts out the pistol with the trick shots she's kept hidden this entire time until the very right moment, effectively taking Lewis by surprise and granting Yuugo a clear shot to his middle eye as the demon stands defenseless against the shower of bullets.

- Emma's influence over everyone else is so powerful. We see it many times throughout the story, but because of her, they all accept that the impossible is possible, everyone is worth saving, and to never give up. This is especially amazing to witness in scenarios with Ray, since Krone once said that his weakness was that he's "a little quick to give up. He makes a decision fast but abandons other just as quickly."

- Because of everyone's assistance, they were able to destroy Gold Pond and rescue over 60+ kids, which probably wouldn't have happened if it weren't for Emma presence at the hunting ground in the first place.

- Not to discredit Ray, because I'm sure he did a fine job of cauterizing Emma's wounds, but she did survive a day and a half with a low blood count. (She was unconscious, sure, but her body didn't give up either.)

- Finally wakes up from her coma a month later and the first thing she's concerned with is the safety of everyone else.

- I swear, this girl has a heart of gold, but we knew that already.

- Doesn't let her missing ear hinder her at all, just adjusts how it would function normally in her daily life.

- Memorized the many maps found in the shelter's reference room alongside her siblings. Learning ability x125.

- She's capable of taking out three wild demons in the matter of seconds. Accuracy and speed on point still on point.

(Ah post-timeskip, just a little over halfway done now.) - Will not hesitate to jump in and save someone, regardless of the danger to herself.

- No 13 year-old should have this amount of pressure on their shoulders, but I'll be damned, she handles this and so much more well.

- She pushes aside her own anxieties over losing the shelter, those two boys and possibly Yuugo and Lucas and decides to lift the spirits of everyone else instead.

- Y'all see this demon? Do you think she cares? Not one bit! All that matters is her family's safety and she'll do anything to preserve that. We stan one reckless girl.

- Doesn't cry over the deaths of Yuugo and Lucas (at least, I don't think she does? She appears more frustrated here than upset.)

- She can pick up on how others are feeling, even if they're trying to hide it. (also does so several times to Norman (ch30, 128,153) and even to Yuugo (ch64))

- Is the first to volunteer to sneak into the mass production farm guarded by demons in order to retrieve the medicine Chris needs.

- Honey, how are you not screaming for you life right now?

- Official translation has Hayato saying “The Boss is saying he wants to meet you,” but I feel like this unofficial one here conveys the exchange between Emma and Oliver better. Their large family has children who are older and more experienced as a leader than Emma, but they all choose to follow her.

- Just a casual reminder of how strong our girl is. (She even beats out Ray and Don in terms of strength too.)

- I probably only find this impressive because I love my sleep, but she wakes up at 6 in the morning. Always. Without fail. For thirteen years. Then panics the one time she actually oversleeps.

- She knows every life is precious, no matter who or what they are. Also doesn’t want to follow Norman's civil war plan, which is good, because damn that's a bit extreme. Doing so would only create more fear and hatred.

- Say it louder.

- LOUDER!

- Agrees to go and find out more about The Seven Walls in hopes to stop Norman's plan, despite the many risks. Can she really arrive at TSW? What's actually there? Could she even make a new promise? Will she be able to return afterwards? There's a bunch of unknowns, but that won't stop her. (“Simple?” “It is simple.” That line kills me every time.)

- TSW proved to be very mentally exhausting but she and Ray did survive all the craziness they faced while trapped there.

- Due to her unique way of thinking, she managed to remain sane and was able to figure out how TSW worked, which is something even Ray couldn't quite comprehend.

- Because of that, she was then able to finally meet the bastard demon god.

- Thus allowing her to..successfully.. make a new promise. (Ahhh)

- Best actress x500 (damn damn damn!)

- Honestly, have they practiced this before or is her athleticism just that superior? Either way, she never fails to surprise me.

- Isn't afraid to speak the truth and put one of her best friends in their place.

- But manages to (somehow) forgive him, after his plan successfully killed the queen, the demon royals and poisoned the capital city, which forced the nearby demons to degenerate.

- Her optimism knows no bounds.

- She & everyone else were able to infiltrate Grace Field which is not only guarded by demons but the Ratri clan as well.

- Just how? I know your athletic but wow!

- The woman who shipped out so many of Emma's siblings and broke her leg now holds a gun to her face and yet our girl doesn't look panicked in the slightest. Girl, how are you so brave?! Holy shit. There's no fear in those eyes, only anger.

- AND she ends up forgiving her! After learning Isabella betrayed Peter and realizing that all the mothers and sisters are also fighting for their freedom, Emma gladly accepts Isabella's assistance. (Best mother daughter moment I've ever seen.)

- The entire talk-no-jutsu she pulls on Peter in ch172. She's angry, even downright hates the Ratri, but she refuses to get revenge for all the trouble they've caused to her family and friends by killing Peter. She admits the clan's actions can never be forgiven, but she still shows sympathy because she knows they were also suffering due to the world and roles they were born into.

- We find out that Emma worded the promise perfectly which allows every human raised as food to cross over into the human world. Truly thinking of everyone as per usual.

- She kept her promise to Phil and came back for him and the rest of the children she had originally left behind at Grace Field.

- Again, showing no hesitation to save someone she barely knows, even when unarmed.

- Pretty sure I was in literal tears at this point of the chapter, so kudos to her for making me bawl my eyes out. Aahh, she's just so forgiving and her heart is so big.

- Best actress x9999 (*screaming internally*)

- SHE LITERALLY SACRIFICES HER OWN HAPPINESS SO EVERYONE IMPORTANT TO HER CAN LIVE IN PEACE AND BE HAPPY!!

- She loves her family so deeply that even without her memories, her heart still remembers them. (it makes me cry too, hun, it's okay.)

- She has a heart literally made of solid gold. Of course she can't refuse the bastard's reward, but still accepts it with a smile on her face knowing that all humans and demons, of the present and future, can now live freely without any fear. She completely ended the tragedy that persisted the last 1,000+ years and changed the world like she set out to do back in ch4. Sweetheart please, you're anything but selfish.

- She has the most precious family on the planet. Her influence was so strong that they searched endlessly for two years just to see her again, by never giving up or doubting her words back in ch178. They're beyond happy when they do finally find her and are a bunch of sweethearts who accept her no matter what.

- Ahh, I just really love Emma okay? She's honestly one of the few protagonists I actually enjoy. Happy Birthday again to this all-around amazing girl and I can't wait to see her in action in future anime seasons!!

(congrats, you've made it to the end. i apologize if i missed any other moment worth mentioning, but yeah, i think this is enough for now.)

#the promised neverland #tpn emma #tpn manga #tpn anime #emma #chidoroki used chatter

87 notes · View notes