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sezja · 2 years ago

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Aethersup, part 2

Previously: Part 1

How he despises this part.

The realization, the fear - some of his victims respond with rage and violence, lashing out at him, their mortal strength shattering against his own, inexhaustible and uncanny, until at last they beg for mercy. Some simply weep and beg straightaway, pleading for some shred of the mercy he can’t afford to show. These he hates the most - he has begun avoiding those he fears most likely to attempt to appeal to his humanity… because they so often succeed in doing so, in convincing him to draw less from them than he should, putting his own survival at risk!

He much prefers the anger, the violence - even the skepticism; those who refuse to believe he is precisely what he claims to be until the moment he begins draining their aether.

Guydelot Thildonnet, a lackluster recruit of the Gods’ Quiver and a novice bard, known for slacking off and failing to report for duty more often than not, struck him at first as the type to be skeptical - or perhaps, on an outside chance, angry. Whatever his reaction, though, Sanson Smyth had chosen the man for one simple reason: his absence was unlikely to raise questions, at least not at first. Those who might mark his disappearance would presume, like as not, that he was off hiding from duty - by the time his continued absence became noteworthy, it would nearly be time for Sanson to release him. There will be no search, no outrage or outcry for the man’s safety. This much Sanson has planned for.

What he had not planned on was the man mistaking him for a fellow victim.

They’d very nearly been having a conversation - albeit very one-sided, given Sanson’s bewilderment at the impossibility of the situation - before he’d revealed himself, and now that silence descends between them, Sanson finds he aches for that conversation once more. How long has it been since he last-

No. No! He cannot afford to see his victims as aught but what they are: sustenance, no more.

“Yes,” he says, at last, when he is certain he can trust his voice. “I am what you might know as a vampire. I will feed on you for only one moon,” he assures his captive; he has long since determined that one moon strikes the balance he requires: enough aether to sustain him without lethally draining his victims. He leaves them exhausted, ill, but strong enough yet to survive… and then he begins the search anew - allowing himself to grow weak again in the process. He will not allow himself to become a glutton where mortal lives are the price for sating his hunger. “Only one moon,” he repeats, “and then I will free you, to return to your life as you knew it.”

Guydelot takes a deep breath.

Processes this information.

And then, incredibly, shrugs.

“Seems fair,” he says at last, as though Sanson had suggested nothing more unusual than a favor between friends.

It cannot be so simple. “You understand that I will be… feeding on your aether, your very being,” Sanson says, uncertain, unaccustomed to such a… well, such a non-response, he supposes. “The process may be painful-”

“And in the meantime, I get to stay here, aye?” Guydelot rolls himself into the bed, stretching out to his full length, propped up against the pillows. The fool has the audacity to grin. “Free room and board for a moon, free meals - you’ll need to get my strength up, aye? - and no orders to follow, no commanders to ignore, and your lovely face for company! Hells, I’d give up more than my aether for that. Give me my harp, and I’ll call this paradise, and for cheap.”

This is a new response. Sanson struggles for a moment to make sense of it, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand, he tells himself, Or at the very least, he believes it all a jest.

“You never told me your name,” the bard says, yawning as he nestles himself into the pillows. “Seems to me it’s only polite that you introduce yourself before you go and make a meal of me. And it wouldn’t kill you to dust this room once in a while, eh? Even I keep my place cleaner than this.”

“I- are you scolding me-”

“I’m protesting my living quarters. There’s an ilm of dust on that desk, and no ink, either.”

“This is not a-”

“Might be as I’d like to compose a song or two while I’m here, eh? Without my harp, that’d mean writing something down, and I can’t do that without-”

“You,” Sanson says, pointing at the man, “are trying to annoy me into releasing you early, and it will not happen!”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” Guydelot’s eyebrows rise. “Touchy, aren’t you? If you don’t feel like giving me your name, seems like I’ll have to give you one, and believe you me, you won’t care for any names I might come up with-”

“Sanson,” he cuts in, unwilling to speculate as to what sort of names a bard might be able to concoct. It matters little. The man will be far less eager to talk once he realizes this is no cruel jest. “My name is Sanson.” Or it had been, in another life, he supposes; before a voidsent had taken up residence in his soul, feeding on his own aether and turning him into this…

Guydelot considers the name, as though weighing it. “Sanson.” And then: “Sanson Smyth. You were the first to disappear…” His words trail off.

“...Never to return,” Sanson concludes. “Yes.”

He’d woken here himself, chained to this very bed, shortly before the Calamity, by a very mortal mage who had found him alone in the depths of the Twelveswood - Sanson had never learned how that man had spirited him into the locked and barred secret halls of Amdapor. The whispers of the voidsent trapped within had guided him in, no doubt. Sanson recalls little of those awful days: he spent them drugged and terrified, while his captor drew blood, lit candles, traced summoning circles on the floor in Sanson’s blood and his own, chanting rites and vows Sanson cannot recall now… though he swears he hears them still in his nightmares.

Rites meant to summon forth a voidsent slave, and bind it in Sanson’s flesh.

Insofar as that, the ritual must be considered a complete success. What his captor hadn’t counted on, however, was the resulting creature’s incessant hunger for mortal aether, and having failed to provide a sacrifice for his new pet-

Sanson shutters the memory away, closing the door on it once more and locking it up tight. It matters not how he came to be, only that he is. His memories of his time as a mortal are sparse and hazy now; how much of his personality now belongs to the mortal boy plucked from his life and fed to the Void, and how much of it is instead the creature summoned from beyond? He does not know. He cannot know.

Whoever he was before, that man is dead now.

“And all this time you’ve been hiding here,” Guydelot muses, gazing at the canopy above his head. “Snatching people from the Shroud to keep up your strength.” He lets the thought hang in the air between them… and then, as though dismissing it entirely, he shrugs once more. “Right, then, Sanson it is. Well, Sanson, let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Taken aback once more by the man’s utter lack of… of concern, Sanson blinks. “Get on with…?”

“Are you gonna feast on my aether or not?”

Bizarrely, disconcertingly, he feels very nearly bashful. “I… most people desire a night to prepare themselves for-”

“Why? You don’t need me to do anything, right? Just lie back and let you do your thing?” The man tips his head in Sanson’s direction, grinning once again, as though the whole thing were an enormous lark and he is enjoying himself immensely. “Or is it like the stories, where you need my blood?” He reaches up, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his tunic, exposing his pale throat to the candlelight.

Despite himself, Sanson takes another step backward, startled. “I- you are not taking this seriously!” It’s true that blood is the most efficient source of aether, but he has not feasted on blood since- “I do not require your blood.”

“Aye, well, don’t say I didn’t offer.” Leaving his collar unbuttoned, he settles back against the pillows once more. “Between you, me, and the bedpost, you look bloody terrible, Sanson. How long’s it been since your last meal, eh?”

He doesn’t have the bloodflow necessary to blush. “That is none of your concern.”

“I’d say you’re about all I have to be concerned about right now, and you look like you’re on death’s doorstep. So?” He gestures to his body as though putting it on display, every towering ilm of it. “Look at all this aether I’m doing nothing with. You already said you’re planning to turn me loose at the end of the moon, so I know you aren’t planning to take all of it, aye? So go on, then. Tonight’s meal’s on me.”

Why is he hesitating? It flies in the face of his routine, his expectations, to have his victim simply… consent like this, to insist upon his feeding. Surely he ought to welcome it. In his weakened state, even slipping unseen in and out of Guydelot’s room with food earlier had been taxing, to say nothing of bringing Guydelot here, slipping past the defenses surrounding the city; another day or two of this and he may find himself unable to rise at all. But. But. He is not yet ravenous, not yet so hungry he cannot control the aetherlust; he had anticipated being unable to feed until tomorrow-

But he is hungry. Gods, is he hungry.

“Lie stil,” he orders, but his voice comes out strangled, rather than authoritative.

Guydelot makes a show of getting comfortable while the vampire approaches the bed - Sanson is wary, in case this is all simply a ploy to get him within range to attempt an attack, but the bard remains docile. Only his racing pulse - which Sanson, with his heightened predator’s senses, can hear as easily as a ringing bell - and his too-steady gaze betray his fear, imperfectly masked by his casual bravado. Still, despite that fear, he makes no effort to recant his offer, nor does he flinch away when Sanson sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for him.

“You said this’d hurt,” Guydelot says, a touch unsteadily, as Sanson rests his fingertips on the man’s face. He hasn’t yet learned to draw aether without skin-to-skin contact - not without blood, at any rate.

He makes himself meet the man’s eyes: his bravery - or foolishness - deserves that much, surely. “It may. It hurts some more than others. I know not why.” He hesitates. “I could… put you to sleep, if you would like?” He has power enough remaining for that, surely. It is something he often must do for more difficult victims, to spare himself the necessity of wrestling them into submission.

But Guydelot shakes his head - gently, not dislodging Sanson’s hands. “Reckon I ought to be awake and present for this.” He closes his eyes, though. Clears his throat. “Right. Go on.”

He’s careful - Guydelot’s compliance allows him to draw slowly, a measured trickle of aether, like a small wound. It gives him the opportunity to study the peculiar man, this singular victim: he never takes the time to consider the people he claims, never more than weighing how likely their disappearances will slip past the notice of Gridania as a whole… but here he sits, with Guydelot so very placid in his hands, and he may allow his own thoughts to wander past the need for aether. It’s dangerous, of course, and foolish. If he allows himself to become distracted, he may draw too much, push Guydelot past that fatal line-

But part of him is mortal still.

And Guydelot is handsome, with his sharp jaw and slim nose, and his dark eyelashes curling upon his cheekbones. His shirt remains unbuttoned: Sanson can see his pulse beating in his throat, and his collarbones exposed to the cool night air. His skin is warm under Sanson’s touch, and he does not pull aether so quickly as to feel the skin cool sharply; no, it remains warm. His breathing is steady - Sanson feels each exhale ghost over his hand. Most of his victims are still hyperventilating by this stage, whimpering prayers to unhearing gods. If Guydelot prays, he does so in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Warmth begins to fill his veins. He watches as his own hands become less skeletal, more substantial. Sensation returns as his nerves reignite, rejoicing in the return of aether. The beginnings of stubble on Guydelot’s cheeks prickle at Sanson’s fingertips, and the sensation is strangely enticing; he must fight the urge to cup the elezen man’s face between his hands completely, the better to feel it.

He swallows the impulse down, mortified - ‘tis no true desire which fuels the urge, of course! No, he simply hasn’t been this close to someone who has… if not welcomed his touch, at the very least invited it, enough to lie quiescent but aware while he takes what he must.

There is a strange, unfamiliar intimacy in it.

Sanson withdraws, sooner than perhaps he should - he could yet take a good deal more from Guydelot, and should, on a first feed… but he can’t. He can’t. Already he feels he goes too far - and not in the amount of aether he’s drawing.

The man’s eyelids flutter, opening to reveal slightly-hazy blue eyes. No pain. No fear. “All… all done?”

“For now, yes.” Though he doesn’t usually ask, he hears himself say, “Are you well?”

Guydelot smiles. Guydelot smiles, and Sanson’s heart aches in his chest for the first time in years. “Didn’t hurt at all,” the bard replies, lifting a hand to cup Sanson’s cheek. He could have pulled away in time to avoid the man’s weak, aether-drained touch, Sanson knows. So why didn’t he? And why doesn’t he pull away now?

“Look at you,” Guydelot murmurs, drowsily slurring. “Really needed that…”

The hand drops heavily to the sheets, Guydelot’s head falls back agains the pillows, and the man sinks like a stone into the depths of sleep. Sanson lingers beside him a moment longer, watching. Marveling.

What a strange moon this is going to be!

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #my writing #aethersup #this is the shortest chapter thus far #but it's a good one!

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fortuositywritings · 4 years ago

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I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 5

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, House Map

Summary: Movie theater, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and the county fair

“We can come back to get the rest. I don’t understand why you’re doing that.”

Wanda watches you struggle trying to carry everything you brought from the store but two bags that Wanda herself is carrying.

“Because, my young Padawanda, it is one of the most important rules of the Jedi Code. One must never make a second trip to the car lest he be a nerd.”

“Oh my gosh! Have you seen Star Wars?” You and Wanda turn your heads towards the porch where Sam and Peter reside. Peter runs down to you in excitement. “Which ones have you seen?”

“Only like all of them!” you answer, just as excited as Peter to have someone else here who likes the movies. Laura finds them boring, Clint thinks they’re too long, and Nat says she’s not a child. You tried watching them with Cooper and Lila but they fell asleep halfway through. So no one can blame you for getting excited. Unfortunately, the little bounce that accompanied your answer causes a few things to slip from your arms, but Peter, given his incredible reflexes, catches them all before they touch the ground. “The force is strong with this one,” you tell him.

“And a second trip is what makes you a nerd.” Sam mumbles under his breath on his way over to help by taking the bags from Wanda. “What’s on your neck?” He asks her. Her hand flies up to her neck only to find it sticky.

“It’s what happens when you mess with a Jedi,” you answer for her in a silly voice making Peter laugh. You also make Wanda blush as she recalls how it happened, but you don’t see this since you and Peter are already making your way to the house. Sam, however, does notice Wanda’s face and recognizes that look, leaving him stumped. Wanda only snaps out of her trance when the door closes behind you and Peter.

“I don’t get it,” he says to Wanda. “What is it about her? Is it the confidently flirty but still kind of geeky thing that does it for you ladies?”

Wanda, embarrassed at being caught, heads to the house ignoring Sam’s questions. She can still hear him as he yells after, “Don’t walk away! I need to know if nerds are the thing now!”

Sam catches her in the kitchen along with you and Peter putting things you bought where they’re meant. Instead of asking Wanda anything, he turns his questions to you and Peter, who you all find out has a girlfriend now. Sam guesses his “nerds are in” theory correct based on that and soon he is agreeing to watch Star Wars with you, Peter, and Wanda. He threw Wanda a subtle wink when neither you nor Peter were looking as if to say ‘you’re welcome’ for including her in those plans. Clint, coming in from the side door, catches the ending of that conversation and groans.

“No! Laura! Peter and Y/N found an interest they can both be annoying about,” he goes to complain to his wife. Later though, he as well as everyone else joins you to watch the movie. You and Peter thoroughly answer all of Sam and Pietro’s questions and hush everyone at your favorite parts, mouthing the lines along with the scene. Wanda ends up not watching the movie anymore but watching you and she begins to wonder if maybe Sam was right.

***

“How much longer?” you find yourself asking the next morning trying not to sound as out of breath as you are. You’ve been jogging for you don’t know how long now but it feels way longer than what Nat had promised it would be when she woke you up at six in the morning.

“Another mile,” she answers, no sign of struggle in her voice as if this is a cakewalk. You suppose it is for her since she’s had to slow down numerous times for you to catch up.

“Another mile?!”

“Hey, you said you would keep up today,” Nat reminds you.

“You know you can’t trust anything I say during my haven’t-had-caffeine-yet hours. Don’t I get points for trying?”

“Like your little green friend says, ‘Do or do not, there is no try’,” Nat retorts.

“I knew you were paying attention last night!” You increase your pace to jog beside her. “You can act too tough to like Star Wars all you want around everyone else, but I’ll always know the truth.” You can see her shake her head from the corner of your eye. You don’t say anything for a moment, but being one who cannot let the quiet linger too long, as Tanya would attest to, you speak up. “So, how’s your little green friend doing?”

You turn your head for a second to show Nat you were genuinely looking for an answer and in the next she’s practically running away from you. She went fast but not quick enough for you to miss the little redness creeping up on her cheeks. You have never in your years of knowing her seen her blush before. You have seen her sweat after a sparring match with Clint, get a bit of a sunburn, and get so angry she looked like she would pop a vein, but not one of those times were her cheeks turning a rosy color. Aww, Romanov’s in love. Once you’ve come to that conclusion, you go to tease her. Wait, where did she go?

“You asshole!” You yell at Nat who you finally find casually leaning on the car door watching you storm up to her. It took you an hour to find the car after losing the trail you were on trying to find Natasha. She doesn’t even flinch as she reaches over and pulls a twig out of your hair. “What happened to you?”

“You left me!” You huffed, walking around to the passenger side while Nat got in the driver seat unfazed. Truth be told, after 30 minutes without any sign of Nat, you thought she was putting you through some kind of test. You were getting paranoid, so it’s not surprising you took a tumble when you swiftly tried to avoid an attack from what turned out to be a squirrel running up a tree. But you’ll just keep that to yourself forever.

You head straight to the shower when you get to the house ignoring the morning greetings from those you pass on the way. “What’s up with her?” Sam asks Nat in the living room. “She hasn’t had her caffeine yet.”

You let the shower wash away your moodiness which, you can admit to yourself alone, stemmed for the most part from embarrassing yourself. Afterwards, you head to the kitchen ready to eat whatever everyone had for breakfast, but come up empty. You guess they’d finished all of it if the plates and pan left out to dry say anything. You open the fridge looking for something to eat. Maybe there is something in there you can heat up. Unlike Laura, Wanda, and self proclaimed chef Pietro, you cannot cook to save your life.

“What’s cooking, good looking?” Speak of the devil. Maybe he can make you something? You know all it would take is some batting of the eyelashes and a compliment. No, Wanda said no. But there is nothing in the fridge to heat up and you were hungry. Wanda would surely understand it was for the greater good, right? Already breaking the first rule, I see.

Caught red handed, you look over Pietro’s shoulder to see Wanda walking into the kitchen to join you two. She’s raising her eyebrows at you waiting for an answer.

“Okay, new rule,” you say. Pietro is confused at what he assumes is your response until he sees that you aren’t talking to him. “No more reading my mind,” you say sternly, pointing at Wanda.

Pietro smirks. “Yeah, I don’t need you to hear what goes on Y/N’s mind when she is thinking about me,” he says to Wanda. Both you and Wanda roll your eyes. “Sam is asking for you outside,” is all she says to him and off he goes with a groan.You groan as well, the chance of getting someone to make you food leaving with him.

“You could have just asked me, you know?” Wanda says, leaning against the sink.

“I thought I said no mind reading,” you remind her. She chuckles when you close the refrigerator door and hit your head against it in defeat.

“I wasn’t,” she defends. “I was serious when I said he can’t cook. I may have saved you from food poisoning.”

“Maybe, but I would have been full and happy for a moment. Since you chased away my shot at food, I think you should make it up to me by making me some breakfast,” you try, leaning against the fridge.

“Oh? I should, should I?” You nod confidently thinking it might just work, but she tears that thought away when she continues, “Cause I remember you still needing to make it up to me when you didn’t buy the ice creams.”

You frown, “I thought you’d forgotten about that.” She smiles, with nose scrunch and all, shaking her head. “Fine, you want to go to the fair? I’ll take you to the fair tomorrow!”

“A fair? I want to go!” you hear Cooper shout. He is coming in through the back door with Lila who looks just as excited and with Nat who does not. You ignore Nat’s face when you tell Cooper that you can all go to the fair. He and Lila run off in excitement to tell the others. Nat glares at you as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“See,” you turn to Wanda. “Now I have to take you for sure. Make me some food now, please,” you beg her, drawing out the word please. She squints her eyes like she’s thinking about it and then, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you,” you throw her a huge smile at which Wanda rolls her eyes.

“But if you are going to be here,” she says pushing you away from the fridge, “you are going to help. You’ve got to learn how to cook for yourself.” And you do just that. You nod along intently listening to all her instructions, not wanting to miss a thing. Sometimes you’d interrupt to make a joke and when one is about her brother, she playfully punches you. You are so immersed in your little bubble, you forget Nat is not too far away watching your interaction with curiosity. She has you try the food first and you could almost moan. You notice a blush creeping up on Wanda’s face and suddenly she’s avoiding your eyes.The food is so good and you were so hungry that maybe you did let out a little noise of satisfaction. Before you could say anything, another voice interrupts, “What’s this I hear about a fair?”

You turn slowly recognizing the tone your cousin uses. It’s the who-made-these-plans-without-asking-me-first tone. You smile at Laura, mouth full of food. You see Nat point at you but Laura was already looking at you. “Yeah, I think she knows it was me, Natasha.”

***

A few uneventful hours go by and you are bored out of your mind. You have a sudden urge to go out seeing as the sun was still shining. You pull out your phone having an idea of what to do to kill some time. You scroll through your phone to see what movies are playing at the only movie theater in town. You see that the next showing is for a horror movie.

“Do you like scary movies?” you turn to the group playing Uno in the living room. Pietro gets up in excitement when you mention going to the movie theater. Sam agrees to come as well and drags Peter out the door when Peter wants to stay claiming it’s to keep the kids company. You are about to head out with everyone but you notice Wanda still sitting on the couch. You wait for her to get up when Pietro says, “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s too chicken to watch scary movies.”

Wanda, offended, gets up quickly from the couch, “Am not. I just think they’re boring.”

“Sure,” Pietro chuckles as he heads out the door.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” you tell her. You think she is going to stay, but she starts heading out the door to the car.

“You sure that’s not enough butter, Y/N?” Peter asks you when he sees how much butter he’s already put in the bucket at your insistence. He can feel some of it through the bucket already.

“Fine, that’s good. You grab some napkins. I’ll hold the bucket,” you tell him after you see his eyebrows scrunch. You all go to the designated room and pick a row to sit in having pretty much any seat you want since it was practically empty. You sit down next to Peter and notice Pietro’s eyes falling to the empty seat on your other side. He aims to sit next to you but his sister who was sitting next to Peter before beats him to it. He throws her a confused look as he shuffles his way down to sit in her abandoned seat. “Real subtle there, Wanda,” you say, amused more than anything.

“I can see the screen better from here.” You let her bad excuse slide and turn to the screen as the movie begins to play. Between you, Peter, and Pietro, the popcorn is gone in record time. The jumpscares begin halfway through the movie. Peter holds the empty bucket as a safety blanket which you find adorable. You don’t even know if Wanda is watching the movie. She’s got her eyes somewhat hidden behind her fingers. You want to tease her, so you reach to take her fingers away from her face, but another jumpscare happens and she takes your hand in her free one. You feel her squeeze the life out of your hand in anticipation of another jumpscare.

Your palm begins to sweat and you start to feel uncomfortable with all the butter on your fingers, so you slip your hand out from hers. She turns to you in question. “Sorry, my hand’s full of butter,” you whisper. She reaches over you to ask Peter something. Without a word, she leans back in her seat with napkins in her hand and cleans all the butter off your hand before taking it in hers once more, this time interlacing your fingers. She turns her focus back to the movie. You feel you should just do the same, so you follow her actions. You let her hold your hand for the rest of the movie until the lights come back up.

Wanda shouldn’t have watched that movie. It is much too dark in the bedroom. It is much too quiet. She can hear Nat’s soft breathing from beside her. The silhouettes of various items around the room are creeping her out. She doesn’t think she is going to be sleeping any time soon. Maybe some tea will help. She gets up quietly trying not to wake Nat, but when she’s at the door, Nat asks, “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom,” Wanda lies easily. She’d rather not let Nat know that she couldn’t sleep because of some scary movie. What kind of superhero would that make her? As she heads downstairs, she wonders if you were still awake. She turns down the hallway to peek into the living room and sure enough you were still awake watching television. She walks over to you behind the couch. “What are you watching?” she asks. You feel your soul leave your body not having heard her approach. She giggles as she walks around to sit next to you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, just warn a girl next time.” She turns her attention to the show. “It’s Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. It’s really good. I used to watch it with Laura when she would babysit while my mom was at work. Some of the jokes I wouldn’t even understand but I’d laugh ‘cause she was laughing,” you reminisce.

“You and her are very close.”

“Yeah, well, she’s practically the only family I have. My mom passed not so long ago and seeing as there was never a dad in my family picture, my aunt and uncle took me in. I don’t have any siblings and neither does Laura so, she’s kind of it.” You add, “Well, apart from Clint, Nat, and the kids of course.”

Another two scenes go by on the show before you ask, “Did you have a nightmare or could you not fall asleep?”

Wanda looks down embarrassed so you add, “I promise I’m not teasing. I’m just asking.”

“I couldn’t sleep. It was too quiet and dark and Natasha was already asleep, so I thought I would come down here,” she replies.

“Oh, so you thought I would definitely put you to sleep. Wow, I don’t see how this friendship is going to work if you think I bore you to sleep,” you tease. Upon seeing her tired smile, you take pity and pat your thighs and gesture for her to lie down. “Come here.”

When she lays her head on your lap, you begin running your fingers through her hair. You hear her yawn and a few minutes later you find her sound asleep. Careful not to wake her, you reach over to the blanket you were meant to use on you and throw it over her body instead. Another two episodes play before you fall asleep.

***

You wake up once again with a sore neck and you feel that your body might be as well, but when you remember the reason, you don’t find it in yourself to complain. You look around prepared to see Nat in gym clothes holding a coffee cup but you find the living room empty apart from you and Wanda. You look out the window and see the sun is barely about to rise. Surprised to have woken up before anyone else, you decide to make the most of it but you are quickly sidetracked getting distracted by Wanda’s sleeping form. “I can feel you staring,” she says, her voice husky which you try hard not to find attractive. She turns her head to look up at you with sleepy eyes. “Friends don’t do that.”

“I was not staring. I was admiring,” you respond. “And friends can admire their friends.”

“Well mine don’t the way you do.”

“Ain’t that a shame.” You boop her nose with your finger making her scrunch her nose.

“They do, however, let me sleep,” she jokes. She turns her head back as if she was to go back to sleep and you decide this might be the best time to get up. You gently lift her head from your lap and swivel your body off the couch. “Where are you going?” she whines, when you place a pillow under her head.

“I am going to wake Nat up for once in my life,” you reply with determination. You stretch and shake your legs trying to get the feeling back in them.

“Good luck with that,” is the last thing Wanda says before closing her eyes and going back to sleep. You head to the kitchen to start the coffee pot and then make your way upstairs. Luckily, the door was left open so you don’t make any noise on your way in. You tiptoed your way to Natasha and bent down so your face was eye level to hers. You honestly can’t believe you’ve made it this far since she is the lightest sleeper. This is the spy they chose for the Avengers? You giggle to yourself imagining the face Nat is going to make when you scare her. Oh, if they could see her now…they would be satisfied with their choice, you think as you try to choke out, “Uncle. Uncle.” Nat somehow has you in a choke hold and you are tapping furiously on her arm. Once she realizes it’s you she lets go.

“Y/N, what the hell! I could have hurt you!” she yells at you as you’re coughing. You stare at her unbelievably, rubbing at your neck, and once you can speak again you say, “Then what was this to you? Some light foreplay?”

Once you both settle down, she realizes you were up before her. You take some exercise attire out for yourself from your luggage. You might not like to exercise but gym clothes are sure comfy to lie around in. “You gotta keep up, Natasha. You don’t want the boss man to catch you slacking. Oh, I’m also making coffee so don’t worry about that.”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing. You smile in turn. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ll catch you downstairs.”

You leave her to change and head downstairs with your clothes. You go to the kitchen first and make two cups of coffee. Then you go to the restroom to change. After she finishes changing, Nat goes to the kitchen and sees you were not kidding. Natasha takes her cup of coffee to the living room as she always does and finds Wanda asleep on the couch. She sighs as things start adding up. She guesses this is the reason for the lack of a grumpy attitude from you so early in the morning. She wants to say something but Nat would rather take a motivated Y/N over Y/N complaining every five minutes on their hike. So, she doesn’t say anything for now.

You actually keep up with Nat this time and to top it off you don’t talk too much like you always do. Nat thinks it’s because you're in a good mood giving you motivation, but the reason for keeping her pace and keeping quiet is your fear she’ll leave you again if you say something to set her off and lose her like yesterday. Nat even goes as far as giving you a compliment at the end. Well, semi-compliment, but her “Not too bad, Y/N”s are few and far between so you return to the house feeling proud of yourself.

This time you’re the one saying good morning to everyone when you enter. You see a few of them still eating breakfast in the kitchen. You hope there will still be leftovers by the time you come back down after showering. Knowing how some of the guys eat, it is going to have to be a quick shower. Laura sees you eyeing the food and says, “Don’t worry, we saved you a plate.” And here you thought Wanda was the mind reader. “Wanda told us you were grumpy yesterday from not catching breakfast so we made sure to make more.” That explains it. You smile, happy someone kept you in mind. Now you can shower in peace. You thank her and head upstairs.

“You saw that, right?” Laura turns to Clint and Nat who walked in not too long before you left.

“She’s been like that all morning. Not one ‘Are we done yet?’ or ‘Why do you hate me, Natasha?’ on our hike,” Nat replies in a hushed tone as if it’s so unlike you to be agreeable in the morning.

“Do you think it has anything to do with a certain somebody?” Laura felt the need to ask.

“Well she didn’t just find a love for exercise,” Nat sarcastically says.

Clint sighs, “Do you think we have to talk to her again?”

Nat goes to respond, but Laura cuts off whatever Nat was going to say, “No, if anyone is going to talk to her, it’s me. And it’s not going to be some crappy ‘no dating’ rule type of conversation. You two are great when it comes to getting someone to talk with your intimidation, but save that for your job, which speaking of, Wanda is your coworker, so you may want to talk to her as well if you had to talk to Y/N because last I remember it takes two to tango.”

Nat and Clint stare at Laura in shock, embarrassment and guilt rightfully taking over their bodies. “Are we clear?” Laura asks them though it’s more of a statement leaving no room for argument.

“Yes.” “Yeah.”

Upstairs, you make your way to the guest room to grab some clothes. Wanda is sitting on the bed reading her book. She is still dressed in her pyjamas, which makes you smile. The sound of her turning the page shakes you from your thoughts and saves you from staring a bit too long. Wanda smirks without bothering to look away from her book and you know she caught you.

“Morning, I’m just gonna get some clothes,” you explain as you move to where your bag is. Wanda speaks up while you zip your duffle closed, “I’m sorry for bothering you last night.”

“Come on, Wanda. You could never be a bother,” you say sincerely, giving her a smile that she shyly returns. “Alright, the shower is calling my name.”

“Yeah, I can hear it screaming,” she jokes and laughs when you take mock offense, “Hey!” She goes back to reading when she sees you heading out the door but you call her attention once more, “Oh! Thanks for telling them to save me a plate.”

“Of course,” she replies like it wasn’t even worth mentioning. You nod at her and then go to shower, closing the guest room door behind you.

A few seconds later, the door opens up again and Wanda amusedly says, her eyes never straying from the page she’s reading, “Did the shower call the wrong name?”

“No, it was definitely calling Y/N’s and mine too, I’m sure, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

Wanda’s head diverts to the door at Nat’s voice.

“And you needed back up for it?” Wanda looks over to Clint who awkwardly stands behind Nat.

Clint clears his throat, “Well it was only fair if Y/N got both of us, you did too.”

Wanda straightens her posture as she places her book beside her. “Ah, so this is about Y/N. I had a feeling.”

Nat and Clint come into the room, Clint closing the door behind him. Nat goes to sit on the end of the bed and Clint stands behind her. “Look, we were wrong to tell Y/N what to do or rather not do. She is an adult and has the right to do whatever she wants, but you have to understand she’s someone who tends to get ahead of herself and we didn’t- we don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Nat starts.

“So you’re saying she is getting ahead of herself with me? That what? Come two weeks, she’ll realize she doesn’t want me?” Wanda starts to get visibly upset.

“No, that’s not what-” Clint tries to speak but Wanda is not done talking. “Even if that was the case, it would be her choice. It would be my choice.”

“Wanda, you are not going to be here in two weeks. You are not going to be here in a few days,” Natasha calmly says trying to reason. “Look, we love Y/N, okay? But she often finds herself making mistakes-”

“So I would just be another mistake?

“No, you would be a dangerous one,” Nat says trying to get something through to Wanda.

“I would never hurt her.”

“No, maybe not intentionally,” Nat continues, and when Wanda looks like she is going to argue, Clint interrupts, “Wanda, just let her finish.” Wanda takes a breath to calm herself down and then nods for Natasha to carry on.

“Being in our lives more than she has to could get her hurt. Even this morning, I hurt her when she was probably just trying to play some stupid prank. Being around us is dangerous. Why do you think Clint kept all this a secret,” Nat motions around the room. “Why do you think I was so upset about her and Yelena? Why do you think we haven’t said anything to Y/N before? Those other girls aren’t you. Those other girls aren’t Yelena. I don’t even know where she is right now. We live different lives. Say things do work out with Y/N. Much like I don’t know where my sister is, there will be times she won’t have a clue where you are or if you’re okay. When Clint and I say we don’t want anyone to get hurt, it goes both ways.”

“Wan, have you seen my blue shirt with the buttons?” Pietro storms into the room like a man on a mission, not even bothering to acknowledge Nat and Clint are in the room as well. “I know I packed it.” Not until he reads the hurt in Wanda’s eyes does he read the room and like the protective sibling he is, he is quick to get defensive. “What’s happening here?”

Her brother’s interruption could not have come at a better time. Wanda didn’t know how to respond to Nat’s explanation. She was feeling herself choke up, Vision’s voice springing in her head again. She’s happy to have Pietro here so willing to jump in to defend her but she doesn’t want to drag him into it, so she clears her throat and says, “Nothing. We were just talking.” He still looks unsure, so she gets up from the bed and offers, “I’ll help you look for it.” Her eyes plead for him to let it go. Luckily, he does and heads out the door. Clint and Nat watch Pietro leave and Wanda stop by the door. “You don’t have to worry. Y/N made it clear to me that we’re just friends,” she says in defeat, then turns to follow her brother.

“Well, that went well,” Clint says sarcastically.

Wanda spends the next two hours helping Sam, Peter, and Pietro get ready. She helps Sam pick an outfit first seeing as he was the first to shower. She has to pry one of Peter’s t-shirts from his hands saying he’s twice Peter’s size and he cannot pull the nerdy look. She helps Peter next. It’s mostly just styling his hair he needs help with. At last she helps her brother after having knocked on the bathroom door four different times telling him to hurry up.

“How does the one with superspeed take an hour in the shower?” Sam asks rhetorically. Sam, Wanda, and Peter are on the bed in Cooper’s room watching Pietro straighten out his shirt.

“Hey, it takes time to look this good,” Pietro says as he fixes his collar. All three of them nearly roll their eyes. “Do you think Y/N will like this shirt?”

“Yeah, if it was on Wanda, maybe,” Sam snorts. Peter holds back a chuckle while Wanda tries not to react.

“You look nice,” Wanda says, not wanting to tear down her brother’s confidence. Everyone’s attention is drawn to the closed door when someone knocks. They hear you ask if you can come in. Pietro responds, “One second.” He goes to lean against Cooper’s desk casually and all three on the bed try really hard not to laugh. Peter has to shove his face in a pillow. “Okay, come in.”

You let yourself into the room, your eyes falling on Wanda immediately. “Not that you don’t look nice in them, but do you really plan on wearing your pjs to the fair?” you tease her. “I mean, you’ll for sure be turning heads, if that’s the plan.”

She replies, “I was waiting on the shower. Someone was taking their time.” She points her head in Pietro’s direction who gives you a nod in acknowledgement and a “‘sup?” Sam’s mouth forms a line trying so hard not to laugh out loud. Peter’s face stays hidden behind the pillow but you can see from the side of his neck his face was getting red. You feel like you walked in at the wrong time given everyone’s behavior. You tell Wanda, “You might want to hurry. Clint says we’re leaving soon.” With that you turn to leave wondering what you had walked in on.

When you shut the door, everyone in Cooper’s room excluding Pietro bursts out laughing.

“What the hell was that, man?” Sam asks between fits of laughter.

Peter gets up and leans against the desk to mimic Pietro, “‘Sup?” Everyone laughs again, Pietro leaning over to slap Peter in the back of the head.

***

They take the family car and Nat’s car to the fair. Sam and Peter ride with Nat while the rest of you ride with Clint driving. As you wait in line to buy tickets, you lean over Wanda’s shoulder, who is standing right in front of you with her back to you, and say “I meant to say this earlier but you look nice.”

She smiles and then turns around to face you as you take a step back. She jokes, “I thought I looked good in my pyjamas but someone implied it wasn’t appropriate for the fair.”

“Oh definitely not appropriate. It was way too sexy. We couldn’t have that around the children,” you reply making her giggle.

“You don’t look too bad either,” she returns the earlier compliment, taking in your outfit as you shuffle forward with the rest of the line. “Your outfit is very nice.”

“Oh, this. I just threw it together.” No, you didn’t. You took your time with it. “But thanks,” you wave her off. When you reach the ticket stand, you rush in front of Clint to pay for yours, Wanda’s, Laura’s, Nat’s, and the kids’ tickets. You explain to him when you are all walking together that you kind of owed Wanda for something and you were the one who promised to take the kids here much to Nat and Laura’s displeasure so you kind of owed them too.

You make it inside the fairgrounds. A giant banner that reads “WESTVIEW COUNTY FAIR!” greets you overhead. Everyone gets excited upon seeing the banner and all the lights in the background. Well, everyone but Nat and Laura, Nat not ever a big fan of fairs and Laura not a fan of taking care of kids at a fair. Out of all the lights shining on the fairgrounds, your favorite is the one shining through Wanda’s eyes as she takes everything in with wonder.

“So what do you want to do first?” you ask her.

She turns to you and almost looks embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a fair.”

“What?” you ask in shock. She shrugs not knowing what else she could say. “Well, it’s settled then. We are not leaving until you get the whole experience. Let’s go buy some wristbands for the rides. We are going on every single one.” Her eyes widen and the wonder in them from earlier shifts into nervousness. “It’ll be fun, come on,” you reassure as you drag her to another line, leaving everyone else behind.

You and Wanda get on every ride but the ferris wheel telling her you have to leave that one for last. You even ride some twice, but you get hungry and ask Wanda if she wants to eat yet. She agrees that she could take a break for food. You try various things the fair offers wanting Wanda to try everything. “You Americans like to fry anything you can,” she comments as she takes another bite of her fried oreo. She hums as she finishes it off. “I understand why,” she says, making you laugh.

You spot Laura and Nat sitting at a table near the stage where some band is playing music. You and Wanda head on over. Soon everyone regroups there, finishing off the food they bought and watching people dance. Clint pulls Laura to dance with him. You all sit at the table watching them with a smile when someone obstructs your view of them. You look up to see a tall guy in a black cowboy hat smiling down at Wanda beside you offering his hand out asking her to dance. She looks at you, unsure of what to say. You give her a smile that admittedly took you a second to form and nod encouragingly for her to accept. She smiles politely at him and takes his hand. You watch them dance, your eyes only ever straying when you see Wanda going to look at you. You watch when he leans down to tell her something in her ear and she laughs. You wonder what he told her that was so funny. Your eyes roam over him. He’s handsome, you’ll give him that. He has a nice face, good posture. You note he is also respectful with his hand placement when dancing, so you can appreciate that. It seems like Westview County has their own Steve Rodgers. The thought bugs you.

Someone blocks your view once again, only this time you are kind of thankful for it. You look up to see Pietro asking you to dance. “Why not?” you say, wanting to do anything rather than stare at Wanda dancing with some guy. He pulls you to the dance floor. You enjoy your time dancing with Pietro though you get dizzy from how quickly he spins you. You’re a little disappointed your dance is cut short when Lila taps your arm asking if she can dance with Pietro. You smile at her saying of course she can. With your distraction gone to dance with Lila, your eyes search for Wanda once more but you cannot seem to find her. You feel someone grab your hand and you are spun into that someone’s arms. Your eyes fall to familiar green ones and you smile, “Smooth moves, Maximoff.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile as she starts to sway with you to the music. “You let me dance with a stranger.”

“You’re dancing with me now and we were strangers not so long ago,” you rebuttal.

“But at least we know each other’s names.”

“Did you not get his name?” you ask.

“I never asked for it,” Wanda returns simply, shrugging. You find it hard to believe that his name never came up so you say, “That was a lot of talking for him to not have given you a name.”

“You saw us talking? I would not have guessed you were paying attention. Every time I looked at you, you turned to look away,” she teases you.

You swallow, choking on the embarrassment of getting caught. “Doesn’t matter. His name’s probably Brad or something. He looks like a Brad.”

She laughs then catching on to your tone she asks, “Y/N, are you jealous?”

“What? Me, jealous?” you ask, astonished. She nods, smiling like she has her answer. “Wanda, I could never be jealous of some Brad. Dance with a Marcus and then maybe, but a Brad? Pfft. No.”

She just laughs and pulls you closer. You let yourself go and dance with her until whatever song the band is playing ends. “Let’s go play some games. I feel like shooting something,” you say, making her laugh loudly.

Everyone decides to play with you as well so you all head over to the different stands. Nat wins the shooting game, Clint coming in close. He wins the popping the balloons with darts game. They give their prizes to Cooper and Lila. Peter and Sam spend some time with the hammer and bell game; Peter hitting the bell every time garners some attention especially from some girls which frustrates Sam. Pietro wins a fish when he plays ring toss. It seems like everyone but you has been winning something. Even Wanda won a stuffed panda she gave to Lila after playing a water shooting game. You were getting frustrated trying to knock some blocks off a stool. You’ve spent a good $20 on this game already. Wanda catching your frustration decides to help you out. When you are down to your last ball, you try your best to focus and throw the ball. Two of the three blocks fall down. The last one is teetering on the edge. You think you’ve lost but a second later it falls over. You shout with glee. You ask the attendant for the keychain that has the letter W on it.

Wanda watches you with a smile as you approach her. “Thank you for that,” you say, and when she tries to play naive, you continue, “I know you knocked the last block.”

She gives you a sheepish smile. You hold out the keychain to her. “I figure this only rightfully belongs to you. May it proudly hold your keys until you lose it.” She tries to say no but you take her wrist and place the keychain in the palm of her hand. “It has your initial. You have to keep it.”

“I’m pretty sure the W is for Westview County,” she counters.

“A happy coincidence.” You don’t take no for an answer and she finally smiles and thanks you, putting her new keychain away so she doesn’t lose it. You look around to see the others still distracted with the games but you also catch your cousin yawn. You know this means you’re leaving soon so you grab Wanda’s hand and head over to the line for the ferris wheel.

You thank the attendant when he checks you have your belt on and pulls the bar to your lap. The wheel starts turning and when you are midway to the top, it shakes a little as two people get on the final empty cart. The shaking makes Wanda nervous. She grabs your hand almost protectively as her posture turns into one that looks ready for a fight. You turn your palm over to interlace your fingers and rub your thumb on her hand to try to soothe her nerves. “Hey, it’s okay,” you say. She turns to you and you see her irises are red. “They always do this. We’re okay. Just don’t rock the cart and we’ll be good.”

She takes a breath willing herself to relax. The red in her irises fade back to her green. She sits back and the ferris wheel moves again, this time not stopping for people to get on. You keep holding her hand squeezing it from time to time in reassurance. You can see Clint and everyone from the ferris wheel and point them out to Wanda. The only ones to see you are the kids who wave to you. You wave back.

“Do you come to the fair every year?” Wanda asks.

“Pretty much. There’s not much else to do,” you shrug. She ponders this for a moment and then, “So you’ve brought dates to the fair before, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah?” You say more like a question wondering where she was going with this.

“In the movies, people on dates always kiss on the ferris wheel. Did you kiss them?”

“Wanda,” you say her name but it comes out more like a warning.

“Sorry, I was just wondering,” she mutters, then turns to look back at the fairgrounds.

“No, I didn’t.” You answer sincerely. She looks back at you. You explain, “The two other people I’ve taken to the fair on a date were too afraid to get on the ferris wheel.”

“You said ‘other’,” she says smiling at you.

You look at her confused. “What?”

“You said ‘the two other people’ meaning other than me. So is this date?” she raises an eyebrow, an amused expression on her face.

“A friendly date,” you say, making her frown. She huffs in defeat letting go of your hand and hold the lap bar instead. The night had been going so well, you didn’t want this one thing to ruin it, so without letting yourself think it over, you wait until you get to the top of the ferris wheel. You lean into her space and look her in the eye to show her you are serious when you say, “Don’t tell Nat or Clint.” She looks confused but the confusion quickly turns into a pleasant surprise when you gently grab her face and lean in to kiss her. It doesn’t last long enough to give her a chance to kiss you back. You pull back with a cheeky smile and say, “I did promise the whole experience.”

The kiss may have ended too quickly for Wanda but it was long enough for a few people to catch it. One of them being your cousin whose kids were pointing to you and Wanda on the ferris wheel in excitement. She just shook her head in amusement when she saw you kiss Wanda. The other person to catch you was Wanda’s brother who, when seeing you kiss his sister, just whines, “No, Y/N.”

______________________________________________________________________

I'm sorry this took so long. I got sidetracked and then when I started I got stuck and in my true fashion, once I started writing, I couldn't stop and I couldn’t leave you without taking you to the fair. So, I hope the length of the chapter makes up for the wait. Oh, Happy Mother's Day to all the mom's out there doing their best to be good moms! I created a house map of how I picture the inside to look, you know without the fine details.

Next chapter bring your bug spray, you’re going camping.

Taglist: @madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemissis @myperfectlovepoem @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cantcontroltheirfear @trikruismybitch @your-my-mission

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you

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raine-kai · 3 years ago

Text

Contextualizing the Messy AkiHaru Scene

So...it came to my attention that a lot of translations of the scene where Akihiko crashes at Haruki's house in chapter 20 of the manga or the anime movie suggest that nothing happened more than we see in the panels/on the screen.

This is a translation error. The Japanese is unambiguous that a lot happened during the scene break; the art backs this up, in the change to Haruki's hairstyle from before to after the scene break.

Mainly, I want to retranslate for people who are interested, who didn't know that this was a mistranslation. But, I think that no matter how the scene is translated, there are subtexts and undercurrents that are lost, that cannot be simply translated into existence.

So I would like to explain several things in the lead-up to the scene in question, as well as in the aftermath, in order to hopefully give more context.

WARNINGS FOR SPOILERS AND NONCON

Notes on Translation: Given astonished me from its very first chapter with its deliberate and brilliant use of words. It is a story that is so incredibly articulate when it wants to be that moments of wordlessness or fragmented words are equally articulate, for they are crafted with as much deliberation and care as the articulate moments. As anyone knows who has ever tried to translate something, just plain translating the surface meaning of words often leaves a lot of the meaning behind. I will do my best to convey in English what the original text conveyed to me in Japanese, but it will inevitably fall short of the original text.

The Lead-In

First off, let's talk about Akihiko and the particular damage that he brings with him into this scene. He, of course, has the argument with Ugetsu and the fact that he has nowhere to go; but he has also been living this way for two years, presumably only a little longer than he has known Haruki. Akihiko describes the patterns that he and Ugetsu go through:

[Translation: "Even since Ugetsu and I broke up, we periodically continue to clash. Sometimes it's about the timing at which Ugetsu found a new guy. Sometimes it's just before or after Ugetsu is away for a long time. Sometimes these clashes come suddenly, immediately after we have been intimate for a few days, just like we used to be.]

Later, Akihiko reveals that he has a pattern of dealing with being kicked out of the home he shares with Ugetsu by finding someone, anyone to stay with. He has come to associate these stays as transactions, where the thing that he provides is most often sex. (We also see this transaction-based approach in his relationship with Ugetsu, for whom he feels compelled to cook—a thing that he later continues for Haruki with an urgency that does not match Haruki's easygoing acceptance of this dynamic.)

In fact, we see hints that perhaps Akihiko associates crashing with someone with providing sex to a deeper degree than even he acknowledges, in a scene in volume 1 where he crashed at Haruki's apartment while drunk, and upon stating it would be too much trouble to pull out a futon, did not merely crawl into bed with Haruki, but on top of him.

[Translation: Haru: Akihiko, get a futon and sleep wherever... Aki: Whaaat? But that's so much effort... Haru: So sleep on the....floor....]

So this is a deeply engrained association for Akihiko.

However, it is also a part of his life that he has gone out of his way to conceal from Haruki. From Haruki, he has not merely concealed the many times that he has essentially prostituted himself for a place to sleep; he has also hidden from Haruki that he has any flatmate at all, much less the nature of his relationship with said flatmate.

Haruki has the idea that Akihiko used to sleep around, but does not anymore. He is blinded partly by his own desire to see only the best parts of Akihiko; he is also blinded by Akihiko's desire to only reveal the best parts of himself to Haruki.

In volume 4, we see the moment that Akihiko lets slip that he has a flatmate, and the degree to which this shakes Haruki.

But the more emotional moment for Haruki comes when he realizes that Akihiko is talking to him on the phone while having sex with a woman.

[Translation: "That was a woman.... He was totally having sex."]

No promises have been broken; no trust has been betrayed. But there is an illusion of Akihiko that Haruki has, that Akihiko himself has carefully cultivated over the recent months for a reason that even he cannot explain. It is a paper-thin illusion, that only held up because Akihiko and Haruki both wanted it there.

But now, that illusion is shattering.

This just so happens to overlap with Take suggesting that Haruki take on a support role in his ex-gf's band.

Haruki has struggled from volume 1 with insecurities. He is the band leader; he is the one who brought them together, the one who runs their social media, the one who keeps them in line. Given is a band that absolutely would never have existed without Haruki. Yet he feels outshined by the other three members. There are several scenes depicting Haruki struggling with this. Akihiko is often the one to whom he voices his insecurities, and always without fail sets him straight. There is one particular exchange, during the same conversation when Akihiko reveals that he has a flatmate, when Haruki calls himself ordinary (凡人枠) and Akihiko retorts that he is not, he is 調停者枠....which is difficult to translate, but essentially means mediator, but in this case is denoting that he is the one who brings the different pieces of the band together (both musically, and as a person). Akihiko tells him then, "You're the one that everybody seeks," with a particular look in his eyes even as he reaches for Haruki's face. (Haruki pulls away and Akihiko pulls back and laughs it off.)

But the undercurrent is, for the first time, Haruki is beginning to see the truth of the words that he never quite believed. He is wanted and needed...he just needs to find a way to explain this to the other members of Given. In particular, Akihiko, who has always felt to Haruki like someone on equal or higher footing than himself, despite Haruki himself being older.

And these are the undercurrents at play as we head into the scene in question.

The Crucial Chapters 19-20

Akihiko shows up on Haruki's doorstop in the middle of the night, with an injured face from a fight with Ugetsu.

Haruki lets him in and they start talking as usual....but this time, it's different. They are both just a little bit at odds in a way they have never been before.

Haruki is aware, now, of a facet of Akihiko's life that until recently he had believed was left in the past.

Akihiko perceives that Haruki is hiding something, and in his typical way, immediately wants to know what it is.

This is why, when Akihiko asks his questions and asks if Haruki is hiding something, Haruki snaps back in a way we have never seen him do before:

[Tr: "[I am, but] you're one to talk!"]

Akihiko grabs Haruki by the wrist and asks again, and Haruki tells him...but throws in that the band he is doing support for is his ex's band.

Akihiko responds, "So you're going back to your ex?" and proceeds to crawl on top of Haruki to acknowledge for the first time what has always been unspoken between them: "You're in love with me, yet you're gonna run away?"

As Haruki lies sputtering for a response (he tries to pretend ignorance, but can't finish a sentence, between Akihiko pressing closer and his own shock) Akihiko reaches for Haruki's braid—the hair that Haruki has been growing out for as long as he has known Akihiko, as something like a wish charm (願掛け) for his love; the hair that Akihiko is somewhat obsessed with, taking every opportunity he can to play with it or style it—and speaks words that reveal that he is still fixated on Haruki's ex.

[Full text: 春樹さぁ、元カノがどうとか言ってたけど、お前こんなんで本当に女なんか抱いてたの？

Translation: You talk about this ex-girlfriend, Haruki, but did you seriously have sex with women like this?

Note: the こんなんで/"like this" is beautifully ambiguous. On a surface level of course it is referring to Haruki's long hair—with all the years of pining and love for Akihiko that that implies—but it also draws attention to how they are right now. The fact that Akihiko has crawled on top of Haruki as he has before, and Haruki does not fully push him away. It draws attention to the way that Akihiko himself is so central to Haruki's entire being.]

While Haruki flushes and thinks to himself, "Shut up, shut up! I did have sex with women, before I met you!" Meanwhile, Akihiko kisses him—a kiss that the art carefully does not show us lip-to-lip, either only showing us angles where we cannot see the point of contact, or focusing on the contact of only their tongues. Make no mistake, this is not a romantic kiss. This is a kiss full of frustration and pent up emotions and two years of unspoken, unacknowledged emotion brewing between these two.

Akihiko begins to strip Haruki further, and Haruki interjects, 「え、うそ、うそうそ、待った」(tr: "Wha- wait wait wait, just a sec"), which Akihiko ignores, and proceeds to begin performing oral sex on Haruki, even as he acknowledges internally that his actions are taking out his frustration with Ugetsu on Haruki.

[Note: the words Haruki uses at this point are not clear "Stop" signals. え、うそ、待った are all words that convey shock and uncertainty, and it is noteworthy that Haruki does not at any point use a word that would convey an equivalent of "Stop". That doesn't make this consensual, as his consent has not been obtained, but this is important to note, that Haruki deliberately does not ever outright tell Akihiko to stop.]

This is where Akihiko reflects on his messy relationship with Ugetsu, and the lingering hold it has on him:

Even since Ugetsu and I broke up, we periodically continue to clash. Sometimes it's about the timing at which Ugetsu found a new guy. Sometimes it's just before or after Ugetsu is away for a long time. Sometimes these clashes come suddenly, immediately after we have been intimate for a few days, just like we used to be. Like he is urging me, "Great, here's an opportunity. Let's part ways and break up for real." Like he is shutting me out of his world by force, to reinforce that he doesn't need me. What the hell? If you don't want me, why do you allow me to hold on? If you sympathize with my holding on, why do you try to throw me away? I want to trap you. I want to escape. I want to give up. I can't fully give up. I want to touch you. I can't breathe...

And when Akihiko comes back to the present, some time has past. His shirt is gone, Haruki places a hand over Akihiko's with tears in his eyes, and for the first time, says やめてよ [approx. translation: "Please stop," but this is a very gentle way of saying it—a plea in softer language]....and then continues, そんな顔しないでよ、辛そうな顔しないでよ、なんなの？言ってよ、なんでもしてあげるから [tr: "Please stop looking like that, like you're in such pain...What is it? Please tell me. I would give you anything."]

It is the なんでもしてあげるから here that is utterly striking. @edragoon and I debated translations and arrived on "I would give you anything" as the best option, but even with Haruki's soft language leading up to this, even with his words so focused on Akihiko's pain, the sheer love conveyed by these words is heart-wrenching—as is the art, Haruki's hand reaching out to Akihiko's face.

Akihiko has unearthed Haruki's unspoken feeling as part of his self-destructive spiral in a move that he no doubt expected to hurt Haruki, but instead, Haruki has owned up to his no longer hidden feelings and offers all of himself to Akihiko; turns the focus back onto Akihiko and his pain, rather than on himself, as Akihiko probably expected. As no doubt has happened in similar situations with Ugetsu.

And Akihiko, caught between Haruki here and the mess in his heart that is Ugetsu, expresses resentment that these words are coming from Haruki instead of Ugetsu.

"Why did you have to be the one to say that?" Akihiko laments silently, and then out loud,

[tr: "Telling you won't change anything."]

He follows this up with a small, "Sorry," and wonders to himself "Why couldn't it have been you?" (In Japanese, as in English, it is ambiguous whether he is wishing that Haruki were the one he wanted those words from, or that Ugetsu were the one saying those words. The last use of "you" in his internal monologue was directed at Haruki, supporting the first interpretation, but he is also lost in his head, so it would be no surprise if he is swaying back and forth.)

The scene breaks here, and on the next page, Haruki is curled up facing the back of the couch, fully dressed in new clothes and his hair now pulled back in a ponytail, and Akihiko is seated on the floor with his back to the couch, shirtless.

[Tr: "I'm sorry. Truly. I was completely in the wrong."]

Haruki responds, "That's not the part I want an apology for," even as he remembers those damning words, Telling you won't change anything.

[Tr: "...I said I'd give you anything. By the end it was basically consensual."]

Haruki goes on to say Akihiko is free to stay over, but he will be going to a friend's place.

Akihiko visibly panics, but only manages to call Haruki's name once as Haruki tells him he can use anything, can leave the door unlocked, but simply should be gone by morning.

Haruki leaves the apartment, and we see him cry as he walks through the darkened streets as those words Akihiko spoke again.

Left behind, Akihiko berates himself for how much he lets himself lean and depend (甘える) on Haruki, and he reflects on the events with his family and Ugetsu that lead him to where he is, without anywhere else to go. [NOTE: this is no doubt a significant factor in his later decision to move out of Haruki's apartment once as he goes through the process of bettering himself.] He contemplates the ways in which he has behaved towards Haruki, the parts of his own life he has almost instinctively hidden from his view.

Akihiko spends the night on the floor by the couch. (A shot of the clock at one point tells us it is 1:20am.)

We see morning dawn, and it is as Take is at work discussing lunch break that he gets a text from Akihiko, asking if he's seen Haruki. It is in the evening, when Take goes home, that he finds Haruki listless and hollow-eyed in front of his apartment.

The clock reads 9:40pm when Haruki comes home at last. Apart from the few hours he was with Take, Haruki has spent the better part of a night and a day alone who knows where.

[Tr: "Oh, you're still here"]

The hair that Akihiko had adored, the hair that Haruki had been growing since the day he met and fell for Akihiko, is cut short.

The Aftermath

The two of them don't shy away from the subtext of the last day—especially Haruki, who says blandly, "Sorry, but I'm tired after your rejection of my feelings, as you can see. Please go home." And when Akihiko tries to reach for him with a, "Wait, but—" his hand his slapped away by Haruki, who informs him, "Look, I'm angry at you." and cuts off Akihiko's attempted apology one syllable in with an admonishment that an apology will only make him angrier.

But Akihiko says what he should have said the night before—that he is at the end of his rope and has nowhere to go. He quietly asks to be permitted to stay in Haruki's apartment, assuring him that he will sleep on the floor, that he will not do anything again. He begs for Haruki to help him.

Haruki is furious.

「サイアク」the narration repeats: "[This/he] is the worst."

At last, Haruki agrees, but with the words, "If you weren't a band member, I'd throw you out."

The next day at band practice, Akihiko and Haruki are wildly out of sync, and while Haruki puts on a carefree smile for Uenoyama and Mafuyu, he is still spiraling with despair and humiliation.

And yet Akihiko too is on pins and needles, reacting with abject (though silent) horror when Uenoyama asks Haruki what's wrong.

But Haruki tells Uenoyama and Mafuyu nothing, and when he walks off and Akihiko goes after him, the words that come out of his mouth are all about his insecurities about his place in the band. About how he is too ordinary and does not belong in such a band of geniuses.

This is not what Akihiko was expecting his outburst to be about; this is also familiar territory for him, that he knows how to handle. Akihiko knows music.

He assures Haruki of why his music was off today, as he would have any other day. He assures Haruki that he is utterly deserving of his place in their band, as he has so many times before.

[Tr: "I've pretty much always told you that you're necessary, haven't I!?"]

And all at once, memories come rushing back to Haruki of so many times that Akihiko has told him of his value.

Haruki's anger loses its momentum and he deflates. They had back to Haruki's apartment, with Akihiko promising to cook dinner, as he is the freeloader. (Another nod to his tendency to view these arrangements as transactional.)

Living together proves a disillusionment process for Haruki. Of course, the night that Akihiko first came to his apartment was the enormous catalyst, but the disillusionment process continues.

All of those ways in which he had formerly idealized Akihiko crumble one after another for Haruki as they live together. Akihiko cooks, but he only has one flavor profile, and often makes fried rice. Akihiko spends most of his days on music, be it violin or the drums, and it is louder than Haruki is used to with his bass—it is also evidence that Akihiko is the musician he is because he puts in the work, not just inherent talent.

...And that brings us to the end of volume 4, so I think I shall stop here!

If you read all this way, thank you, and I hope this added something positive to your day!

#akihiko x haruki #akihiko kaji #Given #haruki nakayama #haruki's hair #Given meta #meta #秋春 #ギヴン #中山春樹 #��秋彦 #Given vol 4 #This is my otp #nobody proofread this meta #I really hope there are no typos #i am brain empty only akiharu

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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 4 years ago

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ahdflksjaklf;jsls ok buddies - I hate talking about 14x13: Lebanon, but it has relevancy in the “John Winchester is a villain and cannot and should not be redeemed” discourse as well as being a crucial piece of finale denialist lore so I Have Been Thinking About It Too Much.

As you may recall, the Occult Object of the Week - the pearl - in Lebanon is supposed to grant Dean’s “heart’s desire.” Dean and Sam are Very Sure this means expelling Michael (the Dean Winchester Must Be Saved installment of season 14) (honestly that premise always seemed a little slim to me, I was hoping for Dean’s heart’s desire to be Cas, on Dean’s car, naked, covered in bees).

Instead they summon Dad of the Year, which at first feels infuriating. However after discussion with my earworms, I Have Fixed It (and also turned it into a grenade to launch at 15x20.)

Finale denialists and John Winchester derogatorians ASSEMBLE! and let’s discuss after the cut.

I’ve written in depth about Dean’s struggles with the cycle of abuse, so I won’t go too far into it here, but if you want to revisit any of that meta this is a good place to begin. This post hinges on the same theory - that Dean’s true freedom is established in his release from that cycle - that is the logical outcome of any hero’s journey for him, and where he would finally be able to accept happiness and love. This logically would also make release from the cycle of abuse and the feelings of self-hatred Dean struggles with his “heart’s desire” for purposes of the pearl. When it comes to emotions, we also know Dean doesn’t deal with them well. He punches things instead. So odds are, Dean hasn’t really worked through these feelings.

Dean also mentions when John returns that “it was what [Dean] wanted since he was 4″ - when they lost Mary, right before John became obsessed with revenge. Season 12 Mary canonically remembers John as a “good dad,” so we can draw a line from that to the abuse really starting shortly after her death. This is also corroborated by Dean himself:

DEAN: You know when you died, it changed Dad.

(A visual of the John Mary remembers) (just my excuse to put pictures of Matt Cohen on your dash) (I shouldn’t need an excuse) (Matt Cohen hi you are on Tumblr please don’t read any of this I’m embarrassed).

So what Dean has is pre-Mary’s-death John and post-Mary’s-death John, post-Mary’s-death John being the one whose abuse created Dean’s own damaged persona. Dean thinks the fix is to stop things on the front end (he is ignoring any process-centered solution, he just wants it to never have happened, he is in denial that he has to work through this and just wants it to be erased, etc etc etc).

***also keep in mind that going back in time to change things on the front end as a “fix it” is a storyline SPN repeats regularly***

***and it always ends up being impossible to do***

Ok so for Dean, his damage/anger/brutal nature/darkness is always linked to John, and this cycle “began” for Dean once their family was torn apart by Mary’s death. So the fix is his “blood family” together. That’s his heart’s desire in Lebanon because Dean hasn’t really worked through any of his emotions, and it’s his very Dean way of fixing it - “oh if my family gets put back together I will be put back together too.”

***speaking of quick fixes, I’d like to note that any case in SPN that is referred to as a “milk run” inevitably becomes complicated and messy***

***continuing the thematics of there’s no such thing as a quick fix***

This is no different. Stopping the cycle by simply erasing it from the narrative erases anything else that happened along the way during the journey. It erases this Mary (who they know as a person by this point and not just the mom on a pedestal)

and (most importantly) it erases this Cas (the episode specifically replaces Cas with one who Doesn’t Know Dean).

We Emphasize This Of Course In The Dialogue In Case You Missed It

DEAN Cas, you know us. ALTERNATE CAS I don’t know you.

***Simply erasing the origin of Dean’s trauma erases all of Dean’s growth. It erases this family that Dean is so proud to tell John he has now. It erases everything he has already overcome despite how hard it was to achieve it.

So, John goes back. In that way, the pearl does give Dean his heart’s desire - his realization that this is not about a quick fix, it is about the journey to the good, and all you gain and become along the way (kind of similar to “Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it" eh?). it’s the process. It’s every moment along the way. It’s the people who help him get there.

And then he starts the healing journey by taking control of his own life, by owning his feelings instead of displacing the blame, by recognizing he is NOT guided solely by the actions of his father and this cycle:

DEAN

And for the longest time, I blamed Dad. I mean, hell, I blamed Mom, too, you know? I was angry. But say we could send Dad back knowing everything. Why stop there? Why not send him even further back and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world? But here’s the problem. Who does that make us? Would we be better off? Well, maybe. But I gotta be honest – I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is.

And the episode fucking ends with Cas, the Cas Who Knows Them coming into the bunker and asking them what happened, calling each of them by name just to emphasize again That He Knows Them, because Cas knowing Dean, and Cas being Dean’s family is the cornerstone of what Dean’s heart desires.

[CAS walks in from the door at the top of the stairs. SAM, DEAN and MARY walk out from the library to see him.]

CAS Mary, Sam, Dean. What happened?

So yeah, it took 14 damn seasons but Lebanon is where Dean realizes he can be defined by more than the acts of his father. (That’s why it’s so terrifying for Dean when Chuck snatches back any control he gained in Season 15. Because for Dean, Chuck is just John Winchester Controls My Every Action all over again, except he’s God which makes it even worse.)

That’s also why the final blow to Chuck is not Dean killing him.

The last stage in the journey that begins here with Dean’s “I’m good with who I am” - [I’m still bad and dark and damaged but I’m good with it]

is Dean’s “that’s not who I am.” [the most caring man on Earth; the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know]

Thats equally why 15x18 is so brilliant, 15x19 is at least acceptable, and 15x20 simply does. not. work.

Dean Winchester’s perfect heaven cannot possibly center on the blood family. It does not have John Winchester and Mary, husband and wife, who took away his own free will. It is THIS FAMILY. The found family. Cas and Jack and Sam and the Mary that was resurrected. Dean’s entire character arc supports this journey, and to have it culminate in something that is so established in the season prior to this one as something Dean knows he no longer wants is maddening.

I’m even more mad now because I just remembered that the most prominent picture above Dying Sam’s bed was the blood family portrait from this episode; almost like they wanted us to remember this particular stupid lesson. This show is so stupid when it could have been so so so very good.

***I want to say thanks again to all of you who read my spiraling if you got this far. It’s therapeutic for me to do it, but it makes it all the better that people actually read it. Seeing you in my notes MAKES my entire day****

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years ago

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My Truth about you.

Remus has a tendency to practice self-deprecation after full moon when he gets new scars. This time it is a big one on his face. He thinks that he looks hideous, but Sirius is there to tell him otherwise.

Remus smacks the book on the table so loudly that even students sitting at the ends of the table jerk from their seats.

The marauders are staring at him with hanging jaw and bulging eyes like hawks.

“You okay there, Moony?” James tentatively asks.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” Remus glares at him, aiming his index finger towards the bandaged wound on his cheek. It has been three days, and everyone is steering clear from Remus’ way. The last full moon was a disaster that mostly did damages to his face and neck. He hated facial injuries, not because they were difficult to heal but they made him look ugly—considering the fact, his boyfriend is ten times beautiful than he could possibly imagine himself to be.

The silence settles, tinged with discomfort. The marauders go back to their lunch before they are running to their classes. Throughout the whole day including the supper, Remus’ mood was at the same foul place. Sirius is trying hard not to step on his nerve that might trigger and eventually cause Remus to curse and boycott everyone and everything. Remus can see it but pretends it to be unacknowledged. He knows that Sirius is the only person he can be himself with, but not with the others because, James and Peter included, everyone is eyeing him with weird looks on their faces that mostly blooms one thing: fear.

They all go to their dorm, and begrudgingly Remus flops on the first bed. He remains there with his chest glued to the soft sheets, his face buried too, sniffing a strongly familiar scent. Before he processes the picture of the person in his head, a voice calls him out.

“Moony?” It is soft like the petals of a fresh white flower and silky like chocolate. He doesn’t open his eyes. He can feel that the exhaustion of the day is dumping out of him, dissipating into thin air.

“Moons?” This voice is much clearer but he doesn’t dare open his eyes again because there is something on his head, brushing his hair. He can picture it. Long, slender white fingers are spreading and fisting his golden curls.

And then, a kiss. On the temple. So gentle that he wanted to sink into its holiness. He groans with the felicity of experiencing such celestial intimacy.

“Wake up, Moons. Just for a moment then you can go back to sleep, love.”

Remus opens his eyes because this time he is shaken by the figure that is intoxicating him with their presence. And there he is. Grey eyes like silver orbs staring at him with such solace and the rippling dark hair are let down. The sight is scenic. Remus asks himself why didn’t he just look at his boyfriend the whole day. He know if he had, his day would’ve been spent much better. The regret is not strong but sweetly painful because Sirius Black is the foremost person in his life and being ignorant to his presence is nothing but ungratefulness.

“Sirius…” And he smiles. Sirius Black smiles his delicate smile which is only reserved for him. He hums in response. “What are you doing here?”

“The question is, my dear Moony, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is my bed.”

“So? This is my bed, too.”

“Okay, okay, this is your bed too, Mr. Grumpy.” He chuckles but Remus continues to glare at him, “What!? Okay at least get up and take off your school robes. I’ll lend you my pajamas.”

Remus doesn’t move from his position because he knows if he surrenders, he will lose the chance of Sirius undressing and caressing him. There is always something ethereal about Sirius’ touch. He touches Remus like he is made of delicate glass.

And then it starts happening, Sirius is getting him out his school robes and shoes. The moment is pure bliss and dreamy. Once Sirius was done, Remus looks up to witness him staring at his face with an intense yet unreadable expression. He reaches out to cup Remus’ cheek, and then suddenly Remus flinches away. He hasn’t forgotten it. The ugly feeling started assembling back to him, making him feel all blue and dejected instantly. Sirius has caught that look on his face.

“Hey, don’t…” He whispers.

“Why not!? I’m hideous!”

“You are not hideous! You’re not even close to hideous! You are very attractive and beautiful—“

“Stop! Just stop. I don’t want to hear this, Sirius.”

“Moony…why? Why do you think like that?”

“I-I never had a scar on my face…before it used to be like the tiny ones on my nose or jaws or my lip or eye or…dammit! Everywhere! They are everywhere!”

“Shh…” Sirius draw close to him and made him sit up. He laces his arms around Remus’ neck, forehead pressed together, breathing each other in.

“This one is the worst, Sirius…my life is the worst! I mean if I was meant to be cursed with this physical affliction, the least God could have done was to spare me with its brutality! I don’t just go through this physical pain, it is the mental pain too! Where I have to stand before this bitter truth that tells me that I have no future. No job, no living, no healthy relationships, fuck! No health at all! I can’t pursue my education because I’m not a human. I can’t have a family of my own. There’s nothing I can have that a normal person does.”

And then he feels lighter. His heart is not heavy anymore. But tears are streaming down his face, wetting his hands in his lap. The most remarkable thing is that Sirius is still breathing him in. They are in the same position. But he doesn’t look up to hold Sirius’ gaze. Sirius is quiet like an obedient cat.

Remus’ hands move, as if they are automatically functioning, and clutches the fabric of Sirius’ shirt on his chest. He still doesn’t meet his eyes. He just clings himself to him. His head resting on his shoulder, and Sirius holds him by his waist.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius whispers in his ear, “I’m sorry you have to go through all of this. I know you said that you don’t want to hear it but it's the truth and you deserve to know it. You are perfect to me. And I don’t think I can be more honest about that. Look, Moony,” He pulls away gently to meet Remus’ eyes.

“Do you care about others’ opinions about you?”

“No—“

“Do you care about our, me, James, Lily, and Peter’s opinion about you?”

Remus knows what answer Sirius expects, but today—at the moment—is Remus’ truth day, he cannot say things that he meant half-heartedly. The truth is and has always been this: He only cares about Sirius Black. It is a mad truth but it is what it is. He was mad. Madly in love with Sirius Black.

“Moony?” Sirius’ eyes narrow down on him skeptically.

“I care about what you think. I care about you, only. It’s strange and weird and insane but it is…it is my truth.” Remus has said it, and there is no turning back because Sirius is looking at him blankly. His face is flushing, his mouth is in a thin line. He presses harder. His lips become thinner, his jaws clenched and his nostrils flares slightly. It is not anger. Remus can tell. He knows him. More than he knows himself. He is trying not to cry but then there are tears floating in those eyes and then fell simultaneously. Then they are falling.

“I just…can’t see you like this…” Sirius says, and Remus knows he is struggling with his voice.

“I’m sorry—“

“Are you mad? No, you don’t have to say sorry, you idiot.” It makes Remus smile because they conversing in whispers and it feels so beautiful, “Of course, you can say all those things to me, you know vent out, don’t keep it inside you. I just…get you know, anxious. I want to make your pain easier for you. I know how much you suffer but I can’t feel exactly how you do. And it makes me feel indebted, I guess? I don’t know…I just want you to be happy.”

Remus tugs a lock of Sirius’ dark hair behind his ear. His index finger still lingering there.

“Remus,” Sirius continues, “I can’t promise to fix all of your problems, but I promise you that you will not be alone in dealing with them. I’m gonna be here as long as it takes, no matter what and how. I love you, you know that right?”

Remus nods at him, blinking away the tears. Sirius leans into Remus’ left and plants his lips on the cheek which has the long jagged scar. His lips are there for longer than they should have been. He is kissing the scar as if it is something sacred.

And just like that, he uses Remus’ position as leverage to make him fall on the bed. And Sirius lays his head on his chest as he grips his torso. Remus can smell the coconut shampoo from his hair.

“You’re beautiful. And that is my truth.”

Remus hears Sirius say before the sleep drifts so quickly by the aid of each other’s warmth and love.

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar angst #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #hp marauders #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #remus x sirius #Sirius x Remus #Harry Potter #full moon #werewolf remus #angst with happy ending #remus loves sirius #sirius loves remus

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love-and-monsters · 4 years ago

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Jackalope Fae

GN human reader X M Fae, 8,340 words

This one's a bit all over the place, I'll admit. You rescue a Fae from the battlefield after a fight. He'd injured, but determined to return to his king's side. Unwilling to leave him on his own, you accompany him on his journey.

Content warning for descriptions of battlefields, wars, and injuries

You picked your way across the battlefield, scarf tied around your mouth and nose. No matter how tightly you cinched it, the smell of blood and viscera still made you gag. It was thick in the air, hanging in nearly-visible clouds around you.

There were bodies everywhere. Humans and Fae littered the ground. Your shoes sank into the ground slightly. Red stains covered their sides, soaking into the fabric. You tried very hard not to think about it.

There was no feeling in the world more helpless than the one of standing on a battlefield after the battle. All these people… all these corpses. Husbands and fathers, wives and mothers, children and lovers. All of them were dead and gone and there was nothing you could do to save them.

Something near your foot twitched.

For a moment, you thought it was just a trick of the tears blurring your vision. You went still, staring. The body nearest to you was some sort of Fae. His clothes were too bloody to make out any sort of army affiliation. A set of antlers sprouted from his head and his ears were elongated and floppy, drooping like rabbit ears. The rabbit idea continued down on his legs, which were elongated, fuzzy, and built powerfully.

As if sensing your gaze on him, he gave a little gasp and sucked in a choked breath. A fresh wave of red soaked through his jacket, mingling with the dried blood that was already there.

Alive. This one was alive!

You knelt next to him. “Don’t move.” His eyes opened. They were hazy with pain and blood loss, and a piercing, crystalline blue. One of his hands fumbled for the sword at his waist. You froze, but he was too weak to even draw it. His eyes fluttered shut again.

“Stay still,” you told him, though you weren’t sure he could even hear you. Hurriedly, you slipped your bag from your back and tugged it open. The strips of cloth inside seemed pathetic in comparison to that much blood, but they were all you had. Ignoring the dried blood flaking off under your fingernails, you pulled open the front of his jacket.

Under the coat, his skin was covered in a fine, velvety-soft layer of fur. At least, it would have been velvety soft if it hadn’t been matted with blood. The long cut across his chest still wept blood from a few open areas. You pressed down as many bandages as you could, tying them into place.

The Fae groaned and opened his eyes again. He twisted to look at you, gaze still unfocused. His long, black hair was matted to his face, marring some of his fine features. Despite his circumstances, his face still made your stomach do a little leap. Why were all Fae so damnably attractive?

“I’m going to try to move you,” you told him. He didn’t seem to be registering your words. “It’ll probably hurt, but I need to get you out of here.” Battlefields were breeding grounds for infections. Even the resilient Fae had succumbed to battle-rot and other diseases.

You crouched down, your knees protesting the position. Gritting your teeth, you hooked your arms under his armpits and started to haul.

The Fae made a high, keening noise, so startling that you dropped him. He made a choked noise as he hit the ground, and didn’t move again. For a moment, you were terrified you had killed him, but no, his sides were still moving with his steady breathing.

After a moment, when he did not move again, you bent back down and went back to pulling him. This time, he made no sound. He was as limp as a ragdoll as you hauled him across the battlefield and to your tent.

You could drag him, but there was no way you were lifting his long, lanky form up into a cot. He looked slender, but he must have been pure, corded muscle, because he was heavy as anything. Instead, you spread out a blanket on the floor and tugged him onto it. Moving him had reopened some of his wounds. You could see the fresh blood soaking into his shirt. Hurriedly, you stripped him of his clothes and started padding his wounds with bandages.

He was more injured than you’d thought. There was a massive cut across his chest and more nicks and gashes all over his arms and legs. He was out of it, but his sleep was fitful. Every time you tried to clean off one of his cuts, he would twitch and growl. His eyes even opened once or twice, but they were clouded with pain and unfocused.

Once you were sure that he was in a stable condition, you took his clothes outside and dunked them into the washbasin. You’d left him with a blanket tied around his waist, to preserve his modesty, but you’d needed to completely remove his clothes. Some items had been completely destroyed- they were so caked to his wounds with blood that you had needed to cut them apart to pull them away.

The water in the washbasin slowly grew redder and redder as you washed off the shirt. It had been so thoroughly covered in blood, likely his own and other people’s, that you couldn’t see the color of it anymore. And as the blood washed away, your stomach started to sink.

The shirt wasn’t the deep, midnight-blue of the Sansivore army. It was the bright, emerald-green of the Aerethes.

You took a deep breath and kept scrubbing. He was a member of the Aerethes army. Well, fine. It didn’t matter. You would save his life. Just like all the others.

Once the clothes had been made as clean as you could get them and had been hung up to dry, you returned to your tent. The Fae was still lying there, breathing slowly and evenly. His sleep had gone from something fitful into something deeper, more even. You let out a slow breath. That was a good sign.

You ate dinner and then tipped a little bit of broth in his mouth, carefully encouraging him to swallow. He coughed, sputtering a little, and you lowered the cup. He’d probably gotten enough. He just needed a little, to keep his strength up.

After you finished feeding him, you wrapped him in a blanket, ensured that he was still in stable condition, then went to bed yourself. Despite the aching in your muscles, you were tired enough to fall asleep almost as soon as your head hit your pillow.

You woke to a prickling feeling on the back of your neck, all your senses alert. Something was wrong.

One of your hands stole under your pillow for your knife. It was a small thing, barely more than a scalpel, but that didn’t matter. Precision was more important than size, and you knew exactly where to drive the knife to kill someone in seconds.

Three… two… one! You rolled over, ready for a fight, then froze.

The Fae stood over you. He was enormously tall, balancing on digitigrade feet. You had to crane your neck back to look up into his face. His bright, blue eyes glittered like cold diamonds. His entire body was made up of rippling muscles. He looked like he could tear you limb from limb with little effort. His antlers only served to make him more impressive, like an oversized crown. The effect was a little ruined by the cute, fluffy bunny tail that sprouted from just above his butt.

It was as you looked down at his butt that you realized he was completely naked. The towel was lying behind him, discarded on the floor. Fortunately, his bandages were still attached, and his wounds hadn’t opened up during the night.

“Where am I?” His voice was dry and scratchy from disuse, but hearing him speak at all nearly sent you out of your skin. For some reason, you hadn’t really expected him to speak, much less in perfect English.

“You’re in my tent,” you said, once the burst of shock had worn off. “You should probably sit down. You’re still injured.”

His lips curled and his long, floppy ears twitched. “You are not a healer of the Aerethes army,” he said.

“No, I’m not. But I am a healer, and I need you to sit back down.” There was an unsettling trembling in his legs now, and it was starting to progress upward.

“I need to return. My army needs me. My king. I-” The trembling hit his knees and he wobbled. You darted forward, barely managing to brace yourself against his weight. Heavens above, but he was heavy. He snarled as his wounds were strained.

“Stop struggling!” You lowered him to the ground as gently as you could. He groaned, gritting his teeth. He had little fangs, you noticed. “Lie still. You’ve been injured, and I need to check your wounds for battle rot.”

He stared at you, then, apparently deciding there was nothing else he could do, submitted to your ministrations. You untied the bandages, dribbled cleaning solution into the wounds. He snarled, body flexing. “I know it hurts, I know,” you said, your voice automatically dropping into its most soothing register. “It’ll be all right.”

He snarled again. Even in his prone, injured position, it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “You. Tell me. What. Happened,” he said between flinches of pain.

“I don’t know exactly what happened. There was a battle. You were injured. I rescued you.” He twisted his head toward you, nose twitching.

“You are not a healer for the Aerethes army,” he said after a moment.

“No. I’m…” You paused. There was no official term for what you did, and you weren’t sure which unofficial term he’d know. Not to mention that most of them were unflattering. “I’m here to help.”

He stared at you, gaze growing more suspicious. “I cannot stay here. My people-”

“You are not going anywhere. You can try to leave if you want, but if you make it further than the tent’s entrance, I’ll be stunned. There’s about three severe- hey!”

The Fae rolled over and heaved himself to his feet. He wobbled for a moment before managing to catch himself. He was still naked, you noted, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead he made for the tent entrance.

He made it a grand total of four steps. Which was one more than you’d been betting on, so good for him.

“Are you all right?” you asked. He made an effort to get back up and collapsed again. “Okay. Come on back here.” You took a moment to haul him back onto the blankets. His eyes cracked open and he glared at you. “I did warn you. You’re exhausted. You probably got hit with iron. It’ll take a few days to clear your system.”

The Fae closed his eyes and sighed. “I was hit with iron.” His eyes opened again, this time with clear effort. “I need to… My king…” His eyes closed. “My…”

You waited for a moment, but he didn’t reopen his eyes. His chest rose and fell with stuttering breaths. He looked uncomfortable, but at least he was resting.

Confident that he wasn’t going to get up again, you stepped out of your tent. You cooked yourself breakfast, making a small, extra portion in case he woke up and needed food again. You also boiled off your water and strained it, and spent a few moments checking your medicine stores. You were starting to run low on river root. The army hadn’t traveled by a source of running water any time soon, which was really starting to become a problem. You might have to peel off for a while to replenish everything.

When you walked back into the tent, the Fae was awake again. His bright blue eyes followed you as you put down your supplies.

“How are you feeling?” you asked. It was often hard to tell how sick Fae were at a glance. Pale and gaunt seemed to be their natural state.

He stared.

“Good? Bad?” You crouched in front of him. He stared at you some more, teeth gritted. “I’m trying to help.”

“I do not need your help,” he growled. “I need to return to my king.”

“I’m going to help you do that. But you need to heal first. What good are you to your king if you’re half dead from your wounds?” The Fae’s long ears twitched. He lowered his gaze to the ground. “How are you feeling?”

He took in a deep breath. “I am feeling… tired. Sore. I was struck with iron- it burns in my veins.”

“I don’t know how to treat iron poisoning,” you said. The Fae shrugged.

“It cannot be treated. It must be endured.” He sagged to the ground. “Why are you helping me?”

The question came right out of left field. You rocked back onto your rear. “You needed help.”

The Fae sighed, as if he were talking to someone exceedingly slow. “Yes. But there were many people who needed help. I was not even a member of your army- you are not on the side of the Aerethes, are you?” You shook your head. “I thought not. Your tent is constructed in a different style. And yet, you rescued me. You appear to be trying to save my life. I had considered that you were attempting some method of interrogation, but I fail to see why you would avoid using iron tools or allow me to overcome my own iron poisoning.” He paused for a moment, panting heavily. His chest rose and fell rapidly with obvious exertion.

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” you said, keeping your voice gentle. “I really did pull you off the battlefield because I wanted to save your life.”

He rolled his gaze back over to you. “Yes, I had surmised as much. So, I ask again: Why?”

You sighed, crossing your legs underneath you. “Do you know what Hippotherinism is?” He gave you a head shake. “It’s… well, a lot of people call it a religion, but I think that’s stretching the truth a little bit. It’s more of a philosophical movement. It comes from the idea that all people should seek to do as little harm as possible and seek to help as many as they can. I’ve been following those principles for years now.”

The Fae stared at you. His gaze was interested, if slightly confused. “What does that have to do with saving me?”

“War is against Hippotherinistic principles. We don’t participate as soldiers and we are forbidden from advocating for it. But when there is a war, we are also compelled to save lives. We aren’t allowed to pick and choose. If there is someone who needs our help, human or Fae or any species, we are compelled to help them. You were the first person I came across in savable condition, so I saved you.”

The Fae stared at you for a long moment, thinking hard. Then he slumped back onto the ground. “You are strange.”

“It’s strange to me that you all spend your time fighting,” you said. The Fae’s eyes opened again.

“I don’t spend my time fighting. I am an advisor to the king,” he said.

You paused, uncertain how to continue without offending him. “But you were fighting. Why else would you be on the battlefield?”

“My king was there. His advisors are also his guards, his allies in battle. If the soldiers fight, the king must fight, and if he fights, we go with him.”

“Well, at least your king fights with you,” you said. “Better than can be said for the Sansivore army.”

He seemed mollified by your compliment. “Yes. If your leader will not fight with you, then they are not fit to lead.” He prodded absently at his wounds, testing them. “To be absent from my king’s side… it is a disgrace. It shows that I am weak. I am sworn to follow the king until my final breath. As I am still breathing, I should be at my king’s side.” He closed his eyes. “But I am not.”

“When you’re healed, you can go back,” you said.

He sighed. “You misunderstand. I have abandoned my position. I am in disgrace.”

You parsed that. Their dignity and position were everything to a Fae. To lose their place in society meant a loss of their identity. “You didn’t abandon it,” you pointed out as gently as you could. “You tried to stay. You were injured in battle.”

“As long as I breathe, I should be at my king’s side. If I was left on the battlefield, I should have died there. I am disgraced, dishonored.”

You sat back on your heels. You had never heard anyone so unhappy at having their life saved. He seemed despondent.

“Can you return?” you asked.

“I must,” he said. “I must, and I will throw myself on the mercy of my king. If he elects to reinstate me, I will spend the rest of my life in gratitude for his kindness. If he does not, the court may kill me.”

You blanched. “The court will what?”

“If the king accepts that I am disgraced, that I have abandoned my position, and with it, my honor, I will have all my rights and positions in the land revoked. I will become one of the nameless, stripped of all that I am. The court will tear me apart and those that kill me will earn fragments of my power or land.”

You stared at him, a hand clamped over your mouth. “That’s terrible.”

“It is a mercy. If I were to become nameless, my life would be nothing. No power, no identity, no position. The king holds my name. Should my failure be so great that he decides to destroy it, I would be dead in all but body. To complete that is merely putting things right.” He gave a few raking coughs, then settled back onto his blanket.

You twisted and untwisted a piece of fabric in your hands. “You said the king has your name?”

“He holds the names of all his advisors.”

You closed your eyes, kneading at one of your temples. Names were important to Fae, both in a cultural and metaphysical sense. If he had willingly given it over to the king, that was a bond beyond anything you could think of. He would never voluntarily give up on going to the king, even if he knew that it meant certain death.

“Okay,” you said, the word coming out in a sigh. “Okay. Fine. I’ll help you.”

The Fae stared at you, ears twitching. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ll help you. Get back to the king, I mean. You’re not in a condition to be traveling on your own, not for a little while longer, at least. But if this is really important to you, then I’ll help you.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips curled up, showing off his short but sharp fangs. “What do you want in return?”

“I don’t want anything. That’s not why I’m doing this. I saved your life, so now I have a responsibility to make sure you’re going to be okay.” He looked at you a little blankly, but didn’t seem keen on protesting.

“You agree that for your service, I will not be indebted to you? Forced into repayment at a later date?” he clarified.

“There’s no terms or conditions,” you said. “I don’t want anything in return for it. If it works, we’ll probably never see each other again. And that’s all right. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

There was a long silence. He stared at you. There was something odd shifting in those crystal-blue eyes of his, but you couldn’t read it. Maybe it was some Fae emotion only they could comprehend. Finally, he shook his head. “Humans are fools. But if you offer this to me, then I will take it.”

“Okay. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. First things first. Let me take another look at those cuts. I want to set them up so you’re not going to make them worse by moving around. And maybe put some more antiseptic and painkillers on it.”

The Fae lay back and allowed you to poke and prod at his cuts. He twitched as you probed his stomach and chest. Some of the noises were definitely pained ones, but there were a few sighs he made as you moved your hand along his toned stomach that wounded suspiciously like pleasure. You tactfully ignored him. There was no point in embarrassing him.

After you’d finished your examination, you gave him some clothes, which he put on without complaint, despite them being slightly too big for him. He curled up on the ground, back toward you. Despite yourself, your eyes lingered on him, admiring the shape of his body. No. Bad. Bad doctor. You don’t look at your patients like that.

You went to bed and tried very hard not to dream about anything inappropriate. You didn’t quite succeed.

The Fae seemed more alert and active in the morning, but you still refused to allow him to help you take down the tent. “I’ve done it many times before,” you said. Everything you owned could be folded into a bag that was a little more than half your size. You needed to be able to carry all your stuff from spot to spot. It wasn’t easy, but you had developed pretty good muscles from hauling it all around.

“Do you know what direction the army would have headed in?” you asked as you finished lashing the bag to your back.

The Fae fidgeted. “I have a general idea, yes.”

You waved a hand ahead of you. “Then by all means, lead the way.”

The Fae started out ahead of you. He moved with surprisingly fluid strides, despite his injuries, though there was a stutter in his step. You stayed close to him, even if that meant jogging a little. His legs were really long and he had a habit of hopping slightly, like a rabbit.

The pair of you headed northeast. Every now and then, the Fae would pause to sniff at the air or examine some flowers. The markers didn’t mean anything to you, but they seemed to reassure him that you were going in the right direction.

There was something comfortable about traveling with him. He was quiet, but the quiet wasn’t tense. It seemed more like he was appreciating the little sounds of the forest.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, you noticed him slowing down. He kept putting a hand to his side, fussing with his bandages. “Hey. Sit down a minute.”

He glanced back at you. “I am fine.”

“Uh huh. Then just do it to humor me. I want to take a look. And I want to put more medicine on it so it doesn’t start rotting.”

He bared his fangs, but slumped down against a tree. You crouched next to him, swinging off your bag and rooting through it.

“It will likely take days for us to catch up to them,” he said as you unwrapped the bandages. “They are no longer moving, most likely, but we are much slower than they would have been.”

“Will they stay put for the time it’ll take for us to catch up to them?” you asked. The deepest cut had stopped bleeding and showed no signs of infection. That was good.

“Likely. They usually enchant the location to hide it and settle in.” He gritted his teeth as you dripped medicine into the wound. “Ahh.”

“Sorry. I know it hurts.” He snorted and turned his head away. “You don’t need to act so tough. It’s all right if it hurts. The pain tells you something is wrong and where to fix it.” You patted his shoulder.

The Fae blinked at you. In the sunlight, his blue eyes looked even brighter than before. A strange feeling moved along your spine and gathered in your stomach. You were blushing, you were sure of it. “Everything looks pretty good. I’m glad you’re healing well.”

The Fae pulled himself back to his feet, almost before you had finished securing the bandages again. “We need to keep moving,” he mumbled brusquely, then started padding through the woods again. You slung your bag up onto your shoulders and kept after him.

It was a long day of trekking through the thick undergrowth. The Fae kept ahead of you, but didn’t deliberately leave you behind. Every few moments, he checked behind himself, ensuring you were still there.

By the end of the day, you felt like your lungs were on fire. The Fae seemed perfectly fine, not even bothered. When you settled in a semi-cleared area to start setting up your tent, he glared impatiently. “We should continue.”

“You said they’re not going anywhere,” you said, slumping back against a tree. “We can afford to take a break. And I need some sleep. Humans aren’t as hardy as Fae.”

He hesitated, looking like he was considering continuing without you, then he turned and padded back into the camp.

It took a moment or two to gather the energy to stand back up. Perhaps walking all day had been a bad idea. You weren’t used to trying to keep up with a Fae on foot, and usually you took a more leisurely pace when you were following the army. All of your limbs felt like lead. It was hard to put up a tent with arms that you could barely lift over your head.

The Fae watched as you pulled the tent into place. His gaze was just as inscrutable as ever. It made an odd fluttery feeling start up in your middle again.

By the time you had the fire going, you were almost too tired to move. Thankfully, you had some dried rations. You shoved them toward the Fae. “Here. Eat.”

He opened the bag and started to munch on dried fruit and meat. Judging by his expression, it wasn’t the sort of fare he was used to in the king’s entourage. You slumped on the ground, trying to get up the energy and motivation to actually walk into the tent. Maybe even change your clothes before you fell into bed.

“You are not eating,” the Fae said. You blinked your eyes open. Had you actually fallen asleep for a moment? The Fae was a lot closer to you, practically on top of you.

“No,” you said. “I’m too tired to cook.” A massive yawn punctuated the sentence and proved your words.

The Fae frowned, then held out the bag of rations to you. You pushed them back toward him. “I need to stock up on those, and you need them more than I do.”

He frowned at you. “Humans need to eat.”

“Trust me. I’ve gone longer without food.” You yawned again, stretching your arms over your head. “I’m gonna- hey!”

The Fae dropped the rations on your chest. “Eat.”

“I’ll eat in the morning,” you said. “I just want to sl-hey!”

The Fae shoved you. “Eat.”

You groaned, pushing yourself upright. “I thought I said you should finish it.”

“Humans need food. Fae need less.”

“You’re injured.”

“You are exhausted.” The Fae narrowed his eyes. “Eat!”

He didn’t seem keen on giving up, and it would be faster to just agree with him than to fight until one of you passed out. You munched on the dried fruit and meat for a few minutes. The Fae watched you, ears and tail twitching occasionally.

He didn’t stop watching until you’d finished eating. Once you were done, he lay down, legs curled close to his body. You watched him for a moment longer. He was probably just concerned that you were going to pass out from hunger and possibly delay him. But there had been something in his eyes when he had looked at you. Something close to genuine worry.

That idea made something flutter convulsively in your chest. You swallowed, trying to dampen the feeling. Fuck. Don’t think about your patients like that. With one glance back at the Fae, you crawled into your tent and fell asleep.

You and the Fae set off again early in the morning, soon after the sun had risen. The Fae hung out close to your side. He seemed to be making an effort to stay close to you this time. You couldn’t say you were disappointed by it.

“How long have you been following the army?” the Fae asked. His question was startling. He hadn’t asked you anything out of curiosity, which you had been fine with. Fae weren’t known for appreciating small talk.

“It’s been a couple of years. Before the army, I studied medicine at a hospital. I considered being a medic with the army, but…” You trailed off, shifting your bag on your back. The Fae’s ears pricked slightly.

“But?” he nudged.

“I joined. But they don’t let you help the enemy soldiers. Even the ones that weren’t badly injured. I mean, I get it. They’re the enemy and you don’t want to give them supplies that could be used to heal your own people. But… There was this young man. He was a Fae, I think, but he was young. He looked like a child and he was scared. I had to leave him on the battlefield. I could have saved him. The wound was deep, but survivable. But they told me not to save him. I took another man back, a man with far worse wounds. He died three hours later. And when I went back the next day- the Fae was gone. Battle rot set in. If we had tried, we could have saved him. But we ignored him and he died. And when I looked at his body, something in me broke. I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. So, I left. I can’t save everyone this way. I still have to leave people behind. But at least now I don’t have to just look at people I know I could save and ignore them anyway.”

The Fae stared at you for a long moment. One of his ears ticked. Silence stretched out between you. You could almost hear him grasping for something to say and coming up empty. “Thank you,” he finally said.

You stared at him. “Thank you for what?”

“For bothering to save me,” he said. “There are many humans who would have been consent to save their own army. Many Fae who would do similarly. Yet you took a more difficult path. And because of that, I now live.”

You smiled. “Thought you wanted to die nobly on the battlefield?”

“If I can live and continue to be of service to my king, then I wish to live.” He hesitated for a moment longer. “And your decision to save me was noble. I can’t fault that. You were acting with good intentions and with no regard for yourself. It is something I rarely see. It is… refreshing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said. The Fae nodded in your direction. His eyes roved over your body for a moment before flicking away, back to surveying the forest.

“It was intended as such.” The walk lapsed back into silence, the only noises being the soft sounds of the forest.

You were distracted a bit by the compliment. You kept replaying it over and over in your mind, rolling the softness of his voice and eyes around in your head.

It was so distracting, as a matter of fact, that, in crossing one of the rivers that flowed throughout the forest, your foot slipped.

If you had been paying attention, you would have tested the rock before you put your whole weight on it. But you weren’t paying attention, you stepped casually onto the rock, and it wobbled under your feet. You heard the Fae shout something as you stumbled and fell into the river.

The water wasn’t deep, but it was shock-cold. Your muscles locked as soon as you were submerged. Your mouth opened to scream and a filthy wave of river water flowed into your mouth.

A hand grabbed you by the scruff of your neck and hauled you back up. The Fae was clinging to you, speaking in a rough voice. He held your soaked body against his chest as you shivered.

The Fae dumped you on the shore and yanked your bag off your back. It was wet, but you hadn’t been in the water long enough for everything to get soaked. The Fae pulled a blanket around you, scrubbing furiously.

You automatically slapped at his hands when he started trying to undress you. He completely ignored you. You were too shocked and cold to fight him off properly, so in minutes, you were stripped down to your underwear. Fortunately, he stopped there.

Shivers rolled through your body. The Fae tugged the blanket more securely around you, trying to dry you off. “Humans are so terribly clumsy,” he complained. “And you are already freezing to the touch.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you mumbled through chattering teeth.

“I am not looking for an apology! Take better care of yourself.” The Fae sat back on his heels and gritted his teeth. His sharp little fangs clicked against each other.

“We can keep moving,” you said. “J-just get me new clothes.” You fumbled for your bag and pulled out your other outfit. Unfortunately, the clothes that had gotten soaked were your heavier outfit. Even with the fresh clothes on, you were still shivering.

The Fae tilted his head to one side. His crystalline eyes glittered with thoughtfulness. He picked the blanket up off the ground and started wrapping it around his shoulders, tying some of the corners together.

As soon as it was secure around him, he scooped your bag up and slipped it onto his back. “I can carry my own stu-” The Fae ignored you, bent down, and picked you up.

You froze. The Fae completely ignored your reaction. He instead tucked you into the blanket around his chest like a sling.

“What are you doing?” you asked. The Fae made a ‘tch’ noise.

“It will be slower if we wait for your to warm up. This will help,” he said. There was something oddly tight in his voice. It was hard to tell through his fur, but you thought you could see him flushing pink. Not that you could blame him. you were pretty sure your own face was on fire.

The Fae took off through the woods. Clearly, he had been slowing down for your benefit before. Each stride seemed to eat up several feet of ground. Your head bobbed against his chest. Even with his speed, you could hear his heartbeat pounding as calm and steady as ever.

Being carried against his chest warmed you up considerably. It reminded you of how long it had been since you had been held by someone. Your chest fluttered. Stop it, stop it, he’s just doing this to be practical. Don’t get all flustered because of it.

The Fae kept running as the sun sank lower in the sky. You nodded off at one point and woke bleary and confused at the tail end of sunset. The Fae had slowed down, moving more delicately through the undergrowth. The foliage was unusually thick and green, and you could see little glowing motes dancing between leaves and branches.

“You were correct,” the Fae said. One of his hands was cradling you, resting right between your shoulder blades. You were distractingly aware of the point of contact. “The entourage did not go far after all.”

You could pick up some strain in his voice. He swayed as he came to a near stop, then leaned against a tree. His breathing was labored.

“Put me down,” you said urgently. The Fae all but dropped you onto the ground. You managed to land mostly upright and hastily got to your feet. “Are you okay?”

“Tired,” he panted. One of his hands moved to his side, where he had been wounded. There was red seeping through the bandages.

“Let me see,” you said. You moved toward him, but he shifted, trying to push you away.

“No. Leave.” The motion made him shudder with pain. You pushed toward him and touched his wound. He made a high, keening noise of pain.

“You opened up the wound again while running. I need to close it again.” You leaned close to his side, prodding at the wound. He groaned, but didn’t push you away again.

“You should go,” he said. “I… I must present myself to my king.”

“Let me clean the wound beforehand,” you said. The Fae swung your bag down from his shoulders and you pulled out a roll of bandages. He allowed you to prod and rebandage the wound. Under his fine fur, he looked terribly pale.

“It’s getting worse,” you said. “Whatever you did while running, you really ripped it back open. You’ll need to-”

The Fae went still under your hands. He took in a shuddering breath. You froze, eyes still fixed on his wound.

“You live.” The voice was harsh, roughly female, but with an edge to it like a blade running along metal. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. A woman with blades curving off her skin stood over you. Her eyes gleamed bright red.

“I live,” the Fae said. He struggled into a full standing position. “I returned.”

The woman smiled. Her teeth were all metallic, sharp as knives. “With a little mortal in tow, I see.”

The Fae shifted his position, trying to put himself between you and her. “The mortal is none of your business.” Under his breath, he hissed, “Run,” to you.

You stayed where you were. “Not until you’re bandaged. I need five minutes.”

“Run!” he snarled at you. The woman shook her head.

“Don’t send the little mortal away! Surely, our king will want to see who brought his loyal courtier back to him.” The woman’s hand curled around your upper arm. You froze. Blood seeped onto your fingers through the bandages.

The Fae gritted his teeth, but he nodded. “Stay close to me,” he murmured to you.

“Got it,” you said. You weren’t moving away from his side, at least not until the bleeding stopped.

Inside the clearing, the trees and undergrowth had shifted to form a sort of natural building. Fae of all shapes and sizes, dressed in wild and ornate fashion, stood all around. In the center of everything, seated on a throne, was who you assumed was the king.

He looked young, younger than you were expecting. He looked barely eighteen, possibly younger. His hair was straw-blond and he had a fair, fine face. The only sign that he was anything more than human were his eyes, which were pitch black, no sclera at all.

He smiled as you approached. “My old friend. How glad I am that you survived.”

The Fae dropped to his knees. “My king. I apologize for abandoning my position. I was poisoned with iron on the battlefield. I expected to die. I was only saved by the mortal here.”

The king tilted his head, observing you. You gave a slight bow. The wound was still bleeding, and you were desperate to get back to it. “The mortal saved your life?” the king said. He smiled. “How interesting.”

“As soon as I was able, I returned to the court,” the Fae said. “I throw myself at your mercy, my king. If you wish it, I will sacrifice myself for you. I expect nothing and will be grateful for-”

“Enough.” The king’s voice was mild, but the Fae fell silent immediately. “Mortal. Is what he says true?”

You took a deep breath. “Yes. I pulled him off the battlefield. I prevented him from dying or returning to you immediately, as he wanted to do. I had no other reason for doing this other than simply wanting to save his life. I expect no favors. I came along only out of concern for his health.”

The king looked at you strangely. “You are telling the truth,” he said. “You want nothing more than to see him well.”

“It is what I believe in,” you said. “If you accept him back into your court, I will leave. You don’t need to give me anything, and I won’t hold anything over your head.”

“And if I don’t?” the king asked. “I assume he told you what would happen if I turned him away?”

You took a deep breath. “Yes, he did. I… well. I doubt I could save him if you decided he should die.”

“You saved him and came here knowing that he may not survive? That you may be in danger as well?” It was hard to read the king’s expression. His tone was completely neutral.

“I followed what I believe to be right. If that leads to my death, then at least I will die nobly.” Your voice was steady, but you could feel your knees shaking. The king tilted his head at you.

“A mortal who does only what their conscience demands. Interesting,” he said. Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a breeze picked up. The trees surrounding the clearing groaned. A shudder moved through the ground. The king lifted his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Hm. Interesting.”

The Fae gripped your calf with one hand. You glanced at him. “You okay?”

“The Queen.” His eyes were wide, frightened. “She is here.”

You looked around, despite not being entirely sure who you were looking for. “Where?”

He gestured widely around you. “Here. Everywhere. She so rarely leaves her kingdom. That’s why she sends the king…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked.

“The Queen is more than any other Fae. She is a part of the world around us. Beneath our feet, in the trees. The king is her consort. He rules only through her favor,” the Fae said hurriedly. His ears were twitching. The hand on your calf tensed and loosened alternately.

The king looked relaxed as he glanced around him. He seemed to be listening to something you couldn’t hear. “Truly? Hm. An interesting idea.” He tapped his fingers along the line of his jaw. “Mortal. The Queen has taken an interest in you.”

The Fae at your side sucked in a sharp breath. It was hard to tell whether it was due to being impressed or being concerned. Having a Fae take in an interest in you could mean anything from grand favors to being recreationally tortured, just to see how you’d react. The hand on your calf was tightening gradually until it started to hurt.

“Has she? I’m flattered,” you said in as neutral a tone as you could manage.

“Yes. She says that among both mortals and Fae, there are few who would stick to their principles so stridently.” The king tilted his head, again listening as the wind picked up. “Mm. Come here.”

He extended a hand toward you, palm up. You stared at it uncertainly. The Fae was still gripping your calf. His face was toward the ground, but what you could make out of his expression was terrified. Whatever the king wanted, it was dangerous.

The only thing more dangerous than accepting a Fae’s offer, though, was potentially offending the Fae. You were cornered. Slowly, you stepped forward, shaking the Fae’s grip off your calf, and took the king’s hand.

Everything faded. Noise became muffled and a faint, gray veil descended over the world around you. It was like you were looking at everything through a thick mist. The only vivid thing in the world was the pulsing form of light that had appeared next to you.

It was shaped vaguely like a woman, with streamers of light trailing off its vague head. The light pulsed in multiple colors, moving from red to yellow to green to blue. It wasn’t bright enough to be blinding, but looking at it head on hurt your eyes after only a few moments.

“You’re the Queen,” you guessed, lowering your head respectfully.

A voice, layered and vaguely feminine, echoed around the area. INDEED. The voice was vaguely amused. I AM GLAD TO SPEAK TO YOU. YOU INTEREST ME.

You licked your lips. “I’m surprised a mortal can hold the interest of one as impressive as you.”

The Queen laughed. NO NEED FOR FLATTERY. I SO RARELY MEET THOSE, MORTAL OR FAE, WHO HAVE PRINCIPLES THEY STICK TO SO RESOLUTELY. TELL ME. WHY DID YOU ACCOMPANY HIM HERE?

“He wanted to return,” you said.

THAT IS WHY HE CAME HERE, YES. BUT I ASKED WHY YOU CAME WITH HIM. SURELY YOU KNOW THAT A MORTAL APPROACHING A FAE COURT IS DANGEROUS? YOU COULD HAVE WASHED YOUR HANDS OF HIM AND NO ONE WOULD THINK YOU A POOR HEALER.

You hesitated. “His wounds. I couldn’t leave him. I needed to make sure he would make it back here.”

YES. I SURMISED YOU WERE FOLLOWING TO PROTECT HIM. BUT WHY?

You paused again. “Because I saved his life. He told me I should have left him to die. I saved him, so I needed to make sure he was going to be okay. A healer’s job isn’t just done when the physical wounds are healed. I needed to make sure he was going to be able to survive on his own. And if I didn’t help him, there was every chance he would have died.” You lifted your chin, looking in the vague location of the light’s face. “If I save his life, I am responsible for protecting it.”

INDEED. The Queen sounded pleased by your answer, though her echoing, pulsing voice made it hard to tell. THEN MY DECISION IS MADE.

“What deci-” The fog retreated and you were suddenly blinking into the king’s face. He smiled placidly and released your hand.

“The Queen has decreed it,” he said. “And I concur. Mortal. In saving his life, you have proven yourself worthy of ownership of it. I grant you his name, his land, and his titles.”

You blinked again. Very suddenly, with no idea how you knew, you knew the Fae’s name. You turned to look at him. He was staring back at you, looking bewildered.

“I thank you for the years in my service, old friend,” the king said. “When the mortal has passed on and your name is your own, you may return. I look forward to seeing you again.” He waved his hand. “Now, go. Leave.”

You were vaguely aware of being marched away by armed guards. Mostly, you were just looking at the Fae, who was staring back at you with a similarly lost expression.

The guards left when you were a sufficient distance from the king, melting back into the trees. Only then did you feel comfortable to turn to the Fae. “What just happened?”

“He gave you my name,” the Fae said, clearly still processing everything. “My life is yours. My land, my title… Should you wish for it, they are all yours.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times. “I don’t want it,” you finally said. “Can I just… give it back to you?”

The Fae frowned. “No. The Queen herself decreed it. To give it away would be a terrible insult. I wouldn’t accept it, and even if you managed to return my name, you would be a disgrace to the Fae Court and hunted for the insult.”

You huffed. “Then what am I supposed to do with it?”

The Fae knelt, head facing toward the dirt. “My life is bound to yours now. I am your humble servant, as I was to the king. If you wish it, I will take you to my lands. You can live there pampered and sheltered. I will care for all aspects of ownership. You will merely live in peace, as the guardian of my name and the owner of my life.”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah, I don’t want that.” The Fae’s mouth twitched, a kind of amused smile, like he had known what you were going to say, but was pleased by the answer nonetheless.

“Then what is it that you want?” he asked.

“I want to keep helping people,” you said. “To continue my work. And I don’t want someone bound to me through servitude and an ownership over life. You’re not property. You’re a person.” You took a breath and looked up into his face, into his crystalline eyes. “What do you want?”

“I-” He paused, then pressed his lips together, as if uncertain himself. “I want,” he began again, haltingly. “I think I want… to learn. The Queen was right. You are fascinating. Even if I were not bound to you, I think there would be a part of me that would remain so. I would like to learn from you. See the world as you see it. Learn to value things as you do. If that would be amenable to you?”

Somehow, despite being taller, he gave them impression of looking up at you from under his lashes. It was a remarkably shy expression, and one that fluttered all throughout your chest before settling as a warm glow behind your heart. “All right then, Sarscillis. I think we can make that work.” You held your hand out toward him. Slowly, his rough palm met yours.

Sarscillis smiled at you. “I look forward to learning from you. And to being with you.” His smiled widened. “Even if you returned my name, I think I would have followed you. And I shall follow you still.”

#exophilia #monster lover #Fae lover #fae boyfriend #jackalope #monster boyfriend #Fae #fairy

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baya-ni · 4 years ago

Text

The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

#and scene #i was up till 4am writing this instead of doing my hw #bc i hav Opinions dammit #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 meta #sk8 theory #queerbait

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

Note

Hello, fic request coming through if you are still doing them! Okay, Carlos has not been feeling well so he stays in and doesn't go to his shift. TK still has his shift, so he wants to stay with Carlos to keep an eye on him but Carlos says he is fine. TK is uneasy at work just wants to go back home, he calls Carlos but he is not answering. Tommy says TK can go check up on Carlos, while he is at home, he finds Carlos in bed and when he goes closer, Carlos is not breathing. Paramedic!TK coming through. Super angst ensues but Carlos makes it in the end after some time in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 25: heaving through corrupted lungs

thank you for the prompt!

thanks also to @noxsoulmate for the beta! 💚

ao3 | 2.9k | major character illness, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, brief references to past, canonical character death

“Strand, I know we’re not on a call right now, but you could at least pretend to be focused.”

TK flushes as Tommy’s somewhat less-than amused voice reaches him from the back of the ambulance. He hurriedly locks his phone and shoves it in the glove compartment, though not before checking every messaging app he has for word from Carlos.

There’s none, of course, just like it’s been all day. Logically, he knows Carlos is probably sleeping—god knows he needs it—but that isn’t going to stop him from worrying, or from sending check-up texts every ten minutes. It does, however, stop Carlos from answering, which isn’t very conducive to TK’s ability to concentrate on work today.

“Sorry, Cap,” he says. “It’s just—”

“Carlos is sick and you’re being paranoid, as usual,” Nancy chimes in, audibly rolling her eyes from the driver’s seat. “Look, dude, if he said he’s fine, then he’s probably fine.”

“Well, I’m the paramedic in the relationship, and I say he’s not fine.” TK sighs and forces himself to resist the urge to pull out his phone again. “Carlos likes to lecture me about hiding injuries, but he’s exactly the same when he’s ill; he could be on death’s door and still saying he’s okay. But he hasn’t said anything today, so I’m worried.”

“You’re always worried about him.”

“Welcome to relationships,” Tommy comments. “Seriously though, TK, are you going to be okay to finish this shift? There’s still ten hours to go and we cannot afford for you to be distracted out there.”

TK doesn’t answer right away; on one hand, he’s itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

He’s staring out the window, considering his options, when he realises that he knows these streets. Like, actually knows them. They’re right around the corner from his and Carlos’s home, and an idea strikes TK like a lightning bolt.

“Hey, Cap?” he asks, twisting around in his seat to look at her. “How about we take a lunch break now instead of driving all the way back to the station? There’s a great place nearby, and it’s less likely that we’ll be interrupted by a call before we get food.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously, clearly not buying his innocent act. “What are you talking about, TK?”

“Mine and Carlos’s place is literally two streets away; we could drop by and I could check in on him and make sure he’s okay. Plus,” he continues, already spotting the argument on Tommy’s face, “I’m not lying about the food. Carlos cooks in bulk, so we’ve got loads of leftover casserole in the freezer.”

Tommy pauses, indecision clear in her expression. She narrows her eyes at TK, scrutinising him. “Will this mean you’ll stop being so distracted?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright.” She sighs and nods, and Nancy switches directions to head towards their home. “I’m holding you to that, Strand.”

TK spends the entire drive, short as it is, drumming his fingers on his knees and trying to keep the ever-growing panic at bay. Carlos is going to be fine.

He has to be.

He jumps out the ambulance before Nancy’s even fully stopped it, cursing himself as he fumbles with his keys. Tommy pats his shoulder soothingly; it doesn’t really calm him down, but TK appreciates the effort and her unconditional support. When he gets inside, he simply waves a hand in the general direction of the freezer, hoping Tommy and Nancy get the message, and barrels upstairs, Carlos’s name bursting from his lips.

“Carlos, babe, you here?” It’s a stupid question; TK had seen the Camaro in the driveway and Carlos is far too ill to want to walk anywhere—or so TK hopes—so he has to be home. But the silence draws out, and TK’s heart is pounding a mile a minute by the time he reaches the door to their bedroom.

“Carlos?” He pushes open the door, sighing in relief when he sees his fiancé sprawled across the bed, dead to the world. It’s a little weird that he hasn’t woken up yet given how loud TK was shouting, but it’s probably just because his body needs the rest. TK would bet that the apocalypse could happen outside the window and Carlos wouldn’t so much as stir.

He tip-toes towards the bed, a soft smile spreading across his lips as anxiety gives way to fondness and love. It’s not until he’s within touching distance of Carlos that he registers just how still he is; just how silent the room is.

This morning, Carlos’s breathing was loud and harsh, punctuated with periodic sniffs and coughs.

Now, he’s not making a sound.

And, as TK drops to his knees and bends over his fiancé’s body, he realises that his chest isn’t moving.

Carlos isn’t breathing.

The panic is back in full force as TK frantically presses his fingers to Carlos’s pulse point, praying for something—a flutter, anything—to indicate that Carlos isn’t… That he’s not…

There’s nothing.

Instinct takes over, TK linking his hands on Carlos’s chest and starting compressions even as his vision blurs with tears and he chokes on the sobs building in his throat.

“Cap!” he yells, not taking his eyes off Carlos. “Cap, up here!”

A minute later, Tommy and Nancy burst into the room, both halting in shock for a moment before jumping into action. Nancy moves to the other side of the bed, already pulling out the ambu bag, while Tommy comes to stand by TK.

“What do we have?” she asks, professional as ever, though there’s a clear worried undertone to her voice.

“No pulse, no respiration,” he manages, voice thick. “Skin is warm to the touch. No clear cause, but patient was congested and moderately feverish during the past few days.”

Tommy nods and gently pushes at TK’s shoulder. “Alright, you did good, TK, but you should let us take over now,” she says gently. “Come on, Nancy and I can handle this.”

TK ignores her, continuing compressions with renewed force. “I have to help him, Cap. I have to.”

“And you have, but now—”

“No!” Later, TK will be ashamed of the way he lost control like that, and he’ll have to apologise to Tommy, but the only thing he can really, truly focus on now is Carlos. He keeps pushing, feeling Carlos’s ribs give under his hands, and forces himself to keep going even though his stomach turns at the idea of causing him any pain. “Come on, baby,” he mutters. “Come on, Carlos, please.”

Time is running out; TK can tell by the way the silence is starting to feel heavier and heavier, by the looks he knows Tommy and Nancy must be exchanging over his head. Carlos’s time is running out, and TK is staring down a future he doesn’t know he can survive, and—

“I have a pulse!” Nancy shouts, and the words don’t register in TK’s head until Tommy’s hands are forcibly pulling him back and Carlos’s chest is moving and his eyelids start to flutter.

Tommy slides into the space left by TK, practiced hands checking Carlos’s vitals. “Carlos, can you hear me?”

She gets no response save for a weak groan, then Carlos’s body goes slack again and his head lolls limply on the pillow. TK takes a panicked step forward, but he’s just as quickly pushed back as Tommy secures an oxygen mask over Carlos’s face.

“Nancy, get the backboard and the gurney ready. Heart rate is arrhythmic and respiration is laboured; radio Austin Memorial and get their cardiac unit on standby.”

Nancy dashes out of the bedroom, and Tommy grabs her own radio. “Dispatch, this is RA 126 responding to a cardiac event at 2204 Allred Drive. Patient is unconscious and breathing, however at the time of arrival, he was in cardiac arrest. Duration unknown.”

“Copy that, RA 126.”

Nancy arrives with the backboard, and TK feels like an invisible observer as he watches his two teammates work. He’s stuck, barely breathing, as he watches Carlos struggle and fight for his life; he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he dies, here and now.

TK moves as if in a nightmare as they get Carlos down the stairs and into the ambulance, eyes constantly locked on his fiancé. He thinks Tommy might say something to him, but he doesn’t hear it and he doesn’t bother to ask—terrible as it is to admit, he doesn’t care right now. He can’t care; there’s no more room inside him for anything else but Carlos.

He wraps a hand around Carlos’s wrist, two fingers resting on his pulse point, and prays that he’ll never have to feel that absence again.

Tommy sits beside him in the waiting room, a silent show of support while they wait for news on Carlos. Or until they catch another call; whichever comes first. Nancy is…somewhere. TK thinks she might have gone to grab some coffee or a snack, but he honestly has no idea. He’s kind of lost track of things, the hospital’s plain white walls turning time into water as they wait, and wait, and wait.

“I know how you feel, you know,” Tommy says, unprompted. “The night that Charles died, I… I spent so long blaming myself. I wasn’t there, you know? And I just kept thinking that if I had been there, if I hadn’t stayed out at Grace and Judd’s, then I might have been able to do something to save him.” She levels him with a firm, yet motherly look, and TK drops his gaze to the floor. “I know now that there was nothing. It kills me to admit it, but what happened would have happened either way, and it’s the same here. Carlos is young, healthy—there was no reason to suspect anything might happen. Certainly nothing like this. You did everything that you could, TK, and you have to hold onto that, no matter what the outcome.”

TK squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, giving up on keeping the tears at bay. Tommy reaches out to wrap one arm around him, but he jerks away, curling in on himself. “It’s not the same,” he whispers, voice thick. “It’s not— I knew, Cap. I knew he was ill and I still left him.”

“You said you guys thought it was just a bad cold.”

“No, I knew. I’m a paramedic, how could I have missed this?”

“These things happen, TK,” she says softly. “It’s cruel, and it’s senseless, and, more than anything, it’s unavoidable. We can go in circles blaming ourselves for it—and I know it’s worse for us; we think we should be able to see everything because it’s our job, right?

“The thing is, we’re the most blind when it comes to the people we love. We think we see everything and we always worry over them, but ultimately we just want to believe that everything’s going to be okay. That they’re going to be okay. It’s hard to accept when they’re not.”

“I should have done more.”

“You did all you cou—”

“No, I didn’t.” He lets out a sob, twisting away from Tommy’s touch once more when she tries to comfort him. “I should have insisted on staying home; I should have thought about going to check on him earlier. We have no idea how long he was lying there, dead—he was dead, Tommy—before we arrived, but if I had been there then I could have gotten him help.”

TK takes a shuddering breath and looks up at his captain, meeting her eyes for the first time since they were in the ambulance. “Tommy, if he dies, then I swear I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”

Tommy looks like she wants to say more, but just as she opens her mouth, her radio crackles to life. She sighs regretfully but stands, clasping TK’s shoulder gently.

“He’ll be okay, TK. Believe in that.”

Looking at Carlos, TK has never believed in anything less. He’s so still and pale on the bed and TK keeps having to check that his chest is still moving, despite the steady beep of the heart monitor and the constant thrum against his fingertips. He hasn’t let go of Carlos’s wrist since he was allowed into the room, and he doesn’t intend to let go until Carlos is back with him, awake and alive and okay.

He’s trying to believe in that outcome as a certainty, but he knows better than that. Carlos might be young and healthy, but the fact still remains that his heart stopped—coming back from that is far from guaranteed.

It’s been three days since the incident, and Carlos’s parents have been in and out, always bringing TK food and trying to engage him in conversation. He tries, for them, but it’s not easy and the attempts always fizzle out before long; TK just doesn’t have it in him anymore to talk and pretend to be positive. Any hope he ever had has abandoned him, the only thing keeping him afloat his grip around Carlos’s wrist.

A tupperware container drops into his lap, and TK looks up to see Andrea standing over him. She reaches across to caress Carlos’s cheek, then sinks into the chair beside TK, giving him a pointed look.

He sighs, attempting a weak smile for her. “I appreciate it, Andrea, but—”

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head firmly. “No more buts; I won’t hear them. My son might not be able to make sure you take care of yourself, but I am more than capable of taking over for him. I am very strict about food, ask any of his sisters.” Her stern look softens and she pats his arm gently. “Venga, mijo. You’ll feel better for it.”

TK looks down at the dish in his lap, doing his best to keep a grimace off his face. It looks and smells delicious, like all of Andrea’s cooking, but the sight of it makes his stomach turn, his gag reflex activating at the very thought of putting any in his mouth.

“Andrea, I…” He shakes his head and picks the container up with his free hand, handing it back to her. “I can’t.”

And it’s not just that TK can’t handle any food at the moment, though that certainly plays into it.

But they’re tamales.

The Reyes family recipe tamales, passed down through generations, which Carlos has been slowly attempting to teach TK. Which Carlos always makes on special occasions, and sometimes just for the hell of it.

Which Carlos made the night he proposed.

Andrea looks set to argue, but TK forces an end to the conversation by making her take the container and turning back to Carlos.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, knowing he’s disappointed her. “It’s just hard.”

She sighs and rubs his back. “I know. Just don’t come to me when Carlos wakes up and realises you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

That almost gets a laugh out of him, and TK looks over to smile at Andrea. It’s a brittle thing, but it’s a smile all the same, which is more than he’s managed in three days. She smiles back at him, and it helps him feel not so alone in all this.

A weak groan is all the warning he gets before, “Are you turning down my mother’s cooking?” reaches his ears, and TK gasps, whipping around to stare at the bed.

Right into Carlos’s eyes.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, baby.” Carlos’s voice is rough and rasping, his eyes fluttering closed again a second later, though TK can tell that he’s still awake. He reaches to the table and pours a cup of water, encouraging Carlos to lift his head and drink through the straw.

“Slow sips, that’s it,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb gently along Carlos’s wrist, still holding on tightly.

Once Carlos has drunk his fill, he opens his eyes again and looks up at TK, gaze searching his face. “I love you,” he rasps, smiling gently, “but did you really just say no to my mom’s tamales?”

TK splutters, but he can’t keep the smile off his own face, shaking his head fondly at Carlos. “I love you too, idiot,” he says. “And tamales don’t taste the same without you there to eat them with me.”

“Good thing I’m here now, then.”

TK hums. “Guess it is.”

(Later, after the nurses and doctors have come and gone, TK will pick up the tub of tamales, left behind by Andrea when she went to tell everyone the good news.

He and Carlos will split one, pressed close together in the bed to avoid getting crumbs on the sheets. Carlos will be smiling at him the entire time, and TK will kiss him over and over, relishing the sensation of Carlos kissing him back.

And it’ll be the best damn tamale TK has ever eaten.)

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caiminnent · 3 years ago

Text

my demise, my downfall [kylux, rated M]

Summary: Hux had no idea that Ren, his bedmate and partner in crime, was actually Ben Organa-Solo, the sole heir of First Order's biggest rival in the industry.

He didn't know Ben had a girlfriend, either.

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Tags: Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Use Your Words, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren isn't Much Better, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships

Notes: Photo by Mitchell Griest on Unsplash, cropped.

2.9K || Also on AO3

Hux wakes up to gentle caresses, a feather-light finger drawing unrecognisable shapes over his shoulders, down his back.

His eyes ache behind his eyelids, that didn’t-sleep-enough taste in his mouth. Torn between giving in to his body’s demands for rest and enjoying the soft touch while it lasts, he drifts on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, basking in the pleasant warmth.

Something rattles far behind him, jerking him fully awake. The touch withdraws.

Pushing his disappointment down, Hux takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. Ren is sitting up in the middle of the bed with his legs stretched out, tapping away at his phone.

“Go back to sleep,” Ren says without looking, his tone sleep-gruff. “’s not morning yet.”

“Why are you awake, then?” Hux mumbles, though he doesn’t particularly care about the answer. A short night wasn’t enough to make up for six weeks of absence; Hux won’t be settled without at least a few more hours of sleep, another round and brunch.

Thank fuck it’s Sunday.

Ren doesn’t respond, focused on whatever he’s doing on his phone. Stretching languidly on the bed, “Come back here, Ren,” Hux purrs, kicking the covers away in the process. Ren’s eyes latch onto the bared skin.

“Can’t,” Ren says, shaking his head. The phone buzzes again, as if reminding them of itself—as if it gave Ren a chance to forget it. “Got plans.”

Hux’s mood sours. Plans. Ren has barely returned to the Core Worlds and he’s already making plans with others.

“What plans?” Hux asks, keeping his tone mild. It can’t be work; they don’t hide Snoke’s various demands from each other, if only so Snoke won’t be able to blindside them later. Ren doesn’t have any friends in this sector, either—none that Hux knows of, at least. Is it that girl? Is Ren running out of Hux’s bed straight into her arms?

Hux has never woken up in Ren’s bed, but he now knows how it would feel to be kicked out of it.

Ren is still typing, not even acknowledging the question. What the hell is he writing, a novel?

“Let me guess, then,” Hux says, poison-sweet. “Early breakfast with your sunshine?”

Ren freezes.

A vicious delight fills Hux. “Unless you two had urgent business to take care of at the Resistance HQ,” he continues evenly, ignoring the tension that thickens in the air between them. “First Order’s latest requisitions have put them in quite the bind; your mother is right to want you on-site, now that you’re—”

—pinned on the bed with Ren’s overly warm body covering his, Ren’s forearm across his throat and knees on Hux’s shins. Ren’s other hand presses Hux’s wrists into the mattress; so close to the knife Hux keeps between the mattress and the headboard, but at the entirely wrong angle to grab it.

“Bastard,” Hux hisses in Ren’s face, the bed groaning as he feebly tries to shake Ren off. Ren presses his knobbly knees harder into Hux’s legs in answer, as if trying to dig grooves into Hux’s bones. The pressure on his neck remains steady, only hard enough to make it uncomfortable to swallow. A half-hearted threat at best.

What a bloody embarrassment.

“You’re not supposed to know any of that,” Ren snarls, his nostrils flaring as he glares down at Hux. Hux stares back, keeping his gaze steady and his breathing even. He’s never been afraid of Snoke’s hound; that won’t change now. “I know Snoke forbid you from investigating me. Have you been fucking—fucking digging anyway?”

Hux scoffs. As if he’s got the time to dig into Ren’s life. “I was having a business dinner at the Starkiller last month, when you walked in with your lovely girlfriend.” It’s quite telling that Ren didn’t even notice Hux there, so captivated by her. “Have you ever noticed how her voice carries, Ben?”

Ren growls low in his throat like the beast he is, his shoulders and neck tensing. Inhaling deeply, Hux waits for the moment Ren will put his crushing weight on Hux’s windpipe, visualising his hands clenching and unclenching as his body struggles to draw air into his burning lungs, unable to even scrabble at Ren’s forearm. The spots in his darkening vision until he can’t see Ren’s face anymore. Waking up with bruises on his tender neck—or not waking up at all.

Ren can’t kill him, though. He isn’t allowed to, not until Hux outlives his usefulness for Snoke. Killing Hux now would mean Ren signing his own death warrant.

“That name,” Ren says lowly, his breath warm on Hux’s face, “isn’t for you to use. Nobody—nobody—can find out that you know it, or there will be consequences.” He gives Hux a long look, anxiety shining through the ebbing fury in his eyes. What happens if word of Ren’s real name gets out? What’s so important about it? “Hux. Do you understand?”

Hux scoffs. “Yes, damn you. I won’t tell anyone.” He wasn’t planning to anyway; this sort of personal information is more valuable as a bargaining chip. When the time comes, he’ll benefit from having leverage over Snoke’s protégé. It just might turn the tide in Hux’s favour.

Satisfied, Ren rolls off and away from Hux. For a moment, Hux can only breathe as his blood rushes back into his feet and hands with that pins-and-needles sensation. Something dark and ugly gathers in the pit of his stomach, a need to sink his teeth into Ren’s throat until he tastes blood rising in him.

Later. His chance will come later.

Ren’s found his trousers on the floor, putting them on. Hux feels oddly naked, vulnerable in only soft trousers while Ren dons his armour again.

Well, Hux is clearly not going back to sleep. Might as well start his day.

“I hope you realise that this cannot continue,” he says conversationally, stepping into his slippers. No point of pulling the sheets up; he’s going to throw them all in the wash as soon as Ren leaves anyway. “This double life of yours, I mean—it’s too much of a risk to allow.”

“It’s not a double life,” Ren grumbles, trying to shake the wrinkles out of his shirt. The spiteful part of Hux hopes that Ren won’t have time to change out of the mussed state Hux put him in before his plans.

“Well, what would you call it?” Hux asks, raising a brow. “Polished, charming Organa-Solo heir on one side, Snoke’s brooding enforcer on the other? Unless I’m wrong and you’re mixing business and pleasure, in which case Ben’s dry cleaner had better be very discreet.”

“I’m not—” Ren cuts himself off with a huff, his unbuttoned shirt hanging off his shoulders. His glare isn’t quite effective with the entire bed between them. “Look, Snoke knows. Okay? He encourages me to keep Ben Organa-Solo alive—to have past connections we can use. I’m doing his bidding.”

“Sunshine—or whatever her name is—she’s one of your honeypot assignments, then?”

Ren runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “I didn’t say that.”

The space behind Hux’s eyes is throbbing, the beginnings of a headache making itself known. Kriffing Ren and his kriffing inability to say one thing straight.

His robe hangs off the hook behind the door—a strategic mistake. “What, then?” Hux asks as he strides over to it, the luxurious fabric his lifeline to feeling a little more put-together. A little more like himself. “Care to explain how she fits into the picture?”

“None of your fucking business,” Ren mutters—suspiciously like around something. Hux is unsurprised to turn and find one of those death-sticks between Ren’s lips and a lighter in his hand, though annoyance is another matter entirely. “I’m doing my damn job; what more do you care?”

Hux fishes out an ashtray from his vanity with a pointed sigh, throwing it vaguely Ren’s way on the bed. Ren picks it up before dropping himself on the edge of the mattress, balancing the ashtray on a thick thigh.

“You wouldn’t be so cagey if you were only following orders,” Hux points out, ignoring the light tickle at the back of his throat. If Ren drops a smatter of ash on his carpets, there will be hell to pay. “What is it? Does she know something she shouldn’t?” Hux can make it go away, if she does.

“No, of course not. She knows nothing.”

Right. Very convincing.

Crossing his arms over his chest, “Is that so?” Hux asks, leaning a hip against the vanity. Ren barely glances at him before turning to the closed window, blowing the smoke out of a corner of his mouth. “Say, Ren, what does she think that you’re doing for a living? Snoke’s bodyguard works only so well when the man is bedbound. How do you explain your long trips abroad? Or the nights you return smelling of sex?”

Ren releases a long breath, loud in the otherwise quiet room. He ashes his cigarra and takes another drag, cool as you please, while irritation crawls underneath Hux’s skin.

It’s like Hux isn’t even kriffing there.

An odd desperation tugging at his chest, “Or maybe she already knows that you’re fucking someone on the side,” Hux throws, spitefully hoping for it to land.

Ren’s jaw works, his lips pressing into a line.

There.

It’s all of ten steps from his spot to Ren’s. “You’re loyal as a dog; I don’t imagine I’m your dirty secret,” Hux adds as he takes them slowly, satisfaction buzzing through him. Ren’s shoulders grow more rigid with each word, the ashtray moving as his legs tense. “Maybe it’s a thingbetween you two. Is that why you never shower here—because she likes smelling another man on you, feeling how open you still are from—”

“Rey’s my cousin, you jackass,” Ren snarls, a vein pulsing on his forehead. A knot unravels in Hux’s stomach. “What the fuck is it to you anyway? I know you don’t get lonely without me.”

The anger Hux was aiming for—the unmissable undercurrent of hurtin Ren’s tone gives him a pause. Hux hasn’t taken a lover since he and Ren started their… arrangement. He could have—and perhaps should have, instead of relying on his hand alone to get him through Ren’s weeks-long disappearances—but he didn’t even want to.

It worries him, sometimes.

“It’s a matter of security,” Hux says, waving it off. “Secrets have a way of leaking during pillow talk, you know that better than anyone.”

Ren laughs, bitter and hollow. Something in Hux twists at the sound. “Security,” Ren spits out, putting out the cigarra like it offended him personally. “Do you wanna do background checks on everybody I slept with while I was gone, then?”

Sharp hurt jolts through Hux.

Ren is staring at him with an intensity that borders on uncomfortable, waiting. Hux unclenches his jaw, breathing through his nose. “You’re an old hand at this; I’ll trust your judgment,” he responds, turning away. What is he doing, reacting to Ren? What the hell is wrong with him?

Ren grabs him by the wrist, jerking him to a stop.

Irritation rises in Hux again. “Ren,” he bites out in warning.

“No really, I think you should,” Ren says, a dark look shining in his eyes. “I don’t remember every name, but I can give you some other details. I’m sure your network of stalkers—sorry, slicers can find out enough.”

“My slicers have more important intel to chase after,” Hux bites out, looking pointedly at Ren’s hand around his wrist. The grip is loose enough that he might break himself free, but suffering the indignity of struggling doesn’t quite appeal to him. Once was enough. “Will you let me go?”

“Only if you admit it.”

Hux scoffs. “Admit what, exactly?”

“Admit that you’re jealous.” Hux goes ice-cold all over. “You hated thinking about me with Rey, didn’t you?”

Of course not. What a ridiculous claim. Hux holds a certain dislike for missing out on critical intel—understandable given his line of work—and finding out that he’s been left entirely in the dark about Ren, Snoke’s other right-hand man and the only person Hux remotely trusts in the First Order, was a bit of a hit. That’s all there is to it. He’s got no reason to be jealous of some girl who calls Ren by his given name, who can laugh and joke with Ren, be seen in public with Ren, who can loop an arm around Ren as they leave—

The dismissal gets stuck in his throat.

“Because I hated it,” Ren murmurs, looking into his eyes. Hux wants with his whole being to escape the depth of feeling in Ren’s earnest gaze—can’t look away. “Thinking about others warming your bed while I was fucked off on some bullshit mission that barely needed me—it killed me, Hux. Tell me you hated it, too. Tell me you want me to be only yours.”

Only Hux’s. As if Ren, with his constant need for attention and validation, wouldn’t chafe under Hux’s negligence.

Hux shakes his head, wishing he could shake off this spell just as easily. Ren must be similarly addled if he’s talking of fancies of flight like exclusivity. “You don’t know what you’re saying. This isn’t what we agreed on, Ren.”

The light in Ren’s eyes dims. Hux hates himself.

“You’re right,” Ren says, his tone just above a whisper. A glance downwards—he starts buttoning up his shirt like he’s being timed on it, only barely getting the order right. “Sorry I ruined it, I thought—never mind what I thought, I’ll just see myself out. You won’t see me again unless Snoke summons both of us, promise.”

Ren rushes past Hux and out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind himself. It hits Hux in the next moment that perhaps he should’ve stopped Ren.

Stars, what a kriffing mess. Hux intended only to stop Ren from jumping off a cliff in the hopes that Hux would follow, not to end what they had. Leave it to Ren to take it as an absolute rejection.

He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. All right. All right. First step: He can’t let Ren storm off. Ren will be damn near impossible to get a hold of if he leaves like this; Hux’s network truly has more important matters to take care of. Hux needs to make him stay long enough to listen.

As for what Hux will say to fix this, well. He supposes he can tell Ren what Ren wants to hear. He can set his pride aside for a moment. It should be good, shouldn’t it? It should be enough.

It had better be enough.

Inside, Ren is nowhere to be found, his jacket and trainers gone. Hux hasn’t heard the Silencer’s roar, though. Hoping he’s not too late, he grabs his keys off the hook and dashes down the front stairs, catching up with Ren just as Ren reaches his bike.

“Ren,” he says, embarrassingly breathless.

Ren turns to him with wariness etched on his guarded face. He’s waiting for beratement, Hux suspects, or the tongue-lashing that Hux is famous for.

“I was lonely without you,” Hux confesses in a rush, words tumbling out of his mouth in his haste to get them out before they clog up his throat. “When you were away, I—I missed you. I did.” Do whatever you want with it.

A series of emotions cross Ren’s face, too fast to parse. A part of Hux—a part that will always remain Armitage no matter how hard Hux tries to purge it—wants to curl into a ball and hide from the moment Ren will laugh in his face for falling for such a blatant prank.

“Hux,” Ren breathes, breaking into a wide grin. It’s the goofiest, stupidest expression Hux has ever seen on his face—and entirely devoid of any mockery. “You missed me?”

“I won’t repeat it,” Hux says, ignoring the growing heat of his cheeks. Least of all in the middle of the street, where all his neighbours would overhear them if it weren’t shit-early on a Sunday—wearing nothing but his robe and slippers.

Stars. What a disgrace.

Ren’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. He fishes it out only far enough to silence it, letting it go to voicemail. “I really have to go,” he says with a touch of regret in his tone, running the backs of his fingers down Hux’s cheek. “But I’ll come back right after, okay? I’ll come back to you.”

Such coddling. Hux wants to roll his eyes, but the look on Ren’s face, the same one as when he said tell me you want me to be only yours, stops him.

“You had better,” he mutters instead. It’s a new sort of thrill, getting a genuine grin out of Ren.

Cupping Hux’s face, Ren presses a hard kiss on his lips before getting on his bike. Hux watches him leave with an inexplicably heavy heart.

He misses Ren already.

#kylux #Kylo Ren #Armitage Hux #Star Wars #Cai does words #finished fics #this got much sappier than planned #no regrets

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newtonsheffield · 4 years ago

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Hi! I am the anon who owes you two corgis! I LOVED THAT. You cannot dangle that in front of us and never expand. That’s cruel Molly. I think I speak for everyone when I say we will pay you in *many* imaginary corgis if you give do this for us. I know you don’t like regency maybe because you are worried abt historical accuracy? But just say screw it and write it anyway? I assure you most wont care and you write it perfectly. So plz put us out of misery and at least give one more Drabble? Pretty please 🥺

You get one more chapter Corgi Anon! One! Because my mind is a traitor and apparently loves flattery and praise!

Let's check in with Kate the next day

@xnwitchluna As requested

This is also on Ao3

He's not going to call. Kate hissed at herself for what must have been the hundredth time that morning. Men like Anthony Bridgerton do not call on young ladies just because they danced with them once. And besides, even if he did call, he wouldn't be calling on her.

She hadn't been surprised when Mr. Bridgerton's voice had called out to them, asking after Edwina. It had happened at least ten times in the short amount of time since they'd entered the ballroom after all. A young man came, made calf eyes at her sister and sometimes got a dance for his trouble. But, newly arrived in London though she was, even she had heard Mr. Bridgerton's reputation. The gossip sheets were brimming with his exploits, mistresses and widows, women falling at his feet whenever he looked at them. And Kate was not going to allow Edwina to fall victim to a man who was not serious about marriage.

Humiliating though it was, they both knew what their financial situation was, and while Mary wasn't going to be throwing them in the poor house any time soon, either she or Edwina needed to marry very well. They didn't have time to be led in a merry dance by a notorious rake and left, reputation ruined, at the close of the season. And so, Kate had taken it upon herself to wee out the unworthy from her sisters veritable gaggle of admirers and Mr. Bridgerton would be no exception.

He'd played his hand excellently, she could admit, he'd been all politeness and good cheer when he'd asked her to dance, surely hoping to curry her favour. And Kate wasn't too proud to admit there had been something awfully disarming about his wide, open smile, a sort of kindness she hadn't expected from a man of his repute. Then there was the way his eyes had shined at her in the candlelight, and his hand had been like an open flame of its own when he'd led her in the dance. And perhaps, worst of all, the way when she'd challenged him, he'd seemed to thrive forward, rather than shrinking back. It was all rather befuddling. But one thing was certain, Edwina should not be allowed within ten feet of the man, she certainly wouldn't be able to keep her senses the way Kate could.

"You should stay, Kate." Mary said softly as she stood to leave the drawing room. She'd had quite enough of being living artwork for Edwina's suitors to smile at benignly for one day. Kate sighed. "Mary, you and I both know that none of the gentlemen calling will even notice I'm not here. They'd much rather have a chance to wax poetic to you than be forced into conversation with me." Mary tutted, continuing with her embroidery. "And should Mr. Bridgerton call?" Kate stilled momentarily, her cheeks warming before she forced herself to scoff "Should Mr. Bridgerton call, expect to find Newton flying up the stairs. Equally as likely I should think."

It had been like this ever since she'd left Mr Bridgerton's presence last night. A near constant stream of questions from Mary and Edwina most of which she'd sighed away. Edwina had been particularly tenacious after Mary went to bed, and she snuck into Kate's room as always. "Oh, Kate." Edwina had sighed, ever the romantic, "The way he looked at you." Kate had rolled her eyes. "He was merely trying to flatter me into currying favour with you." Edwina's brow had furrowed "Kate, he never even looked at me. And he certainly didn't ask me to dance. Nor any other young lady." And Kate hated that she knew Edwina was right. Hated that her traitorous heart had watched the dance floor for him all night, and not seen him once.

Mary seemed to laugh despite herself, and then sighing, she put down her embroidery. "At least stay here until I've spoken with cook." She said in her tone that brokered no room for argument, leaving the room before Kate could protest even if she wanted to. Kate sighed as she fell back against the sofa, rather despondently. "Miss Sharma are you at home for callers?" The Butler's voice startled Kate, her posture ramrod straight once more as she took the proffered card her heart skipping traitorously as her finger traced the words there, unbidden

The Right Hon. Mr. Anthony Bridgerton

And for the life of her, she didn't know why she did it. It would have been so easy in Mary's absence to turn him away but instead she said: "Yes, Show him in. And then inform Lady Sharma."

The butler smiled and retreated, and Kate tried to stay calm despite the inexplicable racing of her heart. And then the door opened and there he was. Looking every bit as handsome in the daylight as he had last night. His hair falling into his eyes a little, his face lighting in the same disarming smile when he saw her.

"Miss Sharma, How do you do?" He said, his bow encumbered slightly by the veritable florist stand he seemed to have brought with him. "Very well, Mr. Bridgerton." She curtsied though their eyes seemed locked together. "And you, Sir?" There was no reason to be impolite, she told herself, he hadn't done anything so very offensive to her this morning. Mr Bridgerton's smile widened. "I'm very well." Silence seemed to stretch between them for a long moment as they stared at one another. Mr. Bridgerton seemed to shake himself. "Ah, Flowers for your Mother and Sister." He said, holding out two of the bouquets, roses she noticed. Beautiful ones at that. Kate took them when offered, admiring them before placing them on the side table. "My sister is out this afternoon, Mr. Bridgerton, so I'm rather afraid you've had a wasted journey. Mr. Berbrooke has called and taken her for a stroll in the park." Kate said dismissively. Mr. Bridgerton looked rather perplexed for a long moment. and then seemed to shake himself.

"And for you, Miss Sharma." He said, ignoring her statement in favour of brandishing the largest bouquet of tulips she'd ever seen at her, his eyes wide, his smile the brightest. And Kate's ridiculous heart fluttered again, butterflies beating their wings against her stomach. The flowers were beautiful, a stunning arrangement of red, and pink and yellow all mixed in together, even a man of Mr. Bridgerton's stature was practically buckling under the weight of them. And while her hands itched to reach out and touch them something in her refused to. "Do you not care for tulips?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, startling her again. His brow furrowed again. "Only, I thought I understood from my conversation with your sister last evening that you did."

And there it was. When Mr. Bridgerton had spoken with Edwina she didn't quite know, possibly when she'd been detained by the oddly attentive Duchess of Hastings, but he had. And in doing so he'd revealed his true motives. Ad despite knowing all along that this could have been his only real design, her heart sank.

"Mr. Bridgerton, after our discussion last night, you surely cannot imagine that I'd allow you to court my sister." Her voice rang through the drawing room towards him. Her most commanding tone that usually sent men running, and Mr. Bridgerton reacted most oddly. His brow furrowed momentarily, and then his eyes lit up, as though a candle had sparked behind them, his head thrown back in laughter that rang like a bell through the room, and Kate's heart leapt again. That same disarming smile on his face when he said "I should hope not, Miss Sharma, but would you allow me to court you?"

It was all Kate could do to prevent her mouth from dropping open, her heart fluttering though confusion welled up inside her. The bouquet still being held in no man's land between them, their eyes locked together in the same bizarre tension that had seemed to fill the room as they danced last night. And then she reached out and took them. "I'll consider it, Mr. Bridgerton." His laughter rang out again, "Well that's all a man can hope for, miss Sharma."

"Goodness, Kate, I've just seen the oddest occurrence in the hallway." Mary said as she breezed into the room breaking the tension. "I could swear I've just seen Newton flying up the stairs." Kate fought to roll her eyes at Mary's motherly smirk, her face brightening into a warm smile as she turned "Mr. Bridgerton, how lovely to see you again. Won't you take a seat?" Mr. Bridgerton smiled warmly at Mary as he settled himself on the sofa, Kate's mind struggling to catch up with the odd series of events. "Lady Sharma, nothing would give me more pleasure."

#when anthony met kate #edmund lives au #anthony is ready to get married #and kate's like sir can i help you?#kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #mary sharma #edwina sharma #molly's asks and answers

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jennycalendar · 3 years ago

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Oh your “Jenny being alive would make Giles WORSE in season 6” sounds Fascinating please expand!! (If you would like)

took me a hot minute but thank you VERY kindly for enabling me <3

so as y'all know, the point i always hammer home on dreadfulcalendarwoman dot tumblr dot com is that giles's character arc starts and ends with jenny. like she is the turning point for him in EVERY way wrt the way he chooses to interact with the world, despite her never being top priority in his life. i actually think it is so deeply interesting that buffy's unwavering love for giles is not enough to pull him out of his determined isolation, simply because she is The Slayer and she's Fated To Die and while she's come to terms on some level with her death, giles doesn't ever completely seem able to come to terms with the concept of losing her. so it's actually not gonna ever be buffy who can spur giles towards growth, partly because of that and partly because of the fact that she cuts him SOOOOO much slack. like that's her dad! she wants him to take care of her! she will forgive SO much of him.

jenny does not do that with giles. jenny draws lines and sticks to them to the best of her abilities and we have seen in canon how badly giles deals with those lines -- like in ted, where she essentially says "you being around me is bad for my recovery right now" and he behaves like she killed his dog or something. but the thing is that he still does register and respect that she's got boundaries, and he does try in his own way (hindered as he is by what some might call an unhealthy obsession with jenny) to adhere to the rules she sets down. there is also a very clear problem here in that jenny is super fucking inconsistent and what she allows giles is completely changeable and arbitrary up until the dark age -- like she is deliberately yanking him around because she wants to see how complete her control over him is, and still doesn't totally believe that it's absolute. and then of course GILES thinks that jenny KNOWS she has absolute control over him and is deliberately USING it, which i think definitely contributes to the resentment and anger of the angelus mess. but that's just canon.

ANYWAY i wanted to talk about that because i think it sets the stage REALLY NICELY for giles and jenny's dynamic in a canon where she lives! jenny represents this sense of normalcy and stability in giles's life -- in a lot of ways, his obsession with her is centered around this idea of her as his future wife and long-term life partner, which is something he never thought he would get to have or even WANT to have with anybody. canonically, in season three, the loss of jenny causes giles to double down real hard in his role as a watcher -- reflected in his suddenly incredibly rigid and starchy wardrobe, but also in the way he's no longer pursuing connections outside the scooby gang at all. losing jenny in canon makes it clear to him that he has nothing but being a watcher, and that he will fail at that as well if he allows himself to love someone the way he loved her (see: acathla). and loving jenny brought giles such profound joy that i don't think he ever wants to really handle the concept of never having that again, so of course he throws himself into watcher stuff instead of confronting that.

but in a canon where jenny lives (even in a canon where they spend the third season continuing to be a fucked up mess, which i think is realistic -- it's gonna take time for them to build something healthy after all the we-are-never-ever-getting-back-togethers of season two), giles no longer has that reason to double down as a watcher! instead he has this enduring and consistent possibility that he is allowed to love somebody without it blowing up in his face, and i think that that would genuinely help him so much. he wouldn't need to adhere so rigidly to Watchery Standards, he wouldn't WANT to do the cruciamentum if it ran the risk of hurting buffy -- he would start letting go of this pessimistic, cynical view of the world and the fact that buffy's doomed to die, and work instead on cultivating a home and a surrogate family with jenny. like at his core giles is a homemaker and he longs for community and family and a sense of belonging, just like the rest of the scoobies! he canonically likes being cast as the patriarch but labels himself as an "uncle" because it still gives him an out. i don't think he'd want to wriggle out of familial attachment if this was a world where he never had to experience losing jenny.

THING IS THOUGH, this is still a world where he loses BUFFY. and while canon giles cultivated this very deliberate distance between himself and buffy in an attempt to prepare for the eventuality of her death, this version of giles is one who has started to genuinely view buffy as a daughter and support her in that way as well. there's no emotional distance that he can fall back on to support himself through his grief. he has lost his daughter. in so many ways that is worlds worse than losing jenny before he ever got the chance to really love her, and i think it would have the potential to wreck him on a level that rivals canon.

so season six giles would be handling his grief in the same way that canon giles did -- he's throwing himself into a role that distances himself from the trauma of losing somebody he loves. this time he is ACTIVELY trying to distance himself from buffy -- not "for her own good," but because he just refuses to handle his grief, and even her coming back wouldn't shake his sudden understanding of the fact that she could die just as horribly and permanently again. and so in THIS version of season six he is very aggressively defining himself as Jenny's Husband and trying to push jenny towards having their own biological children and absolutely ignoring the fact that because of his insistent refusal to acknowledge his loss, his marriage is falling apart. he no longer wants to view himself as a watcher or as connected to buffy in any way, because he never ever wants to lose her like that again. that's his daughter. he cannot love her anymore because losing her destroyed him and he can't go through it a second time.

and jenny is just having A Time because she is a smart cookie! she sees why this is happening and she wants to be able to help giles through it! but she literally can't help giles when he is refusing to admit that there's even a problem. and poor buffy who is still dealing with the trauma of being ripped out of heaven also has to deal with and in some ways cater to giles, whose grief prevents him from being there for her in the way that she was genuinely expecting from him. like i think this is a canon where buffy and giles's relationship could have been at the place for her to tell him the truth, but then she comes back and he is a fucking mess and she does the whole depressed repression thing and tries to take care of him. Which Does Not Go Over Well With Jenny.

i'm not sure how this gets solved. i actually wrote a chapter of this a billion years ago wherein jenny and buffy and spike and dawn start forming this weird and incredibly sad family unit after giles leaves for england, and jenny and buffy kinda mutually struggle with this idea of a mother/daughter relationship after years of weirdness between them. i think that the onus would really be on giles to pull himself out of it, because he would have effectively burned his bridges with his wife HARDCORE by that point -- but it would still be a version of giles who had three more years of emotional stability than in canon. there's always a chance.

#asks #restlesshush #meta #headcanon #long post #(a little flfksdh)#rupert giles #jenny calendar #giles and jenny and buffy #ANYWAY this is my ''canon can be worse sometimes'' agenda #i think giles letting himself be buffy's dad and then having her die would fuck him up SO supremely.#and i think giles WOULD let himself be buffy's dad in a world where jenny lived #because jenny allows him to be emotionally vulnerable and encourages him to connect with others #(which is a much shorter version of this post lmaooooo)

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doberbutts · 5 years ago

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On Consent and Autonomy

Having a discussion with a friend about this sort of thing reminded me that I never typed anything up with Tiki’s journeys through this outside of adding onto various posts already talking about how little dogs like chihuahuas don’t get to have boundaries a lot of the time, and how a lot of the shitty aggressive little dogs are simply dogs who were never allowed to express a boundary without drawing blood.

One of the most important things to me with my animals is, and always has been, consent. I use it with my exotics, I use it with my domestics. There are things that my animals must allow me to do- nail trims, baths, teeth brushing, etc- but for the things that are required I do a lot of no-nonsense desensitization and a lot of fearfree veterinary methods to allow the animal to see that while these things are non-negotiable, they’re also not that bad and don’t have to be the worst thing ever.

But for everything else, there’s always consent involved.

I’ve spoken before about how there’s the issue of autonomy and consent especially with little dogs, who have their buttons pushed and their boundaries ignored simply because of their size, because it’s not like if you harass a doberman into biting you, because an angry chihuahua can do the same damage an angry doberman can. How little dogs especially are favored for the “living toy” and “fashion accessory” factor above all else, and how many of them are so undersocialized and underexercised that they don’t even seem to grasp that they can walk from place to place by themselves and just expect to be carried everywhere by default. How many actually don’t like that and dislike the idea of the looming behavior us freakishly tall humans tend to exhibit while interacting.

One way I managed that entire problem with Tiki was simply asking for consent to pick her up or put her down. She first learned that she could actually move from place to place on her own, and then she learned that she could accept or reject the offer to be held, and then she learned that she could ask to be held or put down. Simply by giving her a cue for both up and down, and allowing her to navigate that while earning her trust that I wouldn’t suddenly change the rules. Even to her last day, she understood the difference between her previous life of being scooped up without warning or consent, and the life I had built for her to accept my offered choice of being held tight to me.

When the vet brought her to me one last time, she was squirming in the vet’s hands to get down. When I offered her the chance to be held, she leapt into my arms and cuddled close. She was delirious with fever and couldn’t hold her own head up, but she still recognized the offer of comfort, and she chose to have her final moments held tight to my chest.

But- that’s not the only consent-based training I practiced with her, or with the various dogs at my job who struggle with the same thing.

In our training videos, you could see me tossing a treat a short distance away to encourage her to leave me. Training can put a lot of pressure on a dog, especially a dog that may be sensitive or struggle with confidence, and the tossed treat provides a “break” from expectations as it allows them to disconnect and disengage, giving them a chance to destress by sniffing, shaking, or running around a bit before returning to you. My general rule of thumb is that if I toss the treat and the dog does not immediately return for more training, they are asking for space or even for a longer break. This is a bit different if the dog is simply distracted by its surroundings- for those, I will encourage them to come back by calling them. But more and more I have found that these sensitive dogs actually develop more and more tolerance to that pressure, because they are allowed to back off when they feel overwhelmed, and rejoin you when they feel more confident. Of course, it is key to keep your training lighthearted and fun regardless, but especially so with these sensitive dogs that need a little extra boost. No one likes learning that feels like a chore.

Another thing I do is during playtime. If I begin to suspect someone is getting too aroused or overwhelmed, I remove the aggressor from the situation and bring them a few feet away. If the recipient does not want to continue the interaction or needs space, they typically will walk away. If instead they come bounding over to harass the aggressor to rejoin play, then the game was fun and everyone was having a good time. If I have removed someone too late for a peaceable interaction (ie: I stepped in as aggressive corrections began happening), then both are taken aside to calm down before being re-released to opposite ends of the play area and they are monitored closely to ensure their next meeting and interaction does not result in a grudge match. I frequently use a three-strikes method with this- you get three chances to not be a giant dick before playtime is over. After that point, you may watch (if you are quiet), but you are outside of the play area and on leash. Very rarely do I need to employ that method more than once before the dog in question connects that dickish behavior = no more fun, and it keeps everyone else safe in the mean time. More often I have dogs that learn how to play appropriately, respond to social cues and minor corrections well, and to alter their play to suit a variety of partners and groups.

I also do this with human-to-dog playtime! Tiki loved biting and wrestling hands, and once again especially with a smaller or more sensitive or less confident dog, it’s easy to accidentally overwhelm or scare or hurt your dog without realizing it. To prevent this, I do push the dog away during a wrestle match. If the dog bounces away from me, or continues to bounce but holds a position just out of reach, then generally that is a cue that they were becoming overwhelmed and need a moment to recover. If the dog immediately pounces on my hands again, then once again the game was fun and everyone was enjoying themselves.

Dogs cannot speak English or any other human language. That’s not to say they don’t understand us, but their ability to say these words are so limited that outside of a handful of studies we truly haven’t seen too many instances of dogs communicating with words we humans can understand. That does not at all mean they cannot consent. I frequently ask the dogs “do you want ___” or similar. While yes, most of the things I ask them are things I’ve built up very positive associations with- a walk, a cookie, their dinner, to go play- the fact remains that all of the dogs in the house are used to hearing us ask if they desire something. Before I give Creed a cookie, I ask if he wants it. Before I take him to potty, I ask if that’s what he needs. Before I offer him something to sniff, I ask if he wants to. There are, in fact, times where I give him something and he spits it out. I ask him, “do you want ___” and sometimes he really does walk away. No, he didn’t want that right now.

It can sound silly, asking dogs what they want, asking for consent, things like that. But it’s also not as difficult of a concept as one might think! Having seen so many dogs aided by these methods and more, I can’t imagine going back to force a dog to do something (non-essential) it genuinely didn’t want to do. What exactly is the harm in allowing your little dog to say no sometimes to being picked up? What exactly is the harm in allowing your sensitive dog to say it needs a break from training? What exactly is the harm in allowing your dog to say it needs a moment to calm down while playing? The harm in not allowing these things is the very real prospect of getting bitten. Allowing them? Don’t really see any negative side-effects.

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saphirered · 4 years ago

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Hi I was wondering if you would write an Essek x reader (gender neutral) where they are having a relaxing day out and the reader teaches Essek to make flower crowns, and it just allot of fluff and wholesome stuff.

Here you go! Enjoy. I really needed this type of wholesomeness. Thank you for the request. 😘

Seated among the plants and flowers at the base of the tree inside the Xhorhaus, you’re focussing on your surroundings, eyes closed. A meditation-like state keeps you grounded and aware of all around you regardless of lack of visual. Every breath you take makes you feel much lighter, floating in your own consciousness. It’s a comfortable and familiar feeling.

It could have been minutes, or hours. You’re not entirely sure but at least you know if someone needs you or you’ll be going somewhere, your friends will come get you. For now you were blessed with a moment of peace, away from the troubles of the world outside, shielded by the colourful flowers, fresh smell of herbs and the soft glow of the fairy lights.

But your peace and quiet was interrupted. Usually you’re very much aware of footsteps approaching, but when the individual doesn’t walk, taking care to avoid the greens, you’re left a oblivious to the presence. The clearing of a throat makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“My apologies. I don’t mean to interrupt you…” You see the sheepish expression of the white haired wizard floating at a comfortable distance, turn apologetic.

“Essek!” You breathe trying to calm your pounding heart, hand to your chest.

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to scare you. I should have announced my presence.” The mixture of embarrassment and regret remain present in both his behaviour and voice as you get up and give him a once over.

“It’s quite alright. I didn’t expect any visitors.” You smile assuring him no harm was done as you get to your feet brushing off your trousers. Essek is a hard to read individual but even the most oblivious of people could tell something is off. Strange. You tilt your head pressing your lips together.

“Is everything alright? You seem a bit out of it if I’m honest.” Essek’s eyes fall to the floor in front of him trying to find the correct words to answer your question; unusual for someone usually so quick with words. You take a few steps closer to him and take his hand in yours giving it a squeeze letting him know you’re there as you wait for his reply.

“I… I am unsure how to phrase this correctly nor in an appropriate way.” He speaks caught in his own mind still. His eyes are searching still focussed on the ground and your entwined hands. You place your free hand on his shoulder, the gesture pulling him out of his head and instead focus on you.

“Try me.”

“I-. This day- These last few… weeks, have been absolute chaos. With everything going on I have not had a moment of peace in a long time.” Essek’s shoulders drop and his feet touch the ground with a soft tap muted by the mossy floor. You pity him. So young and so much pressure, people depending on him. No one should have to deal with all of that alone.

“I’ve always found diving into my work head first ignoring the world contained the chaos and turned it into order instead, something I could control but now I cannot even read a single sentence, transcribe a single equation or confront a single person without feeling like my mind is about to explode.” A weight lifts by the mere vocalising of the words, tension dropping from Essek’s physique as it does from his mind.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to. For some reason, you always have an air of calmness, around you. Whenever we are in the same space, you radiate peace. It’s strange to admit but I think even only spending but moments in your presence now has done more than any and everything I have tried to achieve even a semblance of rest.” You’re not used to Essek being so open and upfront with anyone but you’re glad for it. Knowing you can confide in someone and trust them is one thing. Actually doing so, something else entirely.

“Thank you for your time and once more my sincere apologies for scaring you. I will leave you to your business once more.” Essek is about to pull his hand from yours taking a step back but you don’t let go and step with.

“When’s the last time you’ve taken a break, Shadowhand?” You’re sure you already know the answer or have enough of an idea to estimate but you ask nonetheless. Essek thinks for a moment and frowns.

“I can’t recall.”

“There’s your problem then. You’re stressed, overworked and in desperate need of a break. Come on. I have an idea.” You lightly tug at his hand pulling him along to the base of the tree and sit him down. You take one of the garden scissors and begin cutting some flowers, branches and other things and collect them in a wicker basket as Essek watches you move from planter to planter and pots making sure to leave enough behind and take only what the plants themselves allow you to take.

It might seem a little strange to some, as you’re standing there, a nonverbal conversation with plant life. Some might think you’re crazy but you only acknowledge life in all forms and while you surely could wave your hand and restore what you took, there’s beauty in the natural order of things as your Firbolg friend might agree.

Essek watches you go in awe, studying your every action with an admiration. Before, as he admitted, there had been the radiating calmness from you that could affect those around you but watching you interact, for the lack of a better word, with the greenery, gave that a whole new meaning. Serenity. You are serenity itself.

You take the wicker basket, now filled with flowers of every colour, branches of green and brown of varying lengths, set it down at the base of the tree taking a seat next to Essek.

“What’s this for?” Essek picks up a yellow flower spinning it between his fingers.

“This,” You refer to the basket and the flower held between his fingers. “is how I clear my mind when the pressure of the world becomes too much to handle.” You take a couple of the branches, check the lengths and start twisting and weaving them together adding flowers into the coil as you go.

“This is how you keep the chaos at bay?” Essek questions watching your fingers work braiding together the delicate material.

“People often assume peace is the absence of chaos but it’s not. Nor is order. If you build a dam the pressure of the water will continue building as long as the water flows. You can’t stop it. You can’t prevent it. You can however shape it in such ways you gain more from it than it from you. It can be found in the simplest of things.” You weave in some deep red roses, your pride as the Xhorassian environment is not kind enough for them to survive.

“Whenever the world comes crashing down and I wish the ground would swallow me whole I find a place to sit down and let myself be consumed by my surroundings. Sometimes I just sit doing nothing at all. Other times I draw, or sing or write, and when I’m lucky enough to find just the right place, I’ll make as many of these as it takes me to return to my peace.” You come to the end twisting the final branches to complete the final circle shape, inspecting your work and adjusting as necessary until you deem it truly completed.

“Whenever I use the chaos to create, little by little serenity comes along and I try to bring that feeling along, passing it on to those around me, because gods know, they can use it.” The both of you smile and with a last adjustment of a flower you place the flower crown on Essek’s head.

Confusion, happiness, delight, peace. All emotions running through Essek’s brain throughout this conversation enhanced the moment you place the ornament of braided and woven flowers onto his head, as light as a feather. Who knew something so small and… insignificant could mean so much, do so much?

“Why don’t you try it for yourself? See if this works for you? Or perhaps if not, it might give you inspiration to find something that will.” Essek nods taking the red crown off his head and inspecting it closer. While he certainly has an eye for intricate patterns and structures the construction of such a thing as a simple flower crown goes far beyond him and instead just leaves him completely oblivious and confused.

Seeing Essek trying to figure out the collective of braided flowers and branches might have been one of the funniest things you’ve seen from the man. The intricacies of Dunamis and the most difficult of equations or studies prove next to no problem for the wizard, but a flower crown manages to break him? How could that not be funny. You laugh even though you tried to fight it and Essek sends you a playful glare.

“Since you seem to find this so funny perhaps I should teach you the many complexities of advanced Dunamis? As a thank you of course.” You can see the hints of a smile.

“However much I’d love that, for the sake of both of our peace and sanities, I’d hold off on that for now. We’ll start with something much simpler. Like a daisy chain.” You begin pulling out a pile of white flowers and putting them next to the basket.

“This is how you start…” You begin explaining how to loop the stem of the flower around the one that came before it, the closer together, the denser the chain will become.

While Essek struggles at first, your explanation and guiding hands and pointers as he works result in a decent looking daisy chain. You slowly work your way up to more difficult flowers and eventually the branches, spending the next several hours going through the motions, Essek’s troubles long since forgotten. This may have been the first time but won’t be the last time both of you find your serenity and comfort in colourful soft petals.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader #critical role #essek #essek thelyss #critrole

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