#but you still have the odd person who remains devoted to her or the idea of her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

proposal | din djarin x reader

you and din discuss the customs of his people, and then you take a trip to see the armorer.

---

3.4k words

mentions: piv sex, marriage customs, fem!reader, marriage proposals, reader discusses interest in having kids, nervousness/anxiety about being rejected, weddings

this is part 6 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

Only in the dark are you brave enough to ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind for weeks now, speaking the words into the hull’s empty void as Din breathes beside you.

“Do Mandalorians have weddings?”

So maybe that’s not exactly what you meant, but it’s what comes out of your mouth. What you really want to know is if Mandalorians marry in the first place, but something about asking Din this more directly seems entirely too serious. Too heavy. Couple that with the fact that you lie here naked and drunk on sex and wine, and you find yourself glad that you asked him the way you did.

“No,” Din says, palm warm on your back, “at least not the way people most people do.”

You let his words sink in for a moment, pondering what sort of marriage customs Mandalorians could have. Where you’re from, weddings are huge affairs, the celebration of two families joining together made complete with eating and drinking and music. It is a day devoted to dressing impractically and marveling at all the future holds, a day where two people become a unit, their whole lives spread out before them. You know that every culture isn’t like yours, obviously, but you wonder what else could be done for such an occasion. Every wedding you’ve ever been to, regardless of setting or context, has always involved merrymaking and splendor, or as much as could be afforded. Even this evening, all the way out in the Tatooine desert, Cobb Vanth and his husband and all their friends in Mos Pelgo managed to scrape together quite the little party. There was wine and food, and everyone danced until they couldn’t go anymore. If marriage isn’t a celebration to Mandalorians, then what else could it be?

“Do they— Do you just say you’re married? Is there an officiant?”

Din lets out a sigh, but it’s by no means an exasperated one. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was trying to steady himself, his bare arm flexing around your waist.

“No,” he answers, “there’s no officiant. When two Mandalorians get married, they exchange vows in mando’a, and then they look at each other.”

“They take off—”

“Their helmets,” Din finishes for you, “yes. They say their vows, and then they see each other’s faces for the first time. That’s why it’s done in private— no guests, no one to oversee things.”

“And then after you see each other, you’re married?”

Din nods, affirmative, and the weight of all he’s said presses down on your mind. Two Mandalorians, that was his exact wording, but is that really what he meant? Is there no other option? There has to be another option…

“Can Mandalorians marry other people? Or is that not allowed?”

It takes everything you have to ask this question, anxiety churning in your stomach until… until you realize that Din’s already sleeping, the rise and fall of his chest even and measured against your cheek. The feeling that comes over you is equal parts relief and horror, an odd reaction to the fact that he didn’t hear you, but you decide agonizing over all of this isn’t important right now, not tonight. You’re half-drunk, exhausted, and emotional aroused— hardly the right state to be in when you’re talking about something so serious as this. And so you simply pull the blankets up around you and Din, trying in vain to fall asleep like he did.

---

Thirty-six hours later, the Crest is back in hyperspace, you, Din, and the baby off to chase down a quarry on some distance planet. It’s going to be a long ride, a fact that you’re dreading. Since you watched the Marshal and his husband say their vows and exchange a kiss as husbands, your head’s been filled with images of marriage and weddings and wifehood. The conversation you had with Din the other night plays in your mind on loop, the one unanswered question bothering you to the point of distraction.

Can Mandalorians marry other people?

(Can you marry me?)

You try to keep busy, cleaning and doing laundry, cooking an elaborate dinner, but nothing helps. Even as you play with the baby and tuck him in the for the night, you’re bombarded by anxiety and feelings of unresolved tension. The most frustrating part of it all is that it’s completely one-sided— Din wouldn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, even if you told him, because he wasn’t fucking awake. Din Djarin, a man who never rests, fell asleep in the middle of talking to you about his people and their customs. You truly never thought you’d see the day, and now that you have, you pray it never happens again. You’re not sure you can take this, this limbo. You have to know.

With the Child asleep, you’re officially out of things to occupy your time. You’ve scrubbed every floor and every surface of the Crest, cleaned out the pantry and changed the beds, washed and folded all the clothes. And so you decide it’s time to fuck up your life, climbing up to the cockpit to talk to Din like you have a hundred times before with a rock in your stomach. Never in your life have you professed to be brave, and you nearly chicken out the minute your eyes land on the glinting beskar, on the curve of his helmet. In that moment, you realize that this is it, this really could be the end of it all…

And yet somehow, you’re not afraid anymore.

“Hey,” Din says softly, reaching out to you. The visor remains fixed on the holograms in front of him even as you come over, but his arm is tight around your waist, grounding. “Kid’s asleep?”

“Yeah.” You pause, enjoying the weight of his embrace. “Din?”

He hums in acknowledgement, still focused whatever he’s studying on the holo display. You’re undeterred.

“Do you— Do you remember what we were talking about the other night? After Cobb’s wedding?”

Din’s still half distracted, fixed on an image of two alien beings in what appears to be a hangar bay. “Yeah, Mandalorian weddings. You wanted to know what it’s like when we marry.”

You study him for a moment, gather up all your courage. “Mmhm. And you said that that was the custom for two Mandalorians— vows and then you look. But— But—”

“But what?” Din cuts, still not looking at you.

“Does it… Does it have to be two Mandalorians, or can it be a Mandalorian and someone else?”

Your question hangs in the air for one long, silent moment, and then it would seem that you finally have Din’s full attention.

He turns to you slowly, letting the holograms flicker into nothingness as the pilot’s chair creaks in your direction. You think you might actually pass out right there, petrified to face him in the wake of this question. The both of you are long past all the uncertainty of the early days, far away from the time when you didn’t know what you meant to one another. But this is no insignificant matter, and Din’s not a stupid man. You aren’t asking, but you certainly aren’t not asking either.

For a second there, you think he’s going to prod for more information, make you say what you mean out loud. Din’s good at that, at making you talk when you don’t want to, but he usually resolves it for more playful situations, times when what he’s making you say outright doesn’t matter as much. But mercifully, he skips the games, reaching for you with one gloved hand.

“Come here, mesh’la,” Din murmurs, maneuvering you into his lap like he has a hundreds of times before. It’s all muscle memory at this point, and you settle on the width of his thighs without even thinking about it. Still, though he’s being gentle, though you’re filled with hope, you wait to hear news that will break you.

… It never comes.

---

If someone asked you to make a list of all the things you thought you’d do in your lifetime, visiting a Mandalorian covert wouldn’t even make the top fifty. But here you are on some distant planet in the Outer Rim, snaking through a tunnel system on your way to meet with someone that Din only refers to as “the Armorer.” Apparently, she used to lead his old covert on Nevarro, and now it would seem that another group of Mandalorians has banded together under her leadership. You don’t know what to think of this person, but Din seems to have great respect for her, and that only makes you more nervous.

When Din asked you to sit on his lap, you were sure that he was about to tell you that you and he could never be more than what you already are. In that moment, you had to ask yourself some hard questions. Were you comfortable with that? Could you live with never seeing Din’s face? Was marriage something you needed, or was it something you wanted? But it turned out that all this introspection was pointless, because Din told you flat out that he can marry whoever he wants… So long as he has the Armorer’s permission.

“It’s just because you’re not a Mandalorian,” he told you, trying to soothe you fears as you became more and more worked up about the whole thing. “It’s purely a formality.”

You were unconvinced. “If it’s just a formality, then why do we have to do it? What if she says no?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we have to, but I doubt she’ll turn us down.”

All of this was said under the cover of darkness, of course, you and Din naked and sprawled out under the blankets. He’d made love to you for hours after you asked him if the two of you could get married, saying over and over again that he loved you and that he couldn’t believe you wanted to be his wife. The attention made you breathless, but in the aftermath of it all, you still asked Din three separate times if he was serious, if he really wanted to have you. You couldn’t bear it if he called the whole thing off at the last minute, and you certainly didn’t want him to agree to something so serious just because you’d expressed interest in the idea. But Din was insistent, promising time and time again that he’d made up his mind. You should have known better than to question the conviction of a Mandalorian, especially one as devout and loyal as Din— they don’t make their choices lightly. All of it felt so fast, but also so right, and you’d fallen asleep that night awash in the glow of your engagement. Now that it’s time to face the Armorer, though, you’re anxious and petrified.

All eyes are on you as you and Din make your way down a cavernous, dimly lit corridor, the blackness of many visors tracking your every movement. Even two children stop to stare at your, their helmeted heads shining dully as you pass.

The sound of metal on metal fills the air as you approach what appears to be a chamber within the tunnel system, the noise growing louder and louder with every step you take. Your first impulse is to turn tail and run, but you force yourself to remain steady, counting your steps and standing tall even as a feeling of all-consuming anxiety overwhelms you.

“Hey,” Din says, reaching for your hand just before the two of you enter the room. “Okay?”

You squeeze his palm, lying through your teeth. “Yeah, I’m good.”

And then you’re walking into the chamber side by side, ready to face the woman that will determine the path of your lives.

The Armor is a tall, broad person, helmeted and sheathed in armor like all the other Mandalorians you’ve seen. She pauses her work the minute you and Din walk into the room, a heavy tool made of beskar held aloft in one hand. To be watched by her is intimidating to say the least, her air of importance only heightened by the fact that she stands three feet off the ground on a dais. Din sits down before her without saying a word, and you follow his lead, unsure of what to do with your hands or face.

“Brother,” she declares, dropping her gaze back to her workspace, “it is good to see you. If you have come for repairs, I am afraid you’ll have to wait some time. We have just combined forces with another covert, and I have had much to do as a result.”

The Armorer glances up.

“Where is the Child?”

It takes you three whole seconds to realize that she’s speaking to you instead of Din, and you rush to answer her. “He’s with friends,” you explain, “people we trust on Nevarro.”

“’We,’” the Armorer intones, picking apart your words. You can’t decide what she means by this.

Two clangs of beskar on beskar, and Din finally speaks.

“I haven’t come for repairs,” he says, voice even and strong, “I’ve come to speak to you about an important matter.”

The Armorer does not so much as look up. “I assume it has something to do with the girl, yes?”

“Yes,” Din affirms. “I want her to be my wife, and I seek your permission for a vow exchange.”

It is a long time before the Armorer speaks again, her demeanor never changing once as she continues to work on the piece before her. She pounds away at the metal, laying it over the jets of flame before her, setting her tools aside carefully.

“You want to marry this Mandalorian?”

Her words are like ice water down your back, but you force yourself to be brave.

“Yes,” you say, feigning confidence. It’s hard to maintain eye contact, though you do it anyway, hellbent on showing respect to this woman who has survived no less than two massacres.

“Come here, child. Let me look at you.”

Standing on shaky legs, you walk closer and closer to the dais, stepping up when prompted by your observer. You refuse to come too close to her workstation, afraid of causing offense. Beskar is a precious thing, and you’d never want to taint her tools and materials with the oil if your unworthy, unindoctrinated hands.

“How long have you known my brother?”

The Armorer begins to pace long, measured circles around you, studying your body, letting her gaze linger on your face.

“Over a year.”

“Do you travel with him much?”

“We live together on the Crest,” you explain. “We’re always together, unless he goes out to look for a quarry.”

The Armorer nods, seemingly pleased.

“And what do you think of the Child? Do you care for him?”

You picture the baby’s face, his little green hands, his big black eyes, and your heart is filled with affection for him. “I don’t know what he is, but I don’t care, either. I love him like he came from my own body. Din’s done me a favor by letting me know the baby at all.”

And for the first since you came to stand before the Armorer do you turn to look at Din. He doesn’t say anything to you in that moment, but you see it, the way his posture softens just the slightest bit. The Armorer must notice it too because she turns her gaze on him as well.

“She is the Child’s mother?”

“Yes,” Din says at once. If the two of you were alone, if you still weren’t so afraid of being rejected, you think you might cry at that.

The Armorer nods once again, statuesque as she comes to a stand in front of you.

“If you were to bear my brother children, would you raise warriors? Or would you have them shy away from such a life?”

This is an important question, you know, one that will make or break the Armorers decision. You take your time to consider you answer, choosing the right words, stringing them together with care.

“My children will be free to do as they please,” you begin, looking the Armorer dead in her visor. “I know that you don’t just become a Mandalorian. It’s something you choose for yourself. You have to swear the Creed and take on the burden of never showing your face— that’s not something I could force on my babies, even if I wanted to. When the time comes, I’ll support whatever path they choose in life, so long as it makes them happy. I love their father as he is now, and I’ll love my children if they choose to follow in his footsteps.”

The room fall silent as you finish your little speech, Din and the Armorer not speaking a word through their modulators as they take in your words. The Armorer herself is especially still, staring you down, testing your will. You think she’s waiting for a “but,” an “if” or an “except” that will ruin everything you’ve just told her. But you don’t flinch, locked in her gaze and firm in your choices.

“You have chosen well, brother. This woman will be an excellent wife. We welcome her openly.”

And though Din told you that she would say yes, hearing the words come out of the Armorer’s own mouth has you awash in all-consuming relief. You think you should say something, perhaps “thank you” or “I welcome you as well,” but you don’t get the chance. The Armorer goes back to her work the minute her pronouncement is made, picking up her tools and going back to her craft like she never stopped in the first place.

“Go now,” she says, but it’s not a harsh command. “I have much to do.”

Her helmet peeks up, trained on Din.

“If she falls pregnant, I want you to return so that we may celebrate the child. It has been too long since we have known the joy of a new life.”

All Din does is nod, offering you his arm when you step off the dais in a daze. The two of you leave together in silence, weaving your way back through the tunnels that brought you here as everyone watches you closely. Somehow, though, their stares feel less judgmental this time, less suspicious. It might be a figment of your imagination, a byproduct of your relief, but it’s like they know. The whole thing is sort of eerie, and you’re glad when you and Din come back out into the daylight.

---

It’s just the two of you alone on the ship, the Child safe on Nevarro with Greef and Cara. You and Din decide to take advantage of this, cutting the lights and crawling in bed the minute the Crest kicks into hyperspace.

You let Din have you on your stomach this time, breathless as he fucks you into the mats and blankets. Even as he pushes into you without mercy, Din is so sweet with you, kissing your back, running his hands down your sides. He murmurs your name like a prayer, moaning brokenly when you tell him that you love him.

After all is said and done, the two of you end up snuggled together as you so often are, safe and warm in a nest of blankets on the floor of this ship you love so much. Panting for breath as you try to calm down, it hits you that this might be one of the last times, might be the last time Din fucks you like this, with everything dark and quiet. Something about that excites you, and yet you feel driven to savor the moment, a strange sense of loss settling in your stomach.

Finally, though, you speak: “When should we do it?”

Din snuggles his face against your chest, letting out a contented breath when you wind your fingers in his hair.

“Soon,” he tells you, “but not here.”

That makes you pause. “If we don’t get married here, then—?”

“I know of a better place, cyar’ika,” Din soothes, rubbing your back, and you can’t help but trust him. “A much better place.”

#my writing #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #valentine's week 2021

118 notes · View notes

woodland--fae · 4 years

Text

If I were SJM writing ACOWAR I would have dramatically changed the outcome of Rhys’ resurrection.

Ok. Time for another ACOTAR rant because I just can’t help myself.

One of my biggest complaints about this series is how the main characters are never faced with threats that actually threaten their power. While they may battle insurmountable odds, the reader comes to expect that they will achieve their goals unscathed and with dramatic flair. Rhys, Feyre, and the rest of the IC are blessed with immense power, even better looks, and an author who thinks they are perfect in every way.

The characters are so perfect that they can die and be resurrected with virtually zero consequences. SJM has made them invulnerable.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate when beloved characters die in a series, but it is equally frustrating when characters “die” and are then resurrected within minutes at seemingly no cost. Dramatically, this takes away from the emotion of the moment and cheapens the initial sacrifice by making it seemingly moot.

What am I referring to? Rhysand’s death (or lack thereof) in ACOWAR.

If I were SJM writing ACOWAR I would have dramatically changed the outcome of Rhys’ resurrection. The price of his sacrifice for Feyre should come at the cost of his High Lord powers. We know, according to the lore that SJM herself has written, that when a High Lord dies his power automatically transfers onto another. We also know that in ACOWAR Rhys is dead. I know Feyre talks about an essence of him holding on through their bond, but for all intents and purposes he is dead. If the other High Lords don’t offer up part of their life-force, Rhys remains dead. It’s as simple as that. Therefore, during those moments before his resurrection it makes sense that the High Lord powers of the Night Court would transfer onto a new High Lord.

I get so excited thinking about this twist for multiple reasons.

I love the idea of Rhys’ love for Feyre and his people manifesting in his self-sacrifice. We know that Rhys is devoted to his people and to Feyre. He has also made sacrifices for his court in the past. This ultimate sacrifice reinforces this characterization. Furthermore, the loss of his High Lord powers is compelling because it proves that Rhys was willing to give up his immense power for the ones he loves. Since Rhys willingly sacrificed himself in ACOWAR, we can make the assumption that he knew his power would end up transferring to someone else upon his death. In contrast to other fae who put power before everything else, Rhys would stand out as willing to give up everything for love. This makes Rhys more likeable and less of an arrogant asshole who gets what he wants when he wants because he is all powerful. I for one am not impressed by how he is seemingly the most powerful High Lord in Prythian for…reasons. It’s cheesy, and makes the main characters literally invulnerable. It makes the story boring and frustrating and gives the characters no room for personal growth. Why grow when you already have everything? I think it would be more interesting for readers to see how he and Feyre adjust to life without his High Lord Powers. Who is Rhys without his godlike powers anyway? Which leads to my second point.

If the High Lord Powers of the Night Court are transferred… who do they go to? Definitely not to a member of the Inner Circle or any other ally. We’re here for compelling plot, not giving characters advantages just because we like them! No. My suggestion is that the High Lord powers shift to…. Keir!!! You might be asking yourself, why Keir? He is such an asshole and would be a terrible High Lord. To which I reply, exactly! To set up the conflict in the next series of books we have ACOWAR end on a bittersweet note. On the one hand, the King of Hybern is dead, and all the major characters survived! On the other hand, Rhys’ power has transferred to one of his enemies. Not only are Rhys and co. now vulnerable, Velaris is also at risk from their new High Lord. This bittersweet ending achieves a good payoff for the survival of all the main characters. Stylistically it makes for better writing and a more realistic end to the series instead of “and we lived happily ever after as the most powerful High Lord and Lady in existence.” The sequel series would see Rhys and co. struggle to regain/retain control over Velaris and their people. The plot with the human queens is all good and fine… except that SJM literally never lets us leave the Night Court. 3/4 of the action in books 3 onward takes place in the Night Court. Therefore, it would be a nice change for the conflict to actually take place there and not with some Human Queens that have hardly any page time. This conflict with the new High Lord of the Night Court also offers some interesting new opportunities for character development. Rhys, for the first time in his existence would feel like a stranger in his own court and body. Technically, under Amarantha he was unable to access the majority of his High Lord powers but in that case it was different because he was still High Lord and had access to some of that power however diminished. In this circumstance, he has been stripped of all High Lord powers. He wouldn’t have all the answers, he literally is not in control. This allows him to empathize with Nesta and Elain. Feyre’s sisters also feel like strangers in their new bodies. They were violated and forced to become Fae; they unwillingly gave up their humanity in a way that parallels Rhys unwittingly giving up his power to Keir. In this alternate series Rhys comes to respect and understand both Nesta and Elain for who they are, not who he wants them to be. They have similar journeys of self discovery as each has to learn how to live again. Speaking of Nesta…. oh baby let’s talk about Nesta. Who took immense power from the cauldron? You guessed it, our girl Nesta. Who retains this power even when Rhys is powerless? Ding ding ding, right again! Nesta. In this alternate series women do not have to give up, or diminish their power while their male counterparts get to enjoy it (re: Amren returning with zero powers while Rhys retains all of his at the end of ACOWAR). How great would it be for Rhys and Feyre to need Nesta to help them stand against Keir? How great would it be for Nesta to have a character arc where the main characters actually respect her autonomy, personhood, traumas, and power??!! Reading ACOSF made me equal parts upset, angry, and bewildered. Here are a few reasons why: strong female characters don’t allow others to walk all over them, refusing to fund Nesta’s lifestyle and controlling every aspect of her life are two different things, and Nesta is not the only character who needs to apologize. I’m going to say it again, Nesta is not the only character who needs to apologize. That’s all I’ll say on this subject as ACOSF is another rant for another day. I think these changes in plot also benefit Feyre’s character as well. I see a huge difference between the character I loved in ACTOAR & ACOMAF and the rest of the series. It’s unrealistic that someone with very little leadership experience can fall so easily into the role of powerful High Lady and I feel like her character lost a lot of relatability as the series progressed. The Feyre of ACOTAR would not act like the Feyre of ACOSF.

When the courts were first introduced to us it always bothered me that there were four seasonal courts but only three solar courts… where is the dusk court? I think that my alternate sequel series would culminate in the birth of the Dusk Court. It bothers me that the Night Court is so divided. Rhys literally hates the Court of Nightmares and at best merely tolerate them. It’s hard to reconcile that both Velaris and the Court of Nightmares are the part of the same Court. On other days I would argue that Nightmares are dreams too and Rhys has no business condemning literally half of his court in favour of Velaris. But today I’m going to give it to him. In this alternate sequel series, Velaris is different for a reason. It isn’t meant to be part of the Night Court. Velaris seems likes a different court, and so it shall be: behold! Velaris, capital of the Dusk Court! Who leads them? The newly minted High Lord and Lady of the Dusk Court: Rhys and Feyre. It may seem counterintuitive to give Rhys High Lord powers back when I’ve established why it is so important for him to lose them, but in my alternate series he will have had to fight, make sacrifices, and develop empathy for other people in ways that make him worthy of being High Lord. It also works as a narrative device for him to receive what he lost after proving himself (by working alongside Feyre, her sisters, and the rest of the IC as equals). I also think it is fitting that Rhys and Feyre could create a new court together.

I hope you have enjoyed my rantings. I’m going to end this here since it’s already obscenely long. I would love to hear your thoughts! I believe firmly that Rhys should never have resurrected with his High Lord powers. The consequences of this could have been so compelling for future books. And it upsets me to see such wasted potential for character growth. This rant is mostly an exercise for myself to rewrite the worst parts of these books in ways that let me love these characters again. No-one should be victim to Mary/Gary Stu-Syndrome. not even Riceball.

#omg I need to write this fic #i hate that the characters refuse to see their own flaws but condemn literally so many other people for similar behaviour #let's take away riceball's power #anti sjm #anti acosf #anti ACOTAR #acowar spoilers #ACOTAR spoilers #high lord #night court #prythian #fae #ACOTAR #anti rhysand

64 notes · View notes

septembersghost · 3 years

Note

hey jess, may I ask what's made you feel more hesitant to share things and if you have any ideas to overcome it? you've seriously been one of the sources of comfort since the darkness and ugliness of November and I feel bad that you're struggling to feel like you have a place now but I understand because being around fandom and seeing how it's tearing the story and characters apart is depressing me a lot. you're not alone and we do love you x

hi honey! of course, though I'm not sure I can articulate it entirely because it's more emotional and likely me being my anxious-ridden, sensitively prone self.

there's quite a bit of fandom (on every side) that I vehemently disagree with and that simply does not align with my perception of the canon and the characters, their strengths and roles and depth and meaning, and it's gotten quite a lot worse since November, partially because the varying factions have become so vitriolic. it's difficult for me because, as I know I've said ad nauseam at this point, I've been here from the very beginning (loved you from the very first day!) and have seen many permutations of fandom drama and issues, along with the consistent downward spiral of the show, but sunk cost fallacy mixed with devotion and formative attachment meant I never could quit or let it go, not when in so many ways it was my home and source of...comfort? that's such an odd word to use for spn, but I've written so much about Dean being that talisman and light and strength across a span of years where I lost so much and struggled with a continual rotating list of pain and mourning in various forms. having that source of bravery and reminder to keep doing my best and fighting forward and holding onto even the smallest glimmer of courage was always everything. was always a constant.

anyone who's been with me long knows that November was a SIGNIFICANT grief and sort of incomprehensibly painful and beyond explanation. that it was a very real hurt and it remains so. the wound scars over but then easily breaks again - I can still cry about it or lose it in rage over it at any given moment (me at my dear and trusted friends who have patiently and kindly sat and listened to me vent and scream and sob over this, and have often joined me in doing so, for months...I am very fortunate to have the most amazing people tbh). it's never going to heal entirely, it slots too closely into my heart and things that have happened, over that entire span of my adult life.

edited to add: someone on my dash just said this on another topic, but it is so relevant I'm going to quote her - "maybe i’m just a really earnest person, but it’s exhausting to have to find a way to be witty or make something that you love smaller so you don’t feel uncool for loving it." exactly this. I'm sincere in the love I have for things and that is very much an aspect here.

I thought there'd be some coalescence, but there hasn't been. instead, there's a lot of fighting and sneering and retreating to toxic corners to twist and warp the characters and their journeys in ways I don't recognize or understand. (I don't mean fun memes and witty humor, because that's enjoyable, but the parts of fandom that openly despise the characters and tear them down confuse me. what do they get out of this?) it's very equal-opposite reaction, where sides are just insecurely reacting and cruelly lashing out at one another because there's this idea that it's a competition someone can win? (NOBODY WON, BABES. EVERYONE LOST. *insert that gif of ~it's bad writing~*)

I can't reconcile that any more than I can reconcile the utter destruction of canon. I'm constantly seeing these baffling takes where Dean's an abuser or Dean's repressed or Dean thrives on violence alone or Dean is incapable of love and empathy except when he's taught it (by Sam or Cas, take your pick) or Dean doesn't know himself/have any self-perception/awareness except when he's forced to confront it, which...is the exact ANTITHESIS of what Dean represented. which Sam and Cas themselves told us! and yes, I am most protective of him. I am most enraged and agonized about him. but Sam and Cas aren't faring any better in the bizarre way fanon is treating them in many cases, either. (Sam as a pathetic victim who only ever wanted to be normal and had to be free of his brother...I've ranted about this before, but WHO IS HE? I don't know him! and it's such an INSULT to characterize him that way.)

I genuinely do not care what people ship or what people do as long as they're not harassing/bullying each other, but the consuming nature of the ship wars is decimating the characters that existed and that's burdensome to watch happen and be powerless against it. there's also this...cynical, mocking view of the story - like participating in it, but with a lot of shame and hatred? much of which is taken out on Dean, and I don't only mean the so-called "criticals," I see takes from people who claim to like him that still blow my mind with how undermining and mean-spirited they are, or how narrow-minded they are (in regards to his arc, his childhood and parentification, his central role, and also in regards to his identity, sexuality, and some of the narrative coding as I have always beheld it).

I talk a lot about gothic horror and fascination of dark, complex themes and multitudes of characterization, because all of that is valuable and interesting to me, but there's this reductive sense that repellent darkness was all they were or all they had and I...can't view them like that. a key component of gothic horror and gothic Romance is also the SUBLIME. it isn't all the grit and the gore alone, it's also the profound beauty.

it feels like losing pieces of him, and of all of them, over and over again. watching fandom shred them to ribbons is hard. I stay because I...don't want to abandon them. I don't want to leave them to curling ash. I don't want to let the vultures pick over those bones. I want to remember them and their loved ones as vibrant and alive and TRYING, always trying, to persevere and help whenever they can. I want to remember Dean as standing up, no matter how bloody, defiant and resilient and shining, flash of that grin on his face, knowing that the fight matters because in the midst of violence is an unwavering sense of strength and compassion. I want to remember them striving for the light and knowing that maybe the blaze of glory will come, but that it never takes their agency, their souls, the transcendence they could find despite it all. it's tough to feel that so powerfully while also constantly battling the tide of it being drowned out on many other sides.

nothing will ever shake my love for him or my firm belief in everything I've written before, that I've written for nearly sixteen years - that Dean represented humanity, its glimmering, inspiring facets and its unexpected dangerous edges and its sorrowful depths and its beating heart, always. that Dean provided home, but also that he suffered from being that coveted object. that Dean was the beloved - pulse, anchor, sun - or weapon and soldier, depending on what was required of him, and that he restructured his identity and reclaimed his truth and foundational self over and over again. that is an inextricable part of me. it remains, an undying blossom.

all that said, the corner I carved out for safety and love seems to become smaller each passing day because of a lot of the unfortunate negative things that have taken hold, and for me there's also that constant nagging fear of my time running out and not knowing how much longer I can be here and just desperately trying to cling to what I can. I miss him like I'd miss any real loved one. I've mourned him that way too. I don't care if that's irrational, or silly, it's the absolute truth of how it has felt. the things I've posted here about disenfranchised loss and about that love being so meaningful and real, I stand by all of it.

I am so sorry you're hurting and feeling depressed and some discomfort too. the only advice I can give is for you to find the good pieces you can and hold onto what the story means most to you. maybe branch out a little into other passions too? I've done that here lately and it's been a source of solace in itself - it's not giving spn up or distancing from it, just giving yourself moments of breathing room and enjoyment of other things! also, if you have friends here you can talk to, please don't hesitate to reach out to them! my friends have been EVERYTHING to me, there will never be enough I can say or enough gratitude I can give for the support and consolation, and enlightenment and empathy, they've given me, or how much I love them. it truly does help not to be alone. it helps to hear that from you and I am so, so grateful for it. you can always reach out to me, as long as I'm here (nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around!), I NEVER mind listening and will be here for your feelings and to lend any understanding I can, any time. all we can do is hold on and keep remembering what it meant to us. all we can do is hold onto one another too.

thank you for being with me. my peace is helping people. that echoes in me every day. I love you right back, like I love them, eternally.

#anonymous #letterbox #so so many hugs to you love #fandom discourse #spn critical #(sort of)#(i could be much more critical of the show itself than i'm being here but i am. too tired.)#bubble wrap around my heart #dean feelings #actually i want to add - thank you for asking me about this. it made me feel better to talk about it honestly. <333 #spn for ts #i'm still a believer but i don't know why

10 notes · View notes

keyofjetwolf · 4 years

Photo

“Gabrielle, who did this?”

“I did.”

This is it, this is everything this episode has been building to. Not Caesar, not Xena’s checkered past, not her efforts to make amends and rebuild trust, not the plight of the Britons nor the heroism of Boudicea, not religious zealotry and persecution. It’s just Gabrielle, and this choice she made, and the unimaginable repercussions.

Not that it would, because it’s the entire point of the thing, but I can’t say enough about how absolutely unshakable the show is in this having been Gabrielle’s CHOICE. No one can steer this otherwise, they can’t make it pretty and excusable. Not the audience, and not Xena herself. AND OH SHE TRIES. Immediately, Xena seizes a narrative that makes this not Gabrielle’s fault.

The things to love in this are nearly endless, from the simplicity of the exchange to the way it’s performed (SUPERBLY) and shot. There’s something BROKEN in Gabrielle, something Xena keeps willing to still be there, but it’s gone, and as that becomes too true to dismiss, all Xena can do is hug Gabrielle close. Until Krakoa appears and puts a punchable face on the whole thing, but that’s barely relevant.

Like I said, there’s a lot here to love, but let’s start with the smaller, almost incidental thing: how Xena can’t live in the lie. I’ve brought this up a bunch of times, apologies for the repetition, how Gabrielle has such a firm narrative surrounding Xena that she’s built in her head, and it takes years of life together, day in and day out, for the monolith to erode and for Gabrielle to finally see Xena as XENA, warts and all.

Xena has her own version of Gabrielle too, this isn’t just a problem for Gabby to deal with, but as we see here, that problem has nothing to do with refusal to see what’s directly in her face. Twice, Xena tries to deny that Gabrielle has just done the unthinkable. Twice, that’s it, then she accepts what all evidence is screaming at her and ... well, “moves forward” is what I want to say, but as we know, it’s not that simple. She doesn’t keep denying it, though, that’s where I’m going with this, and I love it as a counterpart to the countless times we see Gabrielle given direct hard proof of Xena’s worst impulses, and still she remains absolutely devoted to the parts she wants to believe, because she wants to believe them.

This is going to keep biting Gabby in the ass, and this episode is where the show begins to double down on it. The framework through which is makes those moves is subtle, and brilliant for that subtlety. I mentioned a few times how Caesar in this episode is a red herring, making us think we’re about to watch Xena once again lose all perspective and reason when it comes to fucking up his day. That’s not why we’re here, sad to say for everyone involved (except, I suppose, Caesar), but including him threads the overall ideas a bit deeper in fascinating ways.

When it comes to Xena and Caesar, destruction is the only way things can ever go. Of troops, of strategies, of land, of their friends, of each other. When Caesar betrayed Xena, the only answer she could ever bring was fire and ashes. Dahak and his followers are Gabrielle’s Caesar. She, like Xena, believed the world they spun for her and trusted the place she would have in that world. Also like Xena, when betrayal came, she was left hurt, broken, and forever changed. But while Xena took all that had been done to her and vowed destruction, Gabrielle embraces creation. She NEEDS this to have been something good, needs it to have meant something. She insists that Hope is her child more than Dahak’s and refuses to accept even the possibility that things could go any other way. It comes in a nicer wrapper, certainly, but Gabrielle throws herself into her *ahem* HOPE just as blindly and every bit as reckless as Xena embraces her darkness.

But nothing in the world of Xena is ever that black and white, and Gabrielle’s refusal to deal with the trauma of what’s happened to her and what she’s done sends her into a different but parallel spiral to Xena. Gabrielle’s judgment in the wake of all this becomes massively and completely fucked, as we’ll see all too plainly with The Debt in a hot second. Gabby is now primed and ready to step off a cliff she’s carved for herself, the repercussions for which will continue to haunt her through Season 4.

All this is even more incredible when you realize this moment in The Deliverer is one the show has been carefully, intentionally building toward, reaching all the way back to a little tiny thing from two years and nearly fifty episodes previous. Hello to Season 1 Episode 3′s “Dreamworker”.

This whole exchange carries incredible weight just on its own, particularly given that it’s so early in the series. We know Xena’s speaking from experience, that when she killed for the first time, when she realized she could (and maybe even liked it?), she stopped being the person she was and took her first step toward the monster she would become.

What we of course don’t know then, couldn’t possibly, is that this isn’t just Xena talking to Gabrielle, but Gabrielle talking to herself. She echoes back these exact words to Xena (who knows, she already knows, how she must hate hearing the certainty of it from Gabrielle).

SO GOOD SO SO SO GOOD. What a kick in face, too, to go back and rewatch the scene in Dreamworker on the heels of this, to see Gabrielle so young and fresh-faced and naive to this broken woman who’s seen and done too much.

But the Dreamworker moments don’t stop! Gabrielle’s “blood innocence” is a central idea in that episode, too, with the first act showcasing how she pretty much isn’t listening to a single goddamn thing Xena is trying to teach her. Denied a sword, Gabby goes behind Xena’s back and buys a weapon of her very own.

Which Xena of course immediately discovers and confiscates. We see the boob dagger come back at random times throughout the series, usually as a little nudge-nudge continuity callback, which I genuinely appreciate. That’s all it ever is, up until it isn’t.

It’s not exaggeration to say the boob dagger changes the momentum of this fight. Xena’s losing, and losing pretty badly, but the surprise weapon and the proof of Krakow’s own mortality throws him off, and gives Xena just enough of an edge to win. Could she have pulled it off without the dagger? She’s Xena, so probably, but looking at the fight as it happened, the dagger was crucial.

SO HERE’S WHAT I FUCKING LOVE ABOUT THAT. Is Xena specifically using the boob dagger to win a statement on how all of this was inevitable? If Gabrielle hadn’t bought the dagger, Xena wouldn’t have taken it, and she wouldn’t have had it on-hand to beat Kravenedge. Gabrielle was the vehicle for this violence, in the distant and recent past both.

But she’s just as much the vehicle for putting a stop to it. Had Gabrielle not bought that dagger, Xena may well have lost this fight, and setting aside this specific conflict, a world without Xena is a darker, bloodier place. Had Gabrielle not stopped the cultists, even as she played directly into their hands, someone else would have been their sacrifice, another would have been chosen to bring Dahak’s child into the world. Odds are high that person wouldn’t have a Warrior Princess at their side. Odds are high that person wouldn’t have the heart and love and willingness to sacrifice as Gabrielle. Dahak’s time is now, and he is coming. He uses Gabrielle to make it happen, but by her actions, it’s Gabrielle herself who stops those plans and saves the world.

When the dust settles and we have the full picture, it becomes clear that all along, It’s Gabrielle who is The Deliverer.

#jet wolf watches xena #xena ep 3x04 #BOY WAS THIS AN INTERESTING DAY AND TIME TO TRY AND FINISH THIS UP AND BRING IT ON HOME #now if you'll all excuse me #i have to go immerse myself in busy work that does not actually require my brain to be present

40 notes · View notes

be-dazzled · 4 years

Note

Hey! Can you do a prompt where gray is jealous and juvia has no clue. Thanks!!

Writer’s Corner: Here you go! I’ve been watching a lot of video clips of the new FT Game and got some inspiration to write! And it surprised me how straight and fast I did this one. Like, straight and pure English words. Phew! Hope you like this.

Masterlist

Prompt: Jealous Gray and Juvia Doesn’t Know

Finally. Finally, Gray and Juvia finished the fight with that odd Dodecapus – a sea creature with twelve tentacles – wreaking havoc on the small town. But in Gray’s opinion, they could have finished the job far earlier than they actually did. He couldn’t help but think that maybe, he and Juvia fell out of sync. It had been awhile since they went on a job together. Maybe, they should train and take job requests together more often; that would solve the problem.

He stretched his arms behind his head and cracked his neck from right to left. Damn, that felt good. Every muscle in his body was sore and not the good kind. That freaking Dedocapus did him good; wouldn’t back down without a fight, that silly thing. Gray really needed to get some rest. He wondered if Juvia would be okay to postpone the travel home to tomorrow. She probably would. Remembering how she had wanted to spend the night together before, just the two of them, he was almost certain she’d agree. A silly smile crept up his face and his eyes wandered over at the Water Mage walking distractedly beside him. Yeah! That’s right. Juvia had been distracted since they came to town. Could it be the reason it took them a little over half a day to fight the Dedocapus? Because she couldn’t focus? It wasn’t her usual ‘Gray-sama Trance’ distraction either. So, should he be worried?

“Juvia.” He called out but it seemed like the water mage didn’t hear him say her name. She was still very much preoccupied, looking out to her left and right as if expecting something would just jump at her out of the blue.

Now, he was worried.

He stopped and turned fully to her, bumping into the woman who walked right into him. Gray caught her by the arms and helped her steady herself.

“Are you alright?” He tried very much to keep the worry out of his voice, which was unnecessary since Juvia didn’t seem to hear him ask.

She just looked at him, dazed for a second, before she regained her composure and slapped that practiced smile across her face. They were together for too long for Gray not to recognize that fake smile.

Well, not together “together” but…

“Juvia apologizes, Gray-sama. She must not have seen you for a moment there.”

Juvia not seeing him even for a second? Now, he should really, really be worried. Gray withdrew his hands before Juvia get the wrong idea and kept them in his pockets.

“Well, yeah. You seem… out of it.” Gray could see her think for a moment. Then, she seemed to have reached a decision and, to dispel any of his worries, Juvia put up a brighter personality, raising her fists in the air and declared, “Juvia will be more mindful.”

Knowing Juvia, she’d rather keep to herself whatever it was that was bothering her in order not to be a burden to him. He’d really wish she’d tell him but Gray was never one to push. He would wait until she was ready. For the meantime, he asked Juvia about postponing the travel home and maybe the next day, when she was feeling a bit better, he’d ask her to stroll around the town. He’d make up some lame excuse about buying everyone souvenirs, which if anyone who’d hear would call bull.

“Would you mind if we stay in this town for a while? I’d like to catch up for some much needed rest and–”

“–Juvia-san?”

An unfamiliar voice called out from behind the Water Mage. Unlike Gray, Juvia seemed to recognize it. She turned around to meet the owner of the voice while Gray searched his memory for that parted black and white hair walking up to them.

“Totomaru-san?”

Then, it hit Gray. This guy was one of Phantom Lord’s Element 4 and Juvia’s acquaintance. But the same guy that hurt his friends. A bitter taste burned in Gray’s stomach as that bright smile crept up that Totomaru-san’s face, looking so happy to see them – to see Juvia. Gray glanced at his partner to check if she was reacting to him the same.

She was.

Totomaru caught up with them, smiling ear to ear to see Juvia.

“Wow, it really is you.” He looked momentarily taken-aback, an amused smile freezing on his face. “Didn’t recognize you without the…” Gray inwardly snickered watching the man, as if in a game of charades, motion to refer to Juvia’s old hairstyle. “Without the rolled hair.” He finished when none of them could guess what he was referring to with that silly bounce of his open palm. Gray guessed but he wasn’t feeling too friendly to engage.

“Are you guys… visiting?”

Gray liked the hesitance he could sense from this Toto-whatever punk. He was probably thinking he and Juvia came to town together, which was actually the case. Not in the sense that Toto-whatever might have thought but still…

“No, Totomaru-san. Gray-sama and Juvia are here for a mission.”

“Oh, good!”

But he didn’t like the sudden rush of relief and a new confidence found by Totomaru-bastard.

“Would you like to get-together while you’re in town? It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

And definitely hated that slimmer of hope shining in his black goofy eyes. The bastard.

“W-well…”

Gray crossed his arms, a bit elated at Juvia’s hesitation. ‘That’s it, Juvia. Say no,’ the smug on his face said.

“Gray-sama did say he wanted to stay awhile longer.” She glanced at him with a sheepish smile – a bit asking and a bit expectant.

Gray dropped his arms and coughed into his fist to bid some time to recover. Well, he wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t expect Juvia would actually like to hang around that guy. But Gray had yet to make a decision when Totomaru chided in.

“I can show you around town then.” He pushed. “A lot has changed since you moved to Magnolia.”

That bastard was treating Gray like he wasn’t standing there. He probably didn’t notice the Ice Make mage since that punk’s eyes were laser-focused on Juvia.

His Juvia.

“I mean, look at you. You even got prettier.”

“Thank you, Totomaru-san.” Juvia beamed at him, blushing at the compliment.

It didn’t sit well with Gray but he shouldn’t be getting pissed at someone giving Juvia a compliment. There was nothing wrong with someone complimenting Juvia because she really was pretty. Always been pretty. Very much attractive, if he’d let himself admit. He eyed the man who called Juvia pretty, looking him from head to toe, sizing him up. Totoma-whatever didn’t look so bad but he had nothing compared to Gray, of course. He was Gray-sama to Juvia, the best guy that ever existed on this planet. Juvia adored him. Remembering that, Gray’s confident smirk returned. Hah. That Totoma-punk could keep dreaming on. Juvia was devoted to Gray. She was his.

But Totoma-punk made her smile with that silly compliment.

His gloating smirk quickly dropped and getting ‘pissed’ at a simple compliment became the understatement of the century because a vein in his head was about to pop.

“Gray-sama?”

He withdrew his ‘not so discreet’ glare from the fire-prick and looked at Juvia.

“If Gray-sama isn’t too tired, maybe we could…”

“I guess. We wouldn’t be able to catch the train anyway.”

Juvia chirped, clapping her hand together and declaring that it’s a date.

Forget the sore muscles. Forget his tired feet. Forget his body screaming for a rest. He wasn’t going to let that Totomastard (Totomaru the bastard) be alone with Juvia. No way.

…

Gray wasn’t the jealous type. He wasn’t. In fact, you could never put the words Gray and jealous in one sentence. Never. He just hated the guy. Hated the man who hurt his friends. Yeah, that’s why he was so ready to throw his fist down the bastard’s throat. That’s the only reason. That’s all there was to it, really. Totomastard was a former Fairy Tail enemy.

But weren’t Juvia and Gajeel also a former enemy of Fairy Tail? Gray said don’t ruin his reason with logic.

“I’ll go get us more beer.” Totomaru excused himself from their table in the town’s famous open night market.

When he walked out of earshot, Gray could feel the tension from his shoulders go away and he could finally breathe. The bastard could really taaaaalk, reminiscing about the memories which didn’t include Gray. Granting, it was a ‘Phantom Lord Days’ memory which really did not include him, Gray still felt like the Fire Mage, and apparently, Romeo’s Magic teacher, went out of his way to make him feel out of place. He snickered. Phantom Lord my ass. She’s ours now. She’s Fairy Tail’s. Besides, it didn’t even sound like they were actually close.

“Does Gray-sama not like this place? Juvia can ask Totomaru-san to find a new–”

“–It’s fine, Juvia.” He stopped cracking his neck and pretended like he was just scratching the back of his head.

“If Gray-sama is tired, we can end the night early.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He shot back what remained of his beer and smashed the can on the table with his fist. He only noticed now the other two crushed beer cans next to him. “Besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself.” He gave her a small smile so Juvia would stop worrying about him.

“Oh, right. It’s just… it’s been a while since Juvia returned to Oaktown.”

Upon mentioning the name of the town, it suddenly hit Gray. He hated himself for not noticing it earlier or not remembering about the town when he first read the name on the job request.

“You used to live here, right?” Idiot. That’s why she was so distracted earlier. “Before you transferred to Fairy Tail?”

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You are a freaking, dumb-ass droopy eyes. He could hear Natsu’s voice in his head.

“Yes.” Juvia took another sip from her own can like a lady.

“Is that why you were so…” He stopped himself before he could say something that Juvia would take to blame herself. “I mean, you were kinda out of it, is all.”

“The people around here used to be afraid of Juvia, the Rain Woman.”

Gray could clearly picture out what ugly memory brought that gloom in her usually bright blue eyes. The alcohol might have helped too so he was going to take that away from her. Alcohol and Juvia never mixed well together. Gray grabbed the can from her hand and finished it.

“Well, that’s all in the past now.” So was Totomaru. He flattened the can again and tossed the crumpled tin can next to the others. He might have been very casual when he said it but the words helped her, somehow, because now she was staring at the group of crushed beer cans on their table. The sorrow that wet her eyes quickly disappeared and replaced with something Gray was more accustomed with.

“K-k-kiss.”

“What?”

“I-i-indirect k-kiss!”

Gray wasn’t sure anymore if it were his words that brought her out of that dreadful memory.

“Oi! Were you even listening?!”

…

“I-I don’t remember you being this… h-heavy.” Gray grunted, expelling a long breath. Juvia wasn’t really that heavy but Gray wasn’t in the condition to carry her all the way to their hotel room after all that fighting with a weird sea creature and hating on Juvia’s former guild-mate.

“Juvia is heavy?” The Water Mage fell out of the bed Gray put her on, bawling her eyes out at his comment. Great. He managed to insult the sad drunk. Didn’t Erza warn him never to talk about a woman’s weight? Now, cue in the water works.

“Oi!” Gray aimed to pull her up and put her back to bed but Juvia surprised him when she pulled him down with her on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, threw her arms around him and cried against his chest, mumbling about her endless efforts to lose weight.

“That’s not… you’re not… you’re not heavy. I was just… Forget what I said.”

But she kept crying into his chest, wetting his shirt with her river of tears. Gray let her, getting used to this Juvia – the sad drunk. He tried to soothe her, stroking her hair and patting her back. After her cries died down to just bouts of sobs, Juvia pulled away from Gray, but only far enough so she could look at him right into his onyx eyes. What she did next shocked Gray’s soul out of his body. Now, he had to add ‘hits people’ to Juvia’s drunken mannerisms.

“Why would Gray-sama not take advantage of Juvia?”

“What?!”

“Even when it’s just the two of us, Gray-sama wouldn’t make a move on Juvia.”

“I’m not that kind of guy.”

Gray could still feel the heat of Juvia’s palm on his cheek. Man, that woman’s slap was something. Undeniably, Juvia was one of the strongest wizards in Fairy Tail. But instead of getting mad, Gray was smiling. He was quite amused, honestly. Sober Juvia would never ever hit him like that.

Wow.

Then, sad drunk Juvia started hitting him again. The later ones didn’t have much strength and intention than the first slap. But they still hurt so Gray caught her wrists in each hand to stop her from striking him.

“Everyone’s hitting on Juvia but Gray-sama wouldn’t even make a move.” She accused between sniffs.

“W-w-what? Who?! Totomaru?” Gray could feel his blood boiling. He was right! He was right, all along! That guy was pretending to ‘get together’ when he was really planning on stealing Juvia away. What a prick! “When? When I left to take a leak?”

He wanted to hit himself for leaving Juvia alone with that bastard.

“Gray-sama was even making googly eyes with Totomaru-san.”

“What the hell! When did I ever do that?”

“Gray-sama never looked at Juvia with such passion.”

Of course, it was with passion, Gray thought. Passion to throw the guy off some building.

“I was glaring at that bastard!”

“Glaring?”

What were left from Juvia’s sobbing were occasional hiccups as she studied Gray for a moment, analyzing what he just said. Then, the hitting started again.

“Why wouldn’t Gray-sama pay attention to Juvia like that?”

Oh, hell. There was no reasoning out with a drunken woman. So, Gray pulled her back against him, wounded his arms around her so tightly that she couldn’t even move a muscle. She tried to wiggle her way out of his hold, to hit him some more he guessed, but Gray was determined and very much sobered up. What, from all the hits he took from her that would last him a lifetime? Any alcohol from his body was whooshed out by the first slap.

When the alcohol started to wear out and Juvia finally calmed down, Gray decided it was time he also gets some rest. He lifted Juvia off the floor, carrying her on both arms. His actions didn’t seem to startle her but quite the opposite effect. Juvia snuggled comfortably against his chest, mumbling something about warmth. Gray just wrote it off as drunken talk and gently lowered Juvia on the double mattress and tucked her in. She looked peaceful now that she was fast asleep. Finally, Gray could get himself some shut-eye. As he looked around to find his own place in the room to sleep for tonight, his eyes caught the glow on her tear-stricken face as the moonlight seeped through the window and hit her cheek. He dried the tears with the back of his hand, a bit guilty for causing those tears that tainted her beautiful face.

“Beautiful.” He whispered. “I don’t even know how it’s possible.” Gray knelt beside the bed, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind Juvia’s ear. “Everyday you grow even more beautiful.” But his smile was strained by something he’d been keeping to himself for a very long time. “So, if I make a move on you, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back.”

Gray closed his eyes, every moment of him wanting to give in to his feelings played in his head. He took a deep breath to ease the burden he’d caged in his heart. He convinced himself he needed to be more patient. As soon as he opened them, Gray’s onyx eyes sought her lips. He started to lean in, to allow himself a taste of something he’d deprived himself. But when their lips were about to touch, a voice in his head had kept him from impulsively giving into his desire once again. It wasn’t right to steal a kiss from Juvia while she was asleep. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Sometimes, he’d hate himself for not being that kind of guy. But Juvia was too special for him to disrespect her like that. So, like always, Gray held himself back. He pressed a kiss on her forehead instead, rose to his height and slept in a corner of the room, as far away from Juvia as possible.

#gray x juvia #gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gruvia drabble #ask me

226 notes · View notes

misedejem · 4 years

Text

Date Nights

Series: Persona 4 Ship: Kannao (Kanji Tatsumi/Naoto Shirogane) Word count: 9196

If ever Naoto was feeling low, Kanji would try harder than ever to show her how much he cared. Little gestures of good will and love that would go towards easing the pain. It had been that way from when they first met, and was still the case after over fifteen years.

So when Naoto found herself with Kanji in a slump and a few hours to spare, she took it upon herself to do the same.

(Basically lots of domestic future headcanon shenaningans~ As a note, Naoto is genderfluid in my fics, and this one uses she/her. AO3 link in the notes)

It had been an awfully long time since the Shiroganes had been working away from home at the same time.

Kanji had become unemployed almost two years ago and had been pooling his resources into his online store since then. And Naoto had been on leave a full year now, because of Chihiro, and then the upheaval and transfer of half the Shirogane agency from Tokyo to Yasoinaba. Save the odd local case, she’d effectively been forced to hang up the detective cap until life calmed down enough for her to return.

It was… a much-needed break. They could mutually agree on that.

Then, less than a month between moving into a house and the agency reopening, Yu Narukami had appeared on their doorstep one evening with ‘encouragement bentos’ and a request. The middle school he worked in as guidance counsellor had suddenly lost a teacher temporarily due to illness. The art teacher. She’d probably need at least six months to recover, but the new semester started in September and it was far too tight a deadline for the board to submit a request for a replacement.

“I mentioned you used to work as an art teacher in Tokyo, Kanji, and they said to ask you as soon as possible.”

Neither of them could have foreseen such a thing… But in a week, their situation had changed from both of them being at home, to both of them returning to work just a day apart from one another.

One day.

What a rare commodity that was.

As much as she adored it, Naoto’s career had always been taxing, keeping her late at night and seldom offering her a chance to catch her breath. After all, the Shirogane agency was lauded all across the country. Grampa had made such a name for it before he had died, and the attention she had gained from the media as the ‘first Detective Prince’ had only served to bolster the Shirogane name’s shining reputation once she’d taken over. That, and the fact that it was the only remaining detective agency in the country that specialised in Shadow-related incidents. They’d become ever more prevalent since the mental shutdowns and the Phantom Thieves incidents a decade ago had made knowledge of them more widespread in the seedier depths of society, and the Shadow Operatives had ensured to keep her busy when the cases grew too complex for them to handle.

That’s why they’d come back to Inaba of all places. With the TV World still very much active, it was the most potent place for illicit Shadow activities to occur in all Japan. And with the murmurings of new information cropping up, the higher ups had figured it may be a good idea to have a team of investigators to hand.

The detective had a lot of work waiting for her when her leave expired.

So, for her to be the one left with the house instead of Kanji for a full day… Well, she couldn’t exactly waste such an occasion.

“Momo, no -! Don’t… climb in there…” Naoto sighed, watching as her orange tabby clambered her way into one of the cardboard boxes at the far end of the room. She knew it was a fruitless effort to try and stop her. Their other cat didn’t house much love for boxes, but Mochi had been found in one as a kitten and clearly had developed a natural affinity towards them as a result. Half their move had been spent trying to keep her out of them long enough to fill them.

“If you wish to help, the very least you could do would be to climb into the ones I haven’t yet searched,” she told her, crossing over to the box and hoisting Mochi out. “That way, I won’t be wasting any time by delving into boxes twice when I retrieve you.”

Unfortunately, Naoto’s request was not met with much approval. The cat just mewled indignantly, clearly unimpressed and unwilling to cooperate, and scampered behind the large pile in the centre of the garage, leaving the detective to continue her investigation on her own.

It was frankly impressive that all the miscellany crammed into these boxes had fit into their Tokyo apartment; big though it was, it had been severely lacking in storage. Half their belongings – all the stuff they didn’t desperately need - were all packed up in this room, waiting for a spare moment to be put in their rightful place. They’d had five weeks to unpack, and perhaps if they’d still been living as just the two of them, they’d have made more of a dent in it. That would certainly have made Naoto’s current task a considerable deal easier. But all the free time they had now was devoted to Chihiro. She was only just coming up on her first birthday, and she was still very much dependant on her parents every moment that she was awake. Even now, Naoto was only able to search the room because the infant was taking her midmorning nap.

She was looking for a binder Kanji had put together, containing a collection of their favourite recipes that he’d found online or written down over the years. Somehow, it had gotten separated from the recipe books when they had packed away their kitchen, and it had not yet resurfaced. This was a major blockade in her plan for the day. She needed that binder. Desperately.

Kanji had seemed rather perturbed as he’d prepared for work that morning. In fact, he’d seemed uneasy about it from the moment Yu had asked him to take it. It was… unlike him. He’d worked as an art teacher in a middle school back in the city for four years, and he’d loved every minute of it.

“Hmm? Course I want the job,” he’d told her when she’d questioned him about it over breakfast. “I miss this kinda shit, you know that.”

He had a smile on his face as he tried spooning a blob of mushed fruits into Chihiro’s mouth, but it was a strained smile if nothing else.

“You just seem tense, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well… So do you. Goin’ back to work after havin’ a kid is s’posed to be kinda rough.” He shrugged.

“I can’t deny that…” Naoto sighed. “Even knowing that your mother will be there for her, and that you’re only doing part time hours, the idea of leaving her alone at all is more taxing on me than I could ever have expected… That’s all it is though?”

Naoto could think of several other reasons Kanji might have to be nervous about this particular job. But on the off chance that they hadn’t crossed his mind yet, she refrained from bringing them up. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel worse.

There was a pause, filled only by Chihiro’s babbles and the sound of the cats zooming about the living room after one another in a burst of energy. As he scraped the last of the baby food from the pot and offered it to their daughter, Kanji’s face began to fall ever so slightly, and before long he was sighing.

“I really gotta… stop overlookin’ that I’m married to a detective. I am scared shitless of leavin’ Chihiro for the first time. If anythin’s wrong, it’s that most of all. But uh… Otherwise I’m just a little weirded out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Middle school – this middle school – is kinda… where I started to get a bad rep… What… I dunno, what if they take one look at me and realise who I am and kick me out? Like, they don’t realise ‘Shirogane Kanji’ is actually ‘Tatsumi Kanji’ an’ once they do they won’t want me anymore? They don’t know why I resigned from my last job either, what if they think I did something bad an’–”

As his voice grew louder and more sporadic, his panic becoming so apparent that it was palpable, Naoto scooted her way over to him and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head gently on his chest.

“You left on your own terms because you disliked the way the school was being run. You don’t have to disclose why. And Kan-chan… you don’t mean to tell me that I’ve kept you from your hometown for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like? Inaba isn’t overly massive – rumours spread fast. I daresay there isn’t a person here who doesn’t know that the Tatsumi boy married that Detective Shirogane person. Especially not with how much your mother talks about us.”

She held him close for a while, rubbing her hand across his back even after his heart stopped pounding so hard, and his muscles began to relax.

“Yeah… I know… I know it’s a stupid thing to worry about, an’ that there ain’t no point in getting’ worked up about it…”

“Well, it’s not… stupid. I’d say it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be concerned about, given the impact it had on you in the past. But I can assure you of this: they wouldn’t have hired you if they thought you were unfit for the position.”

He nodded, and a smile appeared on his face again – a genuine one, this time. For the rest of the morning, his dour disposition had dissipated somewhat, and his spirits certainly seemed higher when he had left the house.

But even if she had managed to cheer him up, Naoto knew the day would be a challenge for him no matter how many positive sentiments she sent his way. Returning to a place you had been mistreated, even after nearly twenty years had passed, was difficult enough as it was, without the thought of leaving your baby for the first time nagging at you as well.

That’s why she needed that binder. It contained the recipe for one of Kanji’s all-time favourite curries, one she believed even she could produce, and she figured he might need something like that when he returned home.

He often did little ‘date nights’ from home for them, for birthdays or anniversaries, or even just when Naoto was struggling with a tough case and needed a distraction or treat. They would put on whatever was comfortable, sit down with a meal and a drink, and more often than not, end up in a snuggled-up heap on the couch with a movie flickering on in the background. She hosted her fair share of them as well, but admittedly hers often involved an expensive night out at a restaurant. Kanji was the better cook, and he considered it a hobby more than simply something one needed to do to survive, but Naoto lacked the skill or drive to make a hand-crafted date night even without her long hours.

But this night would be an exception. She suddenly found herself with eight hours at home without him, and she would be a fool not to use that time to surprise him in the same way he always would with her. She’d throw him a date night so damn enjoyable that he’d forget all about his anxieties, no matter the cost.

That was… if she could find the damned recipe she needed to carry out her plan.

And so, she perused box after box in her investigation, leaving not even one overlooked. Old case files she’d had sent over from the Shirogane estate that had once belonged to her grandfather. An assortment of holiday decorations that really needed separating by date. Kanji’s miscellaneous box of scrap material. A box marked for charity of Naoto’s old clothes that had stopped fitting since she’d had Chihiro. Plushies. More plushies. Even the container of extra crockery, things that had come from the kitchen itself, bore no sign of the item she sought. An hour passed as though it were seconds, yielding nothing of value.

Had Kanji already moved it? It wasn’t as though she could ask him… Had they forgotten it? No, that apartment was spotless when they’d moved out. She’d triple checked it herself.

She foresaw herself spending all day searching at this rate… but she didn’t have all day. He’d be staying late for a debriefing, but even so, Kanji would still probably be home for five o’clock, and she still had to go to Junes to fetch the ingredients she was going to need.

Perhaps she could look it up online again? That was where Kanji had found it originally…

She sat herself, cross legged, on an old rug and pulled out her phone, plugging in the name of the recipe into a search engine, lifting her arm so that Mochi – tired of hiding – could come and curl up in her lap. And then, running the fingers of her free hand through Mochi’s fur, she began to scroll and click every site she could find.

But she recalled vividly the constitution of the page she was searching for, and none of these were it. She’d never read the words herself – having never made the recipe – and Kanji had decided to crop the name of the site it was from to maintain the ‘aesthetic’ of the folder, but she knew what it looked like. The colours, the typeface, the accompanying picture.

Nothing.

It was entirely possible the site had been redesigned or deleted. In which case she was out of luck online… It wouldn’t work for her to try a different recipe, it had to be that one. If it wasn’t that one, it wouldn’t taste the same, and then it wouldn’t be his favourite. Irritation began to swell within her as her endeavour began to look more fruitless, and she had to take a few moments to breathe and calm a little before moving onto her last resort: checking with Mrs. Tatsumi, with Yakushiji, and the Investigation Team on the off chance that maybe Kanji had lent them the recipe at some point.

Nos all around.

The irritation grew stronger.

And then, as though a timer had gone off signifying the end of her allotted time, the baby monitor sprung to life.

***

“Are… You even listening?”

Naoto huffed and folded her arms, wearing her most devastating expression of disappointment as she shook her head. She’d been talking for a good ten minutes, and she was beginning to wonder if any of it had been heard at all.

“’Course we are. You want to do something cute and romantic for the big guy, because you’re secretly a massive softie, but your first idea went bust.”

Yosuke offered her a cheeky wink and raised his soda cup in a mock toast, before turning back to fawn over Chihiro in Chie’s arms.

“But I dunno how you expect us to concentrate on anything else when you’ve brought this adorable little muffin along,” Chie added, putting on a baby voice and ‘booping’ said muffin on the nose. Chihiro giggled, her tiny face absolutely beaming with delight.

“Oh, I expect you to manage perfectly. If I can – if Kanji can – despite seeing every cute thing she ever does, then it should be no problem for somebody only exposed to it for a short while.”

A couple of hours had passed since Naoto had given up her search for the original recipe and had elected to change tactic. She would simply have to find… a different meal entirely. One that would still mean as much to Kanji. But a quick scour of the recipe books they had on hand in the kitchen yielded nothing. And so, once Chihiro was fed and dressed appropriately for the late summer warmth, she walked her over to Junes to grab some supplies, hoping that by some pure miracle, looking at the ingredients on offer would spark some form of inspiration within her. Only, out of sheer coincidence, she had managed to time her visit perfectly with the end of Yosuke’s shift, and Chie’s day off.

The two of them could often be found talking in the food court on their off-hours. It had been that way since high school, through all the changes and remodels they’d made to the layout of the store over the years and would likely continue to be that way as long as Junes stood and they remained in Inaba. It was the secret headquarters of the Investigation Team, after all. It wasn’t a place you could so easily give up.

So, guided by tradition, they all sat together, sharing a Takoyaki selection in the summer breeze – a welcome change from the mustiness of the Shirogane residence garage – Yosuke and Chie completely spellbound by the baby while Naoto explained her predicament. She had hoped they’d be a little more attentive, and frankly more helpful, but… she supposed she couldn’t fault them. Chihiro was effectively their niece, and she’d been in Tokyo for the past year.

But at least they were making her happy. Seeing her so ecstatic, despite Kanji being gone for so long, certainly helped ease some of the anxieties she had been feeling about leaving her. Getting her acquainted properly with the people who would likely be babysitting her until well into her teens was certainly not a bad thing… although… Naoto was on a tight schedule.

“Aaanyway.” She rapped the table lightly with the tips of her fingers. “Regretfully my first idea – the one that was ah… ‘bust’, as you said – was also my only idea. I’m currently running at a loss on where to proceed from here…”

At the very least they were nodding along now, and looking at her as she spoke.

“…Chie-chan, do you have date nights? What do you usually do?”

“Hmm? Yeah, of course we do! But, uh… Yukiko and I always go out for ‘em. You know, because the inn keeps her so busy and I –”

“Can’t cook anything without it coming out tasting of cardboard?” Yosuke supplied, grinning. Chie shot him a mean look, but nodded nonetheless.

“Pretty much…”

“In most instances, that would be my go-to as well,” Naoto said, holding back a grin at Yosuke’s comment. “Hand-crafted anything is Kanji’s forte, not mine, but… we both agree the ones at home are more enjoyable, no matter how good the food may be in a restaurant.”

“You’re like… the most private people I’ve ever known, so that isn’t surprising.”

She gave an affirming nod. Lovely as it was to go all out sometimes at an expensive eatery, there were always… stares. No matter where they were, people would see them and notice. Sometimes they’d simply recognise the Detective Prince, and that was all they’d see. But other times their eyes would linger longer. They’d take note of Kanji’s piercings and spikes combined with the cute animals and soft colours, analyse Naoto’s dedication to old English fashion and deliberate lack of conformity to any gender, and then keep their gazes trained on the two of them as they attempted to pick apart every contrasting aspect. The way they looked and dressed alone, the way they looked and dressed together… it made going out in public difficult for two people who both struggled to some degree with social anxieties and a history of being scrutinised for the way they were.

Kanji had left the house worrying he was going to be judged. She didn’t want to put him through that twice in one day.

“Well, is there anything else you’ve made before that you know he likes?” Yosuke asked, helping himself to the Takoyaki

Naoto frowned. “Well, yes, but all of it is rather… typical? I have a small repertoire, you see.”

“So you want something different? Hmm… Why don’t you just go ham?” Chie suggested with a genuine smile. “Grab stuff you think’ll go together and make a totally new curry. Heck, doesn’t even gotta be curry.”

“That’s how you end up with Mystery Food X: Redux,” Yosuke warned, and Chie’s smile instantly vanished. “Though actually, Naoto… In your sensible hands you’d probably be okay. You actually know how to cook.”

“If I wasn’t holding a baby right now, I would kick you.”

“Without a recipe at all…?” For a moment, the detective was left perplexed. But before long, a thought came across her mind, and that irritation from earlier came grumbling back into her periphery. “Yosuke-kun. Please. I simply don’t have the time to spare for your… japes and mockery. I need you to be serious.”

She expected him to laugh, as he often would when she caught him out while he was joking. She didn’t do so very often, loathe as she was to admit it, and it had become something of a game to Yosuke to see how long he could keep pushing her buttons.

But this time he threw up his hands instead, with… was that his face now contorted in confusion as well?

“H-hey, I am being serious. Promise. If you genuinely have no other ideas, then I begrudgingly accept that Chie might be onto something.”

“And I’m supposed to do that without instructions?” She asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Was she being foolish and naïve? Or was Yosuke the one reeking of inexperience? “You act as though you believe I have time to memorise every food combination, and how to make them work. I am a detective, not a chef, Yosuke-kun. Recipes exist so that I don’t have to preoccupy my brain with trivialities such as cooking from memory.”

“Hey, it was Chie’s idea, not mine!”

“You should know better.”

The raised voices and snipes were a staple of any conversation involving Yosuke and Chie, and at this point Naoto had come to learn that it was largely performative. They ‘fought’ with warm regards. She’d even reached a point where she was able to go along with it without utterly deflating the mood. But to Chihiro, with no grasp of the concept of banter, it was all just loud, frightening noises coming from people she didn’t know all too well. The conversation very quickly had to switch courses when a crying spell threatened to rear its head.

“You know… you never asked me what I do for date nights,” Yosuke pointed out once the baby had been settled. She now lay propped up on Naoto’s lap, nodding off with her little head resting on her chest. Naoto constantly considered herself fortunate that Chihiro wasn’t especially fussy. Sometimes on a good day all she needed to calm right down was a cuddle.

“Hmm?” she looked up. If Yosuke had said anything before that, she had been too preoccupied with gently coaxing her daughter to nap to hear it. “Oh, no, I suppose I didn’t…”

Chie, who had moved into the more comfortable position of resting her chin on her hand now her arms were free, scoffed slightly.

“Dude. Maybe because you don’t have anybody to date?”

“Well… No, but I’ve been on dates. More than one with the same person. I have experience, I’m just… not experiencing it right now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, casting his gaze off to the side. “Dinner dates aren’t really my thing though…”

“So, why’d you even bring it up?”

“Hey! I’ve been on… like, one dinner date. I’m just not the guru of them!” He shrugged. “It’s an interesting story actually… I got set up a few years ago by my bandmates, and it turns out the guy isn’t my type at all. But I didn’t want to say no without at least giving him a chance, so… Y’know. He wants to go out to this fancy French place, but we get there and they’re closing early because of… Uh, I think the kitchen flooded or something like that? So, he takes me back to his place and leaves me there, runs off to go shopping, and comes back and cooks a three-course French meal himself.”

“And you didn’t marry him on the spot?”

“Nah. We did a couple more dates but it didn’t really work out. We weren’t super compatible...”

“Is this why you get Rise to vet anybody you’re gonna date now?”

“Pretty much. You guys know me best, so…”

The two of them continued to talk, but from Naoto’s perspective, their voices had been drowned by her thoughts into a dull and distant murmur. From the moment Yosuke had finished his story, the gears in her brain had whirred into motion, working their way into fabricating a plan formed from his words.

It had hit her at last. A wave of inspiration and relief, tantamount to the feeling she would have when she’d finally cracked the secret to a particularly arduous case.

A plan. Followed by a conjured image of how Kanji’s face might look when he saw it.

“Yosuke-kun…” she began, standing slowly so that she did not wake the baby and gently lowering her into the buggy she had parked next to her seat. “Would you be able to look something up for me? While my hands are full.”

***

January 19th, 2025. Little over a year and a half ago. London, England. They’d been abroad for a few weeks at that point, Naoto on a case for the Shadow Operatives, and Kanji taking advantage of her hotel room to table at an artist’s alley in a convention.

It was something of a special occasion. Kanji’s 29th birthday had been the original cause for celebration, but to him at least that was very much an aside. It was, what, only three hours prior to reaching the restaurant that they’d found out Naoto was pregnant.

There had been several sources for the reasoning behind Naoto’s choice in establishment, and unlike most of her destination picks while they’d been in London, none of them had a single thing to do with Sherlock Holmes. The ones that stood out the most: a churning in her stomach – simultaneously a mental and a physical reaction to her current condition – and a particularly mournful image of her mother-in-law from a few months prior.

“There was this little place my late husband and I would always take Kanji when he was young, if we had to travel to Okina. Italian, it was, family run. I just heard from a customer that it was recently shut down because the owner passed. It has me a little down to think of, that’s all Naoto dear.”

A precious memory from Kanji’s childhood was no small matter, harrowing as such a thing was to think. And Italian… parsing through her options in her mind as she browsed the local restaurants on one of those food apps, Naoto took note of how the one being advertised made her insides turn the least at the thoughts of it. It was one of those smaller, more community-based places, while the others were either going to be full of too-rich smells for her poor stomach to handle, or full of classy, antiquated rules and stares that she didn’t feel up to taking that day.

She didn’t want to make her husband eat hotel food on his birthday… And nor did she want to worry him all evening by being exceptionally edgy. So it didn’t take very long at all for her to have dialled the number for the family-run Italian place, and had booked them a table for two that evening.

The food had been… good. Standard fare for that kind of place. But Naoto was a harsh critic – even without feeling deeply unwell, she had been to Italy. And yet, in all the fifteen years she had known Kanji, she could not recall a single meal out where he seemed to have enjoyed himself quite as much as that. The rush of euphoria from learning he was going to be a father had apparently been enough to turn any experience he may have had that night into the best date night of his life. And Naoto knew the kind of man he was. Sentimental, perceptive, prone to dwelling on the little things. He’d remember, starkly, what he had eaten then.

It was just a pasta meal. She recalled it being made with chicken and a creamy, pesto-based sauce, and Yosuke’s internet search had quickly pulled up a recipe for something along those lines. It wouldn’t be the same – these places kept their recipes close to the heart – but that didn’t matter. Her plan had now become a case of finding something symbolic, over finding something that tasted good.

“I think he’s really starting to rub off on you,” Yosuke had noted as Naoto had prepared to rush off to grab the ingredients from the recipe he had found. “Kanji, I mean. In a good way.”

She’d queried him on that. Her own sharpness didn’t exactly extend to analysing herself.

“I just meant that five years ago, I don’t think you’d ever have thought to do something like this. I always took you for the… less cliché of the two of you. Didn’t you propose to him spontaneously in a cat café? If you don’t mind me asking… why is this the first thing you thought to do for him?”

A pause for Naoto to collect her thoughts. One that, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t last nearly as long as it might have.

“It’s… because this is logical to me. A dinner date – it’s the simplest, most common activity in the books. It’s a cliché because its effective. Because food is one of those love languages that transcends barriers, and to somebody who struggles in most social situations, like Kanji, like me, you must understand that something like this is a life saver. It’s a change to our routine that really doesn’t change all that much.” She smiled to herself. “Kanji does this to make me feel happy. So many people do, for the person they love. It only makes sense to me that I follow their lead.”

It was that way for most matters of the heart, she thought to herself as she balanced a packet of chicken on the hood of the buggy. She had never known how to act in these situations, how to express the feelings she had. And while she’d devised some unique little ways that she had managed to convey to Kanji, oftentimes the most effective means of telling him that she loved him was to simply use another person’s idea as a foundation. She had her own experiences as proof that it worked. After all, Kanji was a person who had been so starved for and scared of affection as a child that now, almost anything that said ‘I care about you’ was enough to draw him to tears. And Naoto was no different. He was more physical than her, and really that was the only major way in which their feelings towards romance diverged. The things that made one of them happy was sure to leave the other in the same state.

***

Naoto loved Kanji more than she hated cooking. That was really the defining fact that made this entire plan of hers possible at all.

Because she really hated cooking.

“I’ll prolly be home in like… forty minutes,” Kanji had told her over the phone when she’d given him a tentative call at just gone four to gauge how long she had. Pasta wasn’t exactly something she could make well in advance – just the thought of reheating it or overcooking it made her skin crawl. It was one of those things she needed to be perfect. Kanji, thankfully, didn’t have a preference.

So, she’d had to leave making the actual meal until as close to Kanji’s arrival as she could predict. But it wasn’t as though she had time to spare… She had to make the table, feed the cats, feed the baby, put the baby down for a nap…

Then she had to cook the chicken and the pasta… that was fine, it just… radiated a lot of heat for a day that was already rather warm. Inaba’s houses were old, and they didn’t yet have much ventilation or air conditioning.

Then was the sauce, and she had to do some vegetables, but she had to keep stirring the sauce so it didn’t ruin the consistency, and she had to keep turning the meat and the veggies so they wouldn’t burn, and oh, the pasta might stick or become overdone if she wasn’t careful. Then it would just become stressful. Every meal, every time. No matter how methodical she tried to be, it would always devolve into this.

It was a focus thing, she was sure. When she homed in on a task or a detail, it became quite difficult to switch gears on the fly. A useful skill for analysing a murder case. Not so much for cooking.

It was why, when they were both at home, she and Kanji would often just cook dinner together.

But occasionally, and for the sake of somebody she cared about, it was worth it.

She was just at the stage where she was plating up the food, trying to get it to look as it did in the picture on the website, when the familiar sight of an old, dusty car that had at one point been purple staggered its way up their driveway, starkly contrasted with the shiny motorcycle it had pulled up next to. As Kanji climbed from the car, Naoto carefully studied his face, trying to glean from his expression how exactly he was feeling in that moment. But Kanji had a naturally angry look to him, so such a task was often difficult to undertake.

“You makin’ garlic bread, Nao?” he called from the porch almost as soon as the door had slid shut.

“You’ll see,” was all she said in response. With Kanji just moments away from seeing what she had done, she found herself buzzing with anticipation.

“Wuzzat s’posed to mean?” he asked, sticking his head around the door into the kitchen.

For a moment, his forehead crinkled as he took everything in, his eyes lingering on the table made up as closely to that of a restaurant as Naoto could manage, with cloth, candles, and an arrangement of Kanji’s favourite red roses (albeit that was rather haphazardly done).

And in that moment Naoto felt as though her heart had somehow managed to stall.

But the tension was brief, quickly dissipated by the biggest, goofiest grin taking up a huge portion of Kanji’s face.

He strode into the room and pulled his partner into a powerful hug all in a motion that was so fluid, you wouldn’t think it was Kanji performing it.

“I can see you’re ready to reopen the agency, huh?”

Naoto smiled and shook her head, before snuggling her cheek into Kanji’s chest. “Don’t mistake this for a fit of boredom – I’ve been anything but. Welcome to our first date night back in Inaba.”

“Huh? W-wait, hold up… Date night? You did this… fer me?”

His eyes threatened to grow wider than his smile had those few moments earlier, as the realisation of the circumstances slowly began to dawn on him.

Then, as was customary for Kanji whenever Naoto would do anything for him ever, his face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, and he began stammering unintelligible gibberish.

“Quickly now, before it cools down!”

“Y…Yuh…”

This was… odd. Kanji seemed unequivocally, unprecedentedly broken. His movements as he crossed to the counter and grabbed his plate, were mechanical, shaken, even. They weren’t unheard of for him, but it was as though they had suddenly been transported fifteen years into the past once more. Before they had fallen in love, before they’d even been close friends, when Kanji was so overcome with embarrassment whenever they spoke that he would be unable to function.

Now they were married, it wasn’t exactly commonplace.

Had something happened to him at work which had left him overwhelmed?

“Kanji?” Naoto called out tentatively as they took their seats.

“…huh?”

“You seem… Rather out of it.”

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. “Right. Yeah… Sorry…”

He cleared his throat and repeated the process of shaking his head.

“It’s just, uh… ‘M kinda at a loss for words. This is… Wow.”

A tension she hadn’t recognised until it was gone suddenly flooded from her body with a sigh of relief.

“For a moment there I was concerned that something was wrong, so –”

“More like… everythin’ is right. I never pegged you fer someone who’d do date nights Tatsumi style.”

“…Tatsumi style? So this…” she waved an arm across the table. “This is something you observed… what, from your parents?”

He nodded. Naoto didn’t realise it was possible for him to turn redder until just then.

“Ain’t really a lotta options for fancy restaurants like what you do out here. Ma and my old man always improvised at home. I know cookin’ yer partner a meal ain’t somethin’ my folks made up, they just ended up callin’ it that… Nickname kinda stuck.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, I suppose I have rather adopted a Tatsumi way of behaving today. Our roles have been utterly reversed. Why, I daresay after dinner, I shall take up a crochet project, and you’ll lull our Chihiro to sleep by reading her more of ‘A Study in Scarlet’.”

“I love you, Naoto.”

“Eh?”

But instead of elaborating, Kanji simply left his partner to turn an equally furious shade of red while he took a bite of the food. Naoto found herself so flustered that she didn’t even have time to be nervous about him trying the dish.

But, she supposed, she didn’t really have anything to worry about. This was Kanji.

“…I better never hear the words ‘I’m not very good at cooking’ comin’ from yer mouth again.”

“Well… Regardless of the quality of the food –” she began, about to launch into a spiel about how the mess she made, and how stressful it was for her, suggested that she technically wasn’t exactly on the level of a master. But all it took from Kanji was a single glare, and she stopped herself.

This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. And he did hate when she was self-deprecating in any capacity.

“I’m glad you like it Kan-chan.” She smiled, taking her own first bite. Hmm. Not bad. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to taste – she’d been feeling far too unwell that night in London to eat much at all, so she’d ordered a lighter dish – but how it did taste was pleasant.

“Better than it was on my birthday that one time. Dunno if you remember, but at that one Italian place when we were in England –”

“Where do you suppose I gained the inspiration to make this particular meal?”

“Huh? Well shit, haha. Last time I ever doubt yer memory.”

“Hm, well… I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting that day…”

Kanji slid his free hand across the table and placed it atop hers, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. Strange, she noted, that the nail was still painted black; she was sure the school would make him take the colour off alongside his piercings.

A nagging feeling in her chest, her stomach, her mind was begging her to ask him how it had gone. But it was not the only train of thought on the feeling that she had. What if Kanji didn’t want to talk about it yet? What if it was best to simply… enjoy the meal in ignorant bliss? Was he waiting for the right time, or for her to say something?

He looked as though he were about to speak now, was that the subject he was going to bring up?

“How has Chihiro been today?”

No. Of course not. The subject of work would have to wait.

As with… most of their conversations over the past year, the rest of the meal was largely dominated with Chihiro. Naoto describing, in detail, exactly what she had done, and Kanji’s expression growing fonder and fonder with every word. By the time they were done eating, he looked as though he were going to cry.

“Kinda sad that this is our lives goin’ forwards…”

“Hm?”

“Nothin’… just been missin’ her at work is all.”

The nagging feeling was very quickly becoming anxiety. The first mention of his day all evening, and it was something negative.

“Kanji, was everything –”

A sound suddenly stole her words before she had the chance to finish. A baby crying, as audible through the walls as it was the baby monitor on the counter.

“Prolly needs changing, huh?” Kanji smiled, rising to his feet. “Mind if I take this?”

“Please… She probably misses you too.”

In the time that Kanji was attending to the baby, Naoto managed to load everything that needed cleaning into the dishwasher, and found her way to the living room, and then to the couch. But her mind wasn’t exactly responsive as she did so.

Kanji… was worse than she had anticipated… More than just a simple meal could possibly hope to fix. Why on earth… What delusion had she been under to think, with how he’d been these past few days, that a little romantic gesture would be all he needed to feel better.

Amidst the haze that was buzzing in her mind, she vaguely registered her hands clenching into fists.

At some point, goodness knew when, Kanji had reappeared in the room and had sat down next to her, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She’s back down. Heh… Wanted to play as soon as she saw me, the little tyke, but could barely keep her eyes open long enough to do it.”

“She’s had… a busy day.”

“Ain’t we all?” he said with an air of exhaustion about him, placing his glasses gently on the kotatsu in front of them and then sinking back into the couch. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“I’ve been ready for weeks. Waiting on other people…” Naoto mumbled in response. Her gaze had fallen as she’d spoken to her socks, and she could not bring herself to remove it until Kanji nudged her with his arm.

“Hey. You good, Nao?”

“…Are you?”

That brought the conversation to a standstill.

“Would ya believe me if I told ya I was jus’ tired?”

“Only… partially.”

He gave her a half smile and repositioned himself so that his head lay on her shoulder.

“It was… a pretty exhaustin’ day… Lotta new stuff. Lotta old stuff too… that school ain’t changed in twenty years. Amazing it’s managed so long.”

Naoto just made an affirming noise and let her hand come to rest on his shoulder, pressing her cheek onto the top of his head. Best just to let him speak, she thought.

“Ain’t none of the people I knew still there but… they knew who I was. Course they did… didn’t expect any different. An’ you know what?”

“Hm?”

“Most of ‘em just complimented me on the plushies. They knew me ‘cause of the shop, not… ‘cause of the delinquent shit.”

“Well, that’s… good, is it not? That’s what we hoped would happen.”

She felt him shift his head as though he were trying to nod. His arm had worked its way around her waist, and she felt him bunching up the fabric of her dress shirt in his fingers as he spoke. It was an unconscious habit of his. Most notable when he was nervous.

“Yeah… Never said it weren’t good. Jus’ that I was tired. And that I missed my kid. And you.”

Naoto drew a deep breath. “It seemed like something was wrong, that’s all. I’ve been worried about you. All day. All week.”

“…That why you’re not okay?”

“Yes! Effectively!”

Another brief standstill.

“Sorry ‘bout that… Really… Last thing I wanted was for my bullshit worrying over nothing to affect you too.”

Naoto squeezed his shoulder slightly.

“You should know by now that such a thing is impossible. The same can be said of you, to me. We’ve been in this partnership since we were in high-school, Kan-chan, we can’t simply… hide our true feelings any longer. We know each other too well to be caught out.”

“Yeah… s’pose you’re right… I did appreciate it though. Back before I went in today and realised my worries were a load ‘a crap. I… I dunno, I guess comin’ back to Inaba after so long had me thinkin’ that everythin’ was gonna go back to the way it was.”

“Kanji… You weren’t… Please don’t tell me you’ve been thinking that way since we first planned to come.”

Silence. Naoto’s heart dropped. Obviously, that meant she was right on the mark.

Good lord, she had still been expecting when they’d first discussed moving back! Their daughter was one in a week!

“’s in the past now though. All of it,” he said eventually. “Physically this place ain’t no different, but I guess the vibe has changed since we were kids. Maybe… Enough time has passed now that I ain’t gotta worry about… the guy I was.”

“Kanji… I rescind what I said earlier. About how it’s impossible to hide our feelings from each other. Please… when it’s something serious like this, I implore you to tell me.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. If she did, he’d try to make this about her, and dammit, she was tired of it being about her. The entire point of everything she had done that day was to make it about Kanji for once in his life.

“…’M sorry, Nao…”

After that, for a long while neither of them spoke. They simply adjusted themselves into a position where they could more easily cuddle and sat there, snuggled into each other as the dwindling oranges and purples of the twilight sky gave way to darkness.

Kanji was the one to break the silence, his voice so slick with sleepiness that it was demure in a way which was much unlike him.

“Hey Nao… Yer still awake, right?”

“Mmhmm…” she responded. It was… mostly true.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’. I got a new goal now we’re back here… I wanna be able to look that bastard in the eye and tell him he ain’t me. Not because I’m denyin’ anythin’, but because he ain’t.”

“Him? Your Shadow?”

“Yeah. Like you can, y’know? If your Shadow popped their head back up and started sayin’ the same shit as before, you could just tell ‘em: ‘you’re wrong.’ ‘Cause they would be.”

“But they wouldn’t say something like that. My age and gender no longer cause me grief to the level they had in my youth, so my Shadow wouldn’t bring them up.”

Of course, they wouldn’t. Naoto thought that was obvious. She was thirty-one, very much an adult, and any doubt she had about whether she was a man or a woman were significantly eased when she had learned that she could be both and neither. She had no lack of confidence in those aspects of herself, regardless now of what other people thought, so there was no way the Shadow could use them as ammunition if they were to reappear.

But based on Kanji’s next statement, suddenly full of more vigour than his words prior, she wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood where he was coming from.

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m saying! The stuff your Shadow said back then… It ain’t even crossin’ your mind anymore. I wanna be the same… I mean… It’s not that I ain’t happy with who I am. I like cute shit, and sewing, and all the stuff like that. Shit, I’m bi as hell. I can say that stuff proudly. It’s…” he huffed. “For some reason, it’s like I can be confident in myself all I want, but in my head it don’t mean shit unless everyone else feels the same way. An' as long as I got a history as 'the guy who beats up bikers', it's like that day ain't gonna come... I’m… still scared shitless of bein’ rejected after all these years... It’s like… every time I meet a new group of people, I just end up wonderin’ how long its gonna be before they brand me a thug and cut me and everyone I care about off. Think that’s kinda the reason it’s been weighin’ on me again so much more recently. I start comin’ up with scenarios in my head where it gets outta hand and Chihiro gets hurt ‘cause of it.”

As he spoke, his hug became tighter.

“Kan-chan…”

“So, my goal is to get to a place where I don’t constantly worry about that stuff. Where if that bastard showed up again and said that kinda shit, I could deny him with my whole heart and know for certain that I’m right an’ he’s wrong. An’ before you say shit, I know that ain’t how Shadows work. That’s jus’ the image I use in my head to try an’ visualise what I’m itchin’ to do.”

He added that last part with a hint of a laugh to his tone.

So that was why he took a job he was so caught up about? As some concrete way of proving to himself that he would be okay if he did?

A self-destructive means of gathering evidence for a hypothesis… hm… perhaps Naoto’s inheritance of Kanji’s traits over the years had gone the other way as well.

“I didn’t realise it was possible to be so unbelievably proud of somebody, while simultaneously thinking them a fool…” Naoto ensured to keep her own tone bright, so that he would know she spoke in endearing terms. “You know I would have supported you through this if only you had told me –”

“Hah. Yer actin’ like you take me for the kinda guy who thinks this shit through… this ain’t exactly something I’ve been plannin’ or nothin’, it just sorta… came to me now.”

Oh, so it was a subconscious instinct?

Then perhaps he would be safe from her bad influence for just a little while longer…

“Well… regardless of how much preparation has gone into it… it is a good goal to have in mind, so long as you’re comfortable with the pain it may bring in the process.”

“Yeah. No problem. Anyway…” he sat up and looked her in the eyes. “What was that you were implyin’ with the whole ‘you know I would have supported you’ bull you just said?”

Naoto frowned. “It’s the truth –”

“Yeah, I know it’s the truth. Because you have been supportin’ me, dumbass. You ain’t ever stopped.” He thrust his arm in the vague, general direction of the kitchen, a wild delight dancing in his eyes. “You spent the last day of yer maternity leave makin’ sure I’d have a good evenin’ because you thought I needed cheerin’ up.”

Naoto felt her cheeks heat up. “I… I only did what you would do for me…”

“Yeah, but it ain’t like I made you do it. You still made the decision. It’s amazin’, an yer incredible, and adorable, an’ you make a freakin’ awesome pasta, an’ I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

She knew she was blushing harder and harder with every word, to the point where all she could think to do was bury her face into his shoulder.

“Feel kinda bad that we kinda got side-tracked from the ‘date night’ though… Sorry if you had anything else planned.”

“No, no, don’t feel bad. I did this because I thought you needed it, Kanji. And I don’t suppose I’m wrong in suggesting that you very much needed this talk as well?”

“…You ain’t wrong… Not at all.”

“And do you feel any better for having it?”

“Mmhmm.”

Naoto lifted her head and gave him her warmest smile. “Then I can safely declare this date night a resounding success.”

“Damn right, you can! But uh… I don’t wanna take away from anythin’ else you mighta wanted to do, so –”

The heat in her cheeks returned as quickly as it had vanished, and she sheepishly averted his gaze. Right. Date night was usually more than a meal.

“Uhm... About that. Kanji, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, I… I was so caught up in trying to find a recipe for dinner that it never even occurred to me to look for a movie or something to do afterwards.”

She offered him an apologetic look, but his immediate response was only to laugh and hold her closer.

“Don’t think I coulda made it through a movie anyway… I’m beat…”

“As am I. I think I may drift off here…”

It quickly became apparent that each of their ideal end to the evening would be to turn in early and hope to gain a restful night – something that was near impossible with a small child. Whether such a thing was an indication of how eventful their day had been, or whether it was simply a sign of them getting older, neither really cared to consider. Instead, they just ensured the house was secure, called the cats to follow them, and moved upstairs as quietly as they could so that their footsteps wouldn’t cause Chihiro to stir.

It wasn’t until Naoto had switched her outfit for one of Kanji’s old shirts and was brushing her teeth in the upstairs bathroom that it dawned on her: there was still one aspect of her day that had yet to be cleared up.

And now that it had come to mind, she feared she may be unable to sleep until she had an answer.

“Kan-chan?”

“Hm?”

“You know the binder you keep with recipe print-outs…? Do you have any idea what box it’s in?”

His face was mostly buried by the bedsheets by now, but she could tell from the part she could see that he was thinking hard.

“Uh… Oh! My car.”

“…Your car?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want the other kitchen stuff to squash it, so I put it separate. I see it every time I go in there an’ I keep saying I’ll bring it in and never do. How come…?”

Naoto heaved a great sigh and flopped on the bed besides him. It wasn’t until her face hit the pillow that she realised exactly how exhausting her day had been. “So you had it all along… I never would have found it.”

“You were lookin’ for it?”

“I was. I wanted to make you that curry instead, the one you called your favourite.”

“Ohhhh. I getcha now." He laughed. "That woulda been a good choice. But y’know anythin’ would have been fine. I got a real soft-spot for Italian food, hehe.”

“I like that curry myself though,” she added, as she shuffled under the covers. “It’s rare to find something spicy that you can handle as much as I…”

“You do, huh? I see.”

There was silence for a while. And then…

“Hey, Naoto…?”

“Mmm?”

“When’s your next day off?”

“My next day off…? That would be Sunday… Why?”

But Kanji didn’t answer. Instead, he just leaned over to kiss her goodnight, and then, with a sleepy smile, he rolled over and went to sleep.

#persona 4 #kanji tatsumi #naoto shirogane #kannao #misede writes

32 notes · View notes

kkintle · 3 years

Text

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch ; Quotes

One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can me inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.

There will be time and motive enough to prose on about my life when I shall have generated as it were a sufficient cloud of reflection. I am still almost shy of my emotions, shy of the terrible strength of certain memories.

I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together (…) We enjoyed and craved for each other’s company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Is it true however? Well, it is not totally misleading, but it is far too short and ‘smart’. How can one describe real people?

Did I face it well? I think I did. Forgiveness and money were so ready as soon as I knew that she was doomed. That sounds cynical. I always loved her; and we were rewarded. At the very end we were both perfect. Poor Clement. That is a dreadful land, old age. I shall soon be entering it myself.

The image of Hartley changed in my mind from fiery pain to sadness, but never became blank. And in a way, I did keep searching for her, only it was a different and quite involuntary kind of search, a sort of dream-search.

Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

‘I could have told you that country is the least peaceful and private place to live. The most peaceful and secluded place in the world is a flat in Kensington.’

I confess that I went to Peregrine not only for a drinking bout and a chat with and cold friend, but for male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying the present even if hell is all around.

‘We are such inward creatures, that inwardness is the most amazing thing about us, even more amazing than our reason. But we cannot just walk into the cavern and look around. Most of what we think we know are pseudo-knowledge. We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value. (…) People lie so, even we old men do. Though in aa way, if there is art enough it doesn’t matter, since there is another kind of truth in the art’.

‘And if there is art enough a lie can enlighten us as well as the truth. What is the truth anyway, that truth? As we know ourselves we are fake objects, fakes, bundles of illusions. Can you determine exactly what you felt or thought or did? We have to pretend in law courts that such things can be done, but that is just a matter of convenience. Well, well, it doesn’t signify. (…)’

‘(…) Do you know what marriage is like? You say she’s unhappy, most people are. A long marriage is very unifying, even if it’s not ideal, and those old structures must be respected. You may not think much of her husband, but he may suit her, however impressed she is by meeting you again. Has she said she wants to be rescued?

How very convenient these cliché phrases are, how soothing to the pained mind, and how misleading, how concealing.

It is an interesting fact about jealousy (…) that although it is in so many respects a totally irrational as well as totally irresistible emotion, it does show a certain limited reasonableness where temporal priority is concerned.

I love her, I thought, just as if I have been married to her all those years and have seen her gradually grow old and lose her beauty.

You’ve lived in a hedonistic dream all your life, and you’ve got away with behaving like a cad because you always picked on women who could look after themselves. And my God you told us the score, you never committed yourself, you never said you loved us even when you did! A cold fish with clear hands! But it was just luck really if the girls survived.

She summoned up my whole being, and I wanted to hold her and to overwhelm her an to lie with her forever, jusqu’a la fin du monde, and yes, to amaze her humility with the forces of my love, but also to be humble myself and to let her, in the end, console me and give me back my own best self.

After looking at the bright candles I could at first see nothing, and it struck me in an odd way that while I was talking to Hartley I had forgotten about the sea, forgotten it was there and now felt confounded and at a loss to find myself half blind among those terrible rocks.

The formation of my love for Clement, had been one of the main tasks and achievements of my life: that love which so often almost failed but never quite failed.

Being in love, that’s another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into God. That can’t be right (…) Real love, is free and sane. (…) Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. (…) Love. God, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we even thought about it.

‘Yes, it’s strange, but in a way I do know you, and there isn’t anyone else who’s near me like that. I support it’s just because we were young, and later you cant know people, or I couldn’t.’

‘It’s happened fast because it’s right, it’s easy because it’s right.’

‘I wish I was dead, I think I’m going to die soon, I feel it. Sometimes I felt I would die by wishing it when I went to sleep but I always woke up again and found I was still there. Every morning finding I’m still me, that’s hell.’ ‘Well, get out of hell then! The gate’s open and I’m holding it!’ ‘I cant. I’m hell, myself.’

‘You just want someone to remember things with.’

It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death. My presence, my cries, had no effect on her, I doubt if, in a sense, she knew I was there, although also, in a sense, the performance was for me, its violence directed at me.

I remembered, as I now did whenever I awoke, with a pang of anguish and love and fear, that Hartley was in the house.

(…) and although, with her disordered grey hair she looked old and mad, she seemed in that arrested moment like a queen.

‘And you are using this thing from the far past as a guide to important and irrevocable moves which you propose to make in the future. You are making a dangerous induction, and induction is shaky at the best of times, consider Russell’s chicken –‘ ‘Russell’s chicken?’ ‘The farmer’s wife comes out every day and feeds the chicken, but one day she comes out and wrings its neck.’

‘Not to worry. Sic biscuits disintegrat.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’

We did not dare to say much to each other. By now I wanted the whole thing to be over. I could scarcely endure the idea that she might even now say ‘I don’t think I want to go after all.’; and the impulse to cry out ‘Stop!’ was a pain which I urgently wanted to be without. Perhaps she felt much the same.

James said, ‘I hope you don’t feel that I’ve influenced you in any way against your better judgement?’ ‘No.’ I was not going to argue that point. Of course he had influenced me. But what was my judgement, let alone better judgement?

‘Time can divorce us from the reality of people, it can separate us from people and turn them into ghosts. Or rather it is us who turn them into ghosts or demons. Some kinds of fruitless preoccupations with the past can create such simulacra, and they exercise power, like those heroes at Troy fighting for a phantom Helen.’

‘I’m not calling her a ghost. She is real, as human creatures are, but what reality she has is elsewhere. She does not coincide with your dream figure. You were not able to transform her. You must admit you tried and failed.’

‘(…) It is a mental charade, a necessary one perhaps, it has its own necessity, but not like what you think. Of course you can’t get over it at once. But in a few weeks or a few months you’ll have run through it all, looked at it all again and felt it all again and got rid of it. It’s not an eternal thing, nothing human is eternal. For us, eternity is an illusion. It’s like in a fairy tale. When the clock strikes twelve it will all crumble to pieces and vanish. And you’ll find you are free of her, free of her forever and you can let the poor ghost go. What will remain will be ordinary obligations and ordinary interests. And you’ll feel relief, you’ll feel free. At present, you’re just obsessed, hynotised.’

‘(…) When you’ve known someone from childhood, when you can’t remember when they weren’t there, that’s not an illusion. She’s woven into me. Don’t you understand how one can be so absolutely connected with somebody like that?’

‘(…) I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn’t know she has it, she has it.’

‘Just like even if she’s ugly she’s beautiful and even if she doesn’t love you she loves you – ‘ ‘But she does –‘ ‘Charles, either this is very fine, very noble, or else you’re mad.’

‘(…) You mustn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially married people. That’s in a way why marriage is so awful, I can’t think how anyone dares to do it. You’ve got to leave them alone. They’ve got their own way of hating each other and hurting each other, they enjoy it.’

‘”For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”(…)’

Some kinds of obsession, of which being in love is one, paralyses the ordinary free-wheeling of the mind, its natural open interested curious mode of being, which is sometimes persuasively defined as rationality. I was sane enough to know that I was in a state of total obsession and that I could onlythink, over and over again, certain agonising thoughts, could only run continually along the same rat-paths of fantasy and intent. But I was not sane enough to interrupt this mechanical movement or even to desire to do so.

‘(…) And perhaps I was pleased to see you. We sometimes like to see people whom we hate and despise so that we can stir them up to further demonstrations of how odious they are.’

‘Jealousy is born with love, but does not always die with love.’

‘(…) Ordinary mediocre people think that if they confess one tenth of the truth they’re in the clear. You’ve made all your words into lies, you’ve devalued your speech and – in a moment you’ve spoiled the past – and there’s nothing to rely on any more.’

There were a few clouds, big lazy chryselephantine clouds that loafed around over the water exuding light. I gazed at them and wondered at myself for being too obsessed to be able to admire the marvels that surrounded me. But knowing how blind I was did not make me see.

(…) people can be light sources, without ever knowing, for years in the lives of others, while their own lives take different and hidden courses. Equally, one can be, and I recalled Peregrine’s words, a monster, a cancer, in the mind of someone whom one has half forgotten or even never met.

As James said, ‘If even a dog’s tooth is truly worshipped it glows with light.’

‘Can you hear the sea?’

‘I think you’re nearly through out of it. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed here in an empty space in the middle. The strong feelings are all around her – vanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth – they aren’t focused on her, they don’t touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don’t harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it’s an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive here and that will be within your capacity.’

‘The sea is clean. The mountains are high. I think I am becoming drunk.’ ‘The sea is not all that clean,’ said James. ‘Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they are so tormented by parasites?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons.’

‘What after all is superstition?’ said James, pouring some more wine into both glasses. ‘What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?’

‘(…) But this power is dreadful stuff. Our lusts and attachments compose our god. And when one attachment is cast off another arrived by way of consolation. We never give up pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another.’ (…)

What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

If there’s any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously even after (…)

Time, like the sea, unties all knots. Judgements on people are never final, they emerge from summing up which at once suggest the need of a reconsideration. Human arrangements are nothing but loose ends and hazy reckoning, whatever art may otherwise pretend in order to console us.

But am I so exceptional? We must live by the light of our self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason. Thus we must live unless we are saints, and are there any? There are spiritual beings, perhaps James was one, but there are no saints.

There may be no saints, but there is at least one proof that the light of self-satisfaction can illuminate the whole world.

Of course this chattering diary is a façade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward savages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretences are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other’s pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence. How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see that worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

There were no trains going where she was.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is ourself, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of the important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

The only fault which I can at all measure is my own.

Anything can be tarnished by association, and if you have enough associations you can blacken the world. (…) In hell or in purgatory there would be no need of other or more elaborate tortures.

My love for you is quiet at last. I don’t want it to become a roaring furnace. If I could have suffered more I would have suffered more. Receive us now as if we were your children. Tenderness and absolute trust and communication and truth matter more and more as one grows older. Somehow let us not waste love, it is rare. Can we not love each other at last in freedom, without awful possessiveness and violence and fear? Love matters, not ‘in love’. Let there be no more partings now. Let there be peace between us now forever, we are no longer young. Love me, Charles, love me enough.

I suppose that is right, though there is a kind of impiety involved in letting any of James’s stuff go away. Do I then suppose he is likely to come back at any moment?

It is strange to think that when I went to the sea I imagined that I was giving up the world. But one surrenders power in one form, and grasps it in another.

#iris murdoch #fiction #quotes #literature #classic #the sea the sea #booker prize

7 notes · View notes

its-chelisey-stuff · 4 years

Text

‘Love and Redemption’ eps 51-59 (final thoughts)

I feel empty but I’m happy. I finished it, it’s over and it’s going to my top favorite dramas of this year. What a crazy, beautiful, painful but rewarding ride! Also, that’s a huge ass poster but it seemed appropiate for the final post and it’s just gorgeous.

This is a very long post, you’ve been warned lol

First thing first: WE GOT A HAPPY ENDING. I loved the story but I knew, going into it that it was a hell of angst fest and that held me back a bit, except that I learned that it ended happily, and hey, I’m down for those endings. What can I say? I don’t do sad endings, real life is already messed up enough. Also, my boy Sifeng remained from beginning to end, my favorite character in the drama AND enters my honorable list of favorite male leads in dramas I keep thinking about making a real post with that list, maybe soon

I love Xuanji a lot. I want to make that clear before saying what’s next. While I think that she was definitely a lot dumber and gullible that I’d liked her to be, I understood why she was acting the way she did. During eps 41-50 she didn’t know what Sifeng was doing the way that we as viewers did. She had no idea. Could she have figured it out if she’d tried? Yes, but also, she had a precedent of letting revenge and resentment get the best of her in another 9 lives... so it was not really that crazy that she tried to kill Sifeng. Did I wanted to slap some sense into her? Totally, but I think she was punished enough for doubting him. Not only because she learned the truth of all those past lives and that she always hurt Sifeng but because our male lead himself punished her by pushing her away and given her the cold shoulder once she found him. After two years, mind you.

I think that, if you add all that up, it’s actually a bit more than what she deserved. Poor girl. Also, she totally made up for it once Sifeng forgave her, my heart melted/broke while she cared for him before and after finding out he was dying yet again, because of her, because he saved her.

And then Xuanji made the biggest, most in your face declaration of love and devotion in the whole three realms, when she found out that she was in fact not only the God of War but also the Star of Mosha aka the most terrible and evil dude to ever exist (Dijun’s words not mine) and still opened the crystal lamp... Because only by doing that she could save Sifeng’s life. She basically said “fuck the 3 realms and their peace, if Sifeng’s dead then I don’t care for anything” even when she knew she’d become a man which is hilarious to me bc what the fuck censors?

So Sifeng was no longer on mortal danger but he lost Xuanji sort of since she was now a man lol and thus we never broke the cycle of “we must make Sifeng suffer throughout the whole show”. I can appreciate the consistency of it, even if it broke my heart to see him like that.

And then the drama turned into a BL drama. Which made me laugh for a good almost 4 episodes. I loved it, it’s true. I can’t deny watching Sifeng stare lovingly at a man while holding his hands and telling him “I won’t leave you” didn’t do things to my heart and that my fangirling personality was left unaffected. I do have trouble coming to an understanding of the censors and their mystical ways because they were just not watching the drama. Or maybe they were, since they cut the ep count from 70 to 59. I do wonder what else was in that part of the story we’ll never get to see. Probs more gay stuff and hey! how dare you deprive me of it, censors?

I’m so glad most side plots and problems were resolved before these last 9 episodes, because then we had all that time to focus on OTP achieving a well deserved happy ending while exploring BL options AND the whole “God of War/Star of Mosha are the same person” was finally explained. Which, wow, it was heavy and fucking Dijun, you really are the shittiest shit excuse of a God to ever shit-exist. What an asshole. I felt really bad Luohuo Jidu, to be betrayed and mutilated in that way by a person you cared for and trusted... that’s a terrible violation to suffer. Truly horrible. He didn’t deserved any of that, he was innocent and he wasn’t going to harm anyone or bring war to the heavens. And the ending they gave to Dijun is my one problem with this drama, the one thing that I hated. But tbh no ending would’ve ever felt satisfactory to me. In the end, Xuanji’s attitude, indifference, was the best position to take, since revenge and hate wouldn’t have done any good.

I did enjoy a bit Dijun’s breakdown when the Heavenly Emperor showed him what could’ve happened if he’d never meddled in the whole affair with his stupid motivation to “save and guard the 3 realms”. It was all caused by him... and as much as I hate to admit it, without him, there wouldn’t be a drama. Think about it, had he not created the God of War, Xuanji wouldn’t exist and Sifeng would’ve never fallen in love with her. Everything was Dijun’s fault, including the love story and I feel conflicted about it ngl hahaha.

Which brings me to the revelation that Sifeng was XiXuan while in Heaven, the son of the Heavenly Emperor, a prince of the Heavens and the gasp, the shock, the screams out of my mouth!! It made a lot of sense that only someone in a high position would fly right in the middle of a heavenly execution and say “You’re not dying today, I will make them send you to the mortal realm and go through 10 tribulations. And I’m going with you.” Like !!!!!! Sifeng was SOOOOO Sifeng even before being Sifeng. Which is the reason why even Luohuo Jidu fell for Sifeng ha!

This was just Sifeng being a sexy badass telling his bf/gf “You need me”

The whole thing while Sifeng was on hell or whatever it’s called, with the Star of Mosha, was totally a BL drama plot and I was loving it. What a way to truly love someone, Sifeng. No matter if she was a dude or a woman or public enemy number 1, he was loyal and supportive of Xuanji in whatever form. Of course no one could resist that level of adoration and ultimately, Sifeng’s fierce love is what saved his life at the end since Luohuo Jidu gave him half of his heart, which reminds me, Heavenly Emperor is really one bad father he barely showed any concern for a son he hadn’t seen in 1000 years and died like 10 times. Wtf? He was also not only a bad father, but also the worst Heavenly Emperor, since he did nothing to prevent any of the problems in the last thousand years!

That was sooo straight of you, drama ;)

I didn’t really understood how Xuanji and Luohuo Jidu got separated but since they already had an independent mind and personality of the other, I guess that was the key? Whatever, love conquers all, and always wins.

After all the big revelations and stopping the end of the world, Sifeng was also in a coma for like a year or who knows how long and poor Xuanji waited/cared for him patiently. To me, it feels safe to say she suffered as much as Sifeng did and loved as loyally as him. Their wedding and their wedding night was stuff out of a fairytale and ChengYi’s ost was the perfect song for it, I was soooooo happy and couldn’t stop smiling like a fool.

The scene with the party, demons and mortals united and celebrating like equals and getting drunk, with Sifeng following his wife around the place while carrying their baby on his arms and trying to get her to put down the wine hahaha was the perfect and a well deserved ending for them.

I like to think they ascended again after a long, happy mortal life, and were free to love and adore each other for eternity. Sifeng, Xuanji, yours was a crazy as f*ck ride, full of pain and tears, but I’m so glad you loved each other so deeply, against all odds, curses, lies and whatnot. Cheers to you and your happiest ending!

I don’t know if I want a season 2! On one hand, if it’s the same cast I’d just have to see it, no question about it, though it ended perfectly. And if it is another cast, why do a second season at all?

#love and redemption #cdrama #yu sifeng #chu xuanji #cheng yi #crystal yuan #yuan bingyan

112 notes · View notes

chocoluckchipz · 4 years

Text

The Other You - 1

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

Chapter by @maerynn-blog

Gabriel Agreste’s death had been sudden, and unexpected.

Only a few months before the premiere of his first-ever women’s apparel collection, the famous fashion mogul had succumbed to a violent stroke at his home office in the early hours of the morning, apparently while busy reviewing the latest designs that had been submitted to him.

Few could state without lying that they would miss their boss. Gabriel had proven on more than one occasion to be solely driven by results and success, with no consideration whatsoever for his employees. Even fewer could say honestly that they would miss the man, for his late years had only cemented the cold and heartless facade he had forged throughout the years, setting the image of an implacable leader in stone despite himself.

Over the years, he had even alienated his very own son, with whom he had fallen out of touch as soon as Adrien had been old enough to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. Persistent rumours throughout the years suggested that Gabriel had disowned his son as a result of his desertion of the company, but seeing as Adrien found himself the sole owner of Gabriel following his father’s sudden passing, either those rumours were wrong or Gabriel had forgiven his only heir somewhere along the way.

Which could have been fine if the company had been left in capable hands, which, unfortunately, wasn’t the case. Gabriel Agreste had never entrusted anyone with his company’s well-being or any important decision regarding his brand. Even his almost lifelong personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur, had been merely blindly obeying orders without ever questioning them for most of her employment with Gabriel, and yet, she probably would’ve been the most qualified person to assure a smooth transition.

Coincidentally, Nathalie had gone into a well-deserved retirement only a few weeks before Gabriel’s ultimate demise, around the same time Gorilla hung up his luxury sedan keys and moved away to the seashore, admittedly to catch up with his growing-too-fast grandkids.

That meant that the week following Gabriel Agreste’s passing was pure chaos as far as Gabriel’s remaining staff and stockholders were concerned.

The artistic team was left without a leader to guide them, ideas and designs going nuts and wild without anyone to organize them and separate the wheat from the chaff.

The accounting team was going crazy dealing with the sudden and massive increase in resignations, the suppliers’ incessant calls wondering if they’d ever get paid, and the stockholders demanding answers about the uncertain future of the company.

The company’s lawyers were for the most part completely unreachable, busy as they were trying to figure out what exactly were the ramifications of their CEO’s sudden death. Who would take over the company if Adrien Agreste chose to surrender his notoriously unwanted position? Would he choose to sell the company to a third-party? And if he did, what would that entail? What would happen to the collections already out? The works-in-progress?

Above all, as the head designer of the upcoming brand new women’s line, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the most sleep-deprived, stressed-out, and overall most exhausted employee amongst the entirety of Gabriel’s staff. The young woman had spent the better part of the past week trying to coax any ideas out of the designers working under her with mixed success, only to discover that by Friday night, all but her and her assistant either quit or transferred to the men’s department, leaving Marinette to work on her collection alone.

The rational part of her brain wanted to leave as well, bury herself beneath a pile of luxury fabric and only come back up once everything had been cleared out and dealt with because as things currently were, everything in her life was going to shambles.

At twenty-five, a rising star yet a dropout from ESMOD due to an unexpected exclusive apprenticeship under Gabriel Agreste himself, she was sharing a pitiful two-bedroom apartment with Alya and Nino, desperately trying to gather enough savings to get a place of her own. Her salary as Gabriel’s head designer of the upcoming women’s department was more than decent, but it still wasn’t enough to live on her own in the centre of Paris close to work. Mostly because the line she was heading was experimental and any salary raises were dependent on its success at Fashion Week at the end of summer that year.

Going back to her parents wasn’t an option Marinette entertained, and so she had no choice but to put up with the ups and downs of living with a very in-love young couple, whereas she had yet to go on a second date, let alone have a boyfriend. Alya was relentlessly picking on her about that, pointing out mercilessly how she was married to her job, and wondering how in the world “fashion” would give her children. Usually, Marinette would shrug and effortlessly shift the conversation to another topic, but lately, the dangerous cocktail of exhaustion and anxiety for her future in the industry brewing up within her, coupled with Alya’s growing irritation toward her friend’s numerous disappearances and secrets, had sparked more than one nasty argument between the pair of best friends.

As a result, Marinette was carefully avoiding going home as much as she could.

She had spent the week running up and down every corridor, making sure the collection would come out without a hitch despite being carried over by a boat without a captain. She worked herself to the bone, overcompensating for the huge loss the team had just suffered. Marinette spent her days putting out fires, avoiding catastrophe after catastrophe, and devoted her evenings to working on designs, bringing them to completion, going home way past any decent hour every single day, making sure every design was on point, that every garment was sewn up to par.

It had truly been a week from hell as far as she was concerned.

Even without her less than ideal housing situation, she still would’ve stayed late every day. Her mentor, her boss, was six-feet-under, but Marinette couldn’t envision letting him down. Even if Gabriel definitely lacked warmth in his social interactions, he had taught her so much over the last few years, she felt that the least she could do was to hold down the fort for him. He had given her an unexpected opportunity by putting her in the head designer’s shoes, had believed in her against all odds, and the very idea of betraying his trust, even if he wasn’t there to witness it anymore, was making her sick to her stomach.

Even if staying instead of leaving the boat meant encountering Adrien Agreste in some corridor sooner or later.

Pushing that idea as far away as she could, Marinette knelt in front of her dress form, carefully hemming one of the designs she and Gabriel had been working on last. They had talked about this dress only a few hours before his unexpected death, and she wanted the final result to live up to his expectations; an homage of some sort.

Refusing to look at the clock, knowing it was already way later than what would be deemed reasonable, Marinette took a step back, admiring her work. The dress was gorgeous, flowing nicely around the dress form, but it was lacking that little playful flair Gabriel had been envisioning for it.

Struck with a sudden idea, she promptly rose from her work station and marched to Gabriel’s office, as she had done countless times before. She knew for a fact that he kept a nice assortment of satin ribbons in there, specifically a pretty pink velvet one that would add just the perfect touch to the garment.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was to find another living being in Gabriel’s office.

A familiar mop of blond hair was sprawled out on her late boss’ desk, broad, muscular shoulders slumped, accompanied by a loud and desperate groan.

Marinette paused on the threshold for a second, her heart caught in her throat, wondering if she could get away with picking up the ribbon she needed without being seen. That brief hesitation was her demise. As if feeling her presence in the room, the man looked up, and green eyes bore into hers, widening in surprise.

Marinette couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight of the man that had haunted her dreams for so many years. Sure enough, he had aged a bit since the last time their paths had crossed, but the years had been kind to him. His face had shed the roundness of his youth, bringing out a sharper, more angular jaw. His hair was a bit darker than it used to be, with a low fade haircut that accentuated his older, more mature appearance.

A single word kept replaying in Marinette’s mind at the handsome sight in front of her: danger.

Realizing she was gaping at him, Marinette mentally slapped herself across the face and promptly slipped back into her professional shoes. “Oh, I’m really sorry, Monsieur Agreste,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as she heard. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone in the building, otherwise I would’ve never barged in like that. I just need some supplies and then I’ll show myself out.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, Adrien silently watched Marinette tiptoeing through the room with the ease of someone who was more than accustomed to her surroundings. She opened a nearby cabinet without hesitating and foraged within, her entire torso disappearing into the apparent mess of fabrics and various sewing furniture. Less than thirty seconds later, she emerged victorious, holding a roll of the needed ribbon.

She looked at him again. His face was glazed over with a mix of sleepy confusion and disorientation.

“I—Sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur,” Marinette whispered. “Goodnight.”

Turning her back on him, she walked toward the door, failing to escape before he called.

“Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

With a sharp intake of breath, she spun on her heels, facing him again with widening eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Adrien rose from his seat, rounding the heavy desk promptly to close the distance between them. “You’re Marinette, aren’t you? We went to school together, back in Mlle Bustier’s class, with Nino and Al-”

“I remember you perfectly well, Monsieur Agreste.”

He stared at her in silence, matching her guarded expression. “So you ended up here after all?”

She sustained his gaze, her voice cold and professional, “Yes. Despite you, Monsieur Agreste, being a major ass toward me. Can I, please, get back to work now?”

His whole expression tensed as he carefully eyed her. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but then he deflated, sighing pitifully. “Very well. I still have these fabrics to pick anyway, and not a single clue about what I’m doing. Have a nice evening, Marinette.”

Marinette froze, her heart stilling in her chest.

Deep down, she knew she shouldn’t care.

Adrien’s problems weren’t in any way her own, and if someone had seen fit to put a physics teacher in charge of an entire fashion house, well, so be it. She had no say in the matter. Someone probably had decided to give him that menial task to keep his sheer incompetence away from what really mattered, an initiative she could only applaud.

But on the other hand, Gabriel had always been a man she admired greatly despite his cold facade, and the years she had spent working by his side hadn’t changed that. He was a brilliant designer and had literally dedicated up to his very last day to his art. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting Adrien ruin his father’s hard work—even if it was only ordering lousy fabric—not if she could help it. She had worked too hard to let him get in the way, and if she had to help him to earn herself the freedom of running her line like she wanted to, then she’d do it.

She glanced at the papers scattered on the desk behind him and frowned. “Don’t buy anything from Cosetti; he holds the weirdest grudge against your father for refusing to incorporate chiffon in the 2015 winter line. There’s a good chance he’ll try to scam you. Berkley’s might be more expensive, but I’ve seen swatches of the silk and it's severely lacking in quality. Zinya’s cheaper, better, and their seller is a real sweetheart.”

Adrien stared at her, dumbfounded, and it took him almost a full minute to find his voice again. “But—but, why would you help me? After—”

Marinette walked past him, shoulders tensed and a determined spark in her eyes. “Believe it or not, some of us actually rely on this company for a living, and I’m not letting it sink without putting up a fight. What else do you need to make a decision on?”

The young man blinked, and his professional persona kicked in. He joined her on the other side of the desk to show her the supplier submissions, tentatively pointing out what little progress he had made. Her tone toward him was cold yet polite as she effortlessly picked up where he had left off, giving him cues on their current relationships with various suppliers and broadly showing him the ropes of managing a fashion empire. Soon enough, Marinette pushed the last submission toward Adrien for a signature, got up, and grabbed her spool of ribbon.

“Marinette?” A little awkward but he looked at her as if she’d just saved him from a sinking boat in the middle of an ocean. “Thanks, I wouldn’t have made it without you, and—”

“Don’t,” Marinette cut him off. “I helped you only because my job is on the line. Good evening, Monsieur.”

She left Gabriel’s office in tense, stubborn silence, neither of them willing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

***

Later that night, Ladybug landed atop the Eiffel Tower, sitting beside her partner on one of the higher beams with a soft sigh.

He peered at her, surprised. “I thought you said you were going to lay off on the patrols for a bit?”

She stared at the horizon for a minute, a comfortable silence falling between them. His question still hovered, unanswered, but he knew her well enough to figure she was trying to organize her thoughts. Nearly a decade of knowing each other meant that most things could go unsaid between the pair.

Eventually, she scooted closer to him on the beam, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a comforting gesture that had become customary between them. She lay her head on his shoulder, sighing again.

“What’s wrong, Bug? Won’t your roommate be mad at you for disappearing again?”

She scoffed, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. “I’ll get an earful once I get home for sure, but I needed this. I need a breather with my best friend, my safe haven.”

He tensed a bit, hearing those words, “That bad?”

“This last week has truly been hell, and I missed you like crazy.” Ladybug sighed softly.

Chat Noir groaned inwardly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “This boss of yours is some special kind of a jerk if he left you guys with so much trouble upon quitting.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she was insulting Gabriel Agreste’s memory by letting her partner tarnish his reputation freely like this, but with news of his sudden passing all over Paris, and the fact that Chat Noir knew fairly well that his partner was working in fashion, there was no way she could set the record straight without giving away some compromising clues.

Instead, she settled on answering quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss on his cheek, “It’s not like he had a choice. He had urgent personal matters to attend to, and we’ll be alright… eventually.” She trailed off, her eyes following his to their very own private view of Paris. “How’s your relative?”

Chat Noir squirmed uncomfortably beside her, and she instantly regretted asking the question that had been burning on her lips for the past week. But ever since he had shown up unfashionably late to a patrol because of a mandatory trip to a hospital, she had been worried about that relative of his who was close enough to the superhero to warrant an immediate visit at the hospital, but in the meantime far enough that he was barely fazed by the whole ordeal.

“He…” Chat Noir began slowly, carefully avoiding her gaze, and in a sudden flash of clarity, she understood. The sick/injured relative wasn’t part of their world anymore, and her dear kitty was grieving in his own very personal way.

“I’m so sorry, Chaton. Can I do anything for you?” she cried, twisting in his embrace, so she sat in his lap instead of beside him.

He gave her a forlorn smile that looked every bit a fake on his handsome face. “Don’t worry about me, my Lady. I’ll manage. Get back to your roommate, things are bad enough between you two as it is. I’d like for you to survive the week, you know.”

She hated to admit it, but Ladybug knew he was right. If last week was any indication, they would probably get in an awful fight as soon as she set foot in their apartment.

But this?

Chat Noir’s unwavering support, his kind words, and reassuring presence over the last decade? The familiar warmth of his arms wrapped around her?

It was worth it, and a thousand times more.

Smiling softly, she eyed him playfully, “And when did you become the voice of reason between us two?”

“Ever since you started to believe working eighty hours a week was healthy. Go home, and get some sleep. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open.”

She leaned on him for a second, taking in his warmth. “Alright, silly cat. See you around?”

“Of course, my Lady. Now, go before she snaps at you again.”

Ladybug quickly pressed her lips against Chat’s cheek, and with one last small smile and an all-too-brief hug, she took off into the night, leaving her counterpart to his silent musings on the tower.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #adrienette #aged up #enemies to friends to lovers #the other you #a collab with a friend #myart #my art

108 notes · View notes