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perfectpaperbluebirds · 4 years ago

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A Darcy Day Off

As promised, I present ~6,800 words of a sick, miserable Fitz/willi/am Dar/cy. I’ve been working on this on and off for an embarrassingly long time so I’m glad to finally clear it out of my WIP folder to make room for new things. But honestly, it was a pleasure to write, and I hope some of you take pleasure in reading it as well!

Definitely he first chapter, and honestly the first 2 chapters are mostly exposition, so if you want to skip straight to the sickfic goodness and reduce the word count, head to chapter 3. But I had fun writing (and worked hard on) the banter and conversation in the beginning, so I opted to keep it.

( @chezsnez @empresskaze @groundcontrol21 you all asked so nicely, so I hope this is what you were looking for! )

“Darcy, dear, what’s keeping you? I thought we were to meet in the library for tea,” Elizabeth called. She found him still in his study, hunched over the desk. She danced to his side, planting a kiss atop his head. He leaned against her briefly in greeting.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had more business to attend to today than I’d realized. Just finishing up now.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then his nose, trying to be rid of a tickle that had been infuriating him all day.

“Always at your work. I wonder our estate isn’t the finest run in Britain. And here I used to think people of high class such as yourself worried for nothing but amusing themselves all day.” She gently rubbed his neck where she knew he always got an ache when he wrote. He kissed her hand fondly.

“You are of such a class, too, now, my love. And how do you know it isn’t the finest? I’d be willing to wager a year’s salary this estate could be measured against parliament’s own estates and be proven worthy, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You pour your very soul into all that goes on here, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you. I am proud every day to be the mistress of such an estate. Only I wish you wouldn’t work so hard and take more time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Are you accusing me of ignoring you, dearest? Only say the word and I would throw all my responsibilities to the winds and devote myself fully to your entertainment.”

He kept his tone light and playful, teasing her, but looked at her closely even as he did. Had he been neglecting her too much of late? He had had several pressing business matters on his mind these last weeks, and he knew he had been at his desk more than usual. Lizzie had not complained of course, and had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but the last thing he would ever want to do is make her doubt where his priorities lay, namely that she was foremost in his mind and heart, and in all things.

“Not at all, for you well know I’m quite fond of my own company. However, I can't help but worry about you. You put too much responsibility on yourself; you are positively careworn these days. I only wish your more lighthearted side could see the light of day now and again, and not just when we’re alone.”

“I am my truest self when I’m with you.” He kissed her hand again, then rubbed his nose. “I will always struggle being lighthearted while working. The two have never gone hand in hand in my experience; gravity and soberness were expected whilst doing business in my growing years under my father, and others. All the more reason I have need of your influence.”

She kissed his head again. “Very well, I accept the mantle of helping you find levity in your working hours. If only so that the strain you put on yourself will not affect your health. You put on a casual, careless demeanor in public, but I know better. You bear the weight of the world on those broad shoulders of yours, and that is a burden no man is meant to carry, even by his own choice. So come now, and join your wife for tea. The letters can wait another hour or so, surely.

“Indeed they can.” He stood and stretched stiffly. The chill winter wind howled outside and the sound made him shiver, glad for the roaring heat from the fire nearby, and in every room in the house as he moved to escort his wife to the library.

~~~~~~~~~~

The couple spent a pleasant hour or two in their favorite room in the house, chatting warmly at times, and sitting in comfortable silence at others. The relentless wind made Darcy feel sleepy and lazy, and he wanted nothing more than to take his wife’s advice and take the rest of the day to relax. He would have been content to remain here for the rest of the evening with his favorite person and simply read and chat and perhaps nap. But he had two more letters that needed to make the post tomorrow, and if he did not finish them now, he never would. He stood quietly and brushed his lips across his wife’s cheek. She nuzzled back, then watched as he lingered before the library fire longer than necessary, warming his hands and rear.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve developed a slight headache is all, and it makes the task of my remaining letters all the more daunting.”

“I can imagine. I wish you would take a day off sometime soon, so that you may rest for longer than a few hours at a stretch. I believe it would do you wonders. Winter is generally a time for peaceful contemplation, but it’s been a frenzy of activity for you these past months. You are overdue for some leisure, my love.”

“You are right, as usual. Sometime very soon, dearest, I will take a week or two off and we will spend all the leisurely hours together you could wish. Perhaps we’ll even have a romp outside in the snow. Within the next month, once this mess is more or less cleaned up. Would that suit you?”

“It would suit me very fine indeed. While you could never be accused of neglecting me, I have been missing my husband of late, most especially his smile. That has been the most absent part of you.”

“For that I am sorry. I don’t like to bring my business affairs into our life together. My lovely, patient wife. You are too good to me.

“Well and I could say the same of you, so there. Enough of that. Come kiss me again, then go to your work before you fall asleep standing up.”

“As you command.” He was truly in danger of this, as he felt his lids growing heavier all the time, so he forced himself to move away from the pleasant heat, going to her side and kissing her fully this time, savoring her sweet lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Away I go. See you soon, darling.”

Mr. Darcy could not rid himself of the clinging fatigue for the rest of the evening. His remaining letters took longer than usual, and he knew they were not as well done as they ought to be, but at least they were done. When they were finished, he tossed his pen aside eagerly and stretched his stiff neck. Perhaps he should take those leisure days sooner rather than later. He really hadn’t been feeling his best lately, and the wintery weather that had had them in its grasp for weeks certainly wasn’t helping. Also, he missed his wife, though he had just seen her. He missed spending time with her, and not just in stolen hours here and there.

Right now all he wanted was to curl up beside her in bed, and talk of sweet nothings, and perhaps make sweet love. Hopefully that would help shake this irritating headache. Yes, they were long overdue for quality time spent together. He would make arrangements for some time away immediately, hopefully as early as a fortnight from now. The thought immediately made him calmer as he finished up a few small things, then hurried to find her and begin the more pleasant part of the evening.

“Heh-KERRR-CHOOOOO! Heh- heh- KITSHHH’CHOOOO”

A bellowing sneeze startled Elizabeth from her book the next morning, and the even louder one that followed caused her to go investigate it’s source. To her surprise, following the sound of the miserable sniffles led to her husband’s study, where she found him ineffectually wiping his dripping nose with an already-damp handkerchief.

“My dear Mr. Darcy, is that you making all that racket? My heavens, bless you! I don’t know as I’ve ever heard a sneeze so resounding in all my life. Were you holding it in all morning for it to grow to such a volume?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffled sourly. “It was merely a sneeze.”

She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “I would beg to argue. You sneeze particularly violently, my dear. Likely because, as I noted, you hold them in until you can’t anymore.”

“Well, since you are evidently the expert,” he muttered as he pressed on with his work, coughing softly.

She rarely saw this severe, prickly side of him these days, and this, more than anything else, concerned her and made her know he shouldn’t be teased at present. He really must be feeling poorly. She moved to his side and pressed against him as she had the day before, rubbing his shoulder. He did not respond, physically or otherwise.

“You are unwell, my love. You should go take some rest. You quite look as if you have gotten the wrong end of this cold of a sudden.”

“I am fine. Don’t worry yourself. I am only in need of some tea and I shall be quite well.”

“I’d be happy to fetch you tea, but I’d be happier to fetch it for you in bed, or at least in your chair in the library. I fear these large windows will do you no favors with the draft.”

“I have many things I need to see to today. I cannot take time to rest. And all my files are here in the study. I haven’t been ill since I was a boy. I’m certainly not going to be ill now.”

Lizzie sighed and shook her head at the foolishness of males. “Have it your way, then. I’ll see you get some tea. Was there anything else you’d like?”

“Just a scone or two. Thank you, dearest.” He finally turned his gaze to her, and she saw true gratitude there, despite the reddened, watery eyes and dripping nose. “And forgive my rudeness when you came in. You startled me, but I should not speak to you like that. Please forgive me.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, and I am sorry I startled you. You know I only worry about you because I love you.”

“As I love you, my Lizzie.” He coughed wetly into his handkerchief. “Now please, if you’d leave me. I really do have much to do, and you are ever my truest distraction. I will see you this evening. And please know, I am doing all this so that we can have our time together very soon.”

“Yes, my dear.” She sighed softly and made her way out, stopping one of the servants to request her husband’s tea and scones. She gave explicit instructions for the type of tea and what was to be in it, things to soothe an aching throat and ward off fever. If he wouldn’t have a care for his own body, she would be forced to do it for him. She only hoped he would see reason sooner than later and take himself off to bed before he caught his death in that drafty study.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Darcy was endlessly studious and conscientious, not to mention stubborn, and so he stayed in his study, or was running around with different servants and community members all day. He did his best to conduct his business as excellently as ever, despite how very unwell he was beginning to feel.

When their paths would cross later in the day though, she could see he was flagging. His cough had become quite the nuisance, and his nose and lips were raw and chapped. Dark circles began to show under his eyes, vivid against sickly pallor. Every now and again, she heard a massive, wet sneeze disturb the air from wherever he was. She gave him sympathetic smiles and little encouragements whenever she could, but what she truly wanted was to see him to bed and tend to his every need there. The misery on his face made her ache for him. If only he wasn’t so proud. And yes, stubborn.

She was quite relieved when he joined her at their evening meal, wearily announcing he was done working for the day, and she told him such. He was quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, aside from his frequent sniffles and coughs, and the occasional explosive sneeze, which never failed to make her jump, even as they became more and more frequent.

Taking his lead, she also said very little, reading exhaustion in every line of his frame, especially as his sneezes and coughs harshened. If she had been another woman, and he another man (indeed, her parents came to mind), she would have said again that she wished he would take the day off tomorrow. But it was not in her to nag, and if she had he would only have become angry, or withdrawn completely. She had said her part this morning, and she knew he had heard her and remembered. What he did from here was his choice alone.

She watched him unobtrusively as he dozed by the fire that evening, feeling such love in her breast for her dedicated, hardworking husband, but no small amount of worry either. They had been married nearly three years, and she had never once seen him ill. She hoped it was truly only trifling, as he kept insisting it was whenever anyone asked.

They went to bed earlier than usual, her feigning equal tiredness for his sake, so he wouldn’t feel he was being a burden. But indeed, all she wanted of the rest of this day was to lie beside him in bed, perhaps rub his back, and just be near him for whatever he needed. To her delight, that is exactly what happened. He said very little, and asked for nothing, stifling sneezes now and again even as his frequent, chesty coughing fits worsened, but merely lay beside her and let her rub away at his aches and chills as he fell asleep.

Darcy and Eliza were both early risers, and both loved to greet the day while it was still fresh and full of promise. Being the man though, Mr. Darcy was always up and about before his wife, for it took him far less time to dress, and there were several things he liked to see to before breakfast, though he never neglected to kiss her goodbye as he left.

Imagine her surprise then, when the next morning found him still soundly asleep beside her when her maids came in to help her dress at their usual time. The sound of their arrival woke her, but her poor husband hardly stirred. She hurried out of bed, calming the poor, startled ladies in hushed tones, assuring them they had done no wrong. They helped her dress and fix her hair simply and comfortably before Elizabeth shooed them out again, saying she wasn’t sure what they should tell the other staff, as she had no idea what mind her husband would be in when he finally woke.

Lizzie sighed as they left. Now it would be all over the house that he was sick abed, and who knew what other irrepressible rumors. He would hate that. However, at present it was the truth so he would just have to deal with it whenever he woke. In the meantime, she picked up her book and read in the chair by the fire, wanting to be close when he woke.

That turned out to be shortly thereafter. He first began to toss and turn a bit, then he started to cough, then he nearly made her jump out of her chair with one of his tremendous sneezes.

“Heh -KER- CHUUUUHHF!” The noise was thick and miserable-sounding, more than hinting at painfully clogged sinuses and a raw, scratchy throat. While he was mopping the mess from his face with his handkerchief, his lungs decided to take their turn at clearing themselves as well, and he erupted into a series of wet, strenuous coughs.

She made her way to his side during this sad display, gently stroking his tousled hair as he quieted. He groaned softly when he was able and pressed into her embrace, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, eliciting a cluck of sympathy from his wife at his sorry state.

“My poor dear,” she murmured. “Your health is much worse this morning.”

“Mby head is like a lead weight od the pillow,” he croaked. “Fatigue weighs dowd mby limbs dreadfully.”

“Then you will not work today?”

“Mby wise wife advised that I look after mby body more, and today mby body tells mbe I must rest, so rest I shall,” he murmured sleepily. “As long as you’ll keeb mbe company?”

“I would love nothing more. This is perhaps not the leisurely day we had hoped for, but I’ll accept it just the same." She tenderly caressed his cheek, frowning as she felt it. "You are terribly feverish, darling." Yet she hardly needed to feel, for just by looking at his flushed, sweaty face and seeing him shake with chills, the fever made its presence known.

"And yet I'mb chilled to the bone. I had forgotten how beastly udpleasant it is to catch cold," he rasped with a thick sniffle.

"Indeed, it makes one feel for your poor sister all the more. It seems she is laid up with a cold every other week. Now, how does tea appeal to you? And perhaps some food? You hardly touched supper last night."

"Tea would be lovely. Mby abbetite still eludes me however. But, if only to please you, I would try sumb toast and an egg."

Lizzie had servants running for his requests in short order while Darcy tended to his nose, blowing it over and over, soaking through more than one handkerchief. His tray was delivered in record time. Seeing it arrive, Darcy slowly levered himself to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Mby head is throbbi'g," he mumbled.

Elizabeth pressed the cup of tea into his hands, looking sympathetic. "Drink some. It may help your head."

He did as he was bid, drawing his knees to his chest like a boy as he drank while she rubbed his back. However, another tremendous sneeze almost made him spill the whole thing.

“Ah- ah- KITCHSHOOOOO! Ugh…” He sought his handkerchief desperately, and when Elizabeth handed it to him, he pressed it harshly against his streaming nose to stem the flow, groaning as he did. Elizabeth hastily took the teacup from his again, for it seemed in danger of being upended at any moment.

"Bless you! My poor dear, what can I do for you? Besides keeping a stack of handkerchiefs here for your poor nose."

"I would ask you to help mbe dress in a few moments," he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric as he tried to rub away the headache between his eyes. "While I will be as quick as I cad, I must speak to mby steward and give hib sumb idstructions for mby absence."

"Can you not write him instead? I fear for you going out in the cold, lest this settles in your chest."

"Mby head aches too miserably to do a probber job with writing. I fear I would forget somethi'g crucial. Ndo, I'll quickly go dowd and speak to hib, and thed I'll return. Ndo going outside for mbe today, never fear."

She sighed and nodded, knowing he would not be dissuaded. "At least finish your tea and try some egg before you go so you don't collapse on the stairs."

"I'mb far from collapse mby dear, I assure you." His general appearance said otherwise though, as he had been miserably coughing into his handkerchief throughout the whole conversation, and had yet to stop shivering. However, she held her tongue and served him breakfast instead.

Lizzie saw he made an effort to eat as much as he could, and though it was only a few bites, she was slightly placated. She knew he would not relax until he had set what affairs he could in order. So, after his tea was gone, when he rose and began to dress, she assisted him, for she realized the sooner he left, the sooner he would return.

"I'd rather not ri'g for mby valet, as I'd be worried I would sdeeze on hib," muttered Darcy, looking embarrassed as she straightened his jacket while he futilely tried to blow his nose, which only served to make him cough yet again.

"It's no trouble at all, dear. Only please hurry back. I truly worry for that cough."

"I'll be back under your watchful eye as quick as I cad, dearest," he murmured, grazing her ear with his lips as she slipped an extra handkerchief in his pocket. With that, he was gone, his boots thumping down the hall wearily.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time dragged as she waited for him. While she knew he could take care of himself and she didn't need to be here the moment he returned, she also knew he would want her to be. Her husband was a strong man, but at times like these, he depended on her, and she was not about to disappoint him. So, while there were plenty of things she could have seen to around the manor herself, she waited in his sitting room with her needlework, keeping the fire high.

Finally she heard him in the hall. She rushed to open the door as he shuffled in, looking spent.

"Darcy dear! I expected you an hour ago!" she said, helping him shed his coat. Suddenly she felt his shoulders hitch under her hands as his breath scissored:

"Ktt-tsshhEEW!" The wet spraying sneeze was his response, only partially stifled by the sodden handkerchief he held. She blessed him worriedly as he again mopped his face.

"I'mb sorry, dearest," he finally managed. "I was stobbed many tibes between mby study and here to answer questions. I cabe as quick as I could."

He fell wearily into the chair nearest the fire with a deep groan and a deeper cough. He bent to try and remove his boots, but his efforts were hampered, as his nose streamed dreadfully if he bent over. He had to keep a hand pressed to his face as he tried to undo the fastenings with the other.

Elizabeth knelt in front of him and gently pushed his hands away, loosening and removing the boots herself as he leaned back in the chair, sniffling wetly.

"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked.

"Here, have some more tea, I've just had Mary bring some. There, now what suits you best? Shall we cover you warmly and sit here by the fire, or would you like me to fetch you some soup? I won't ask if you want to call for Dr. Bishop yet since I know what you'll say, though I have half a mind to."

"There's ndo need for the doctor," replied her husband. "Whad I most want right now is to lie dowd and sleeb sumb few hours yed. Mby mind is sluggish. I cad hardly grasp on a thought except how exhausted I amb."

"Then take my arm and let's get you to bed, poor man. I imagine some more sleep will do wonders for you."

"I don't need help walki'g mby dear, I'm not invalid, only full of cold." Even still, he took her proffered arm as he stood and rested a hand on her shoulder warmly as she led him to the bedroom.

"That may be, but I'll see you there myself just the same to make sure there's no distractions along the way." She kissed his hand and caressed it fondly as they made their way to the bed. She helped him remove all the clothes she had helped him don not long before and replace them with his nightshirt. While he clearly needed to sleep, he also seemed loath to let her out of his sight. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment with her pressed against his side. She scratched his back fondly.

“You should lie down, dear. You’re more asleep than awake.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her unexpectedly, burying his face in her abdomen with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was slightly startled, but gladly reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in his hair. Her husband was an affectionate man, but not usually physically so. This gesture from him, while not at all unwelcome, was unexpected.

“I feel terrible,” he groaned, barely audible, leaning most of his weight against her. “Mby body runs amok with mbe.”

“So it seems. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this cold of yours on anyone.”

She held him for a few peaceful moments. Just as she was about to again suggest he lie down, for it seemed he was in danger of falling asleep against her, his back twitched violently and he tried to pull away.

“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!”

Neither had time to react as poor Mr. Darcy sneezed thickly, his face still pressed against his startled wife. She couldn't suppress a little gasp as he pulled away, stammering apologies and wiping his traitorous nose.

She was silent a moment appraising the state of her dress, then an unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, sending her into a little fit of giggles even as she comforted her overwrought husband, pressing him gently back against the pillows.

“It’s all right, my love. Such things happen. ‘Tis only a dress, and I have plenty more. It seems neither of us are coming away from this cold of yours unscathed. But there now, you’re completely spent. You can hardly keep your eyes open, red as they are. Take some more rest, my love.”

“You’re too good to mbe,” he croaked, fighting against his heavy eyelids but already nearly asleep, the handkerchief still in his limp hand on the bed.

She reached out, caressing his face and brushing hair from his brow. “No more of that. Close your eyes and sleep, for how else do you expect to get better?” She clucked her tongue softly again. “You really are painfully warm, poor man. It is most worrisome,” she said, more to herself than him.

“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, the last word turning into a snore as he finally gave in to the needs of his body.

~~~~~~~~~~

That was to be the last interaction Mr. Darcy would remember for quite some time. He fell into a deep sleep then, and everything that happened over the next few days would be blurred flashes in his mind at best, hazed by illness and fever.

Of course, the same could not be said for Elizabeth. After he fell asleep, she left him and tended to some of her duties around the manor (after changing her gown, naturally). She did not want to hover in the sickroom, both for her sake and his, so she forced herself to stay away for several hours, knowing he would ring if he needed something.

Still, in the late afternoon she returned, unable to stay away any longer. He was exactly as she had left him, snoring softly. He didn’t seem to have moved at all in his sleep, which was most unlike him. She again went to feel his forehead, sensing something amiss. He was much warmer than before. A knot of worry pulsing in her heart, she tried to shake him awake. He opened his eyes and seemed to look at her, but she could tell he wasn’t truly awake, and didn’t respond when she spoke to him, only grunted and coughed, trying to roll over and sleep again.

Without further ado, she sent for Doctor Bishop, pacing the halls outside Darcy’s rooms until he arrived, wringing her hands in worry and opening the door to check on her husband every few minutes, to ensure he got no worse.

The doctor arrived quickly, heading right into the sickroom. He did a thorough examination, listening to Mr. Darcy’s heart and lungs, checking his pulse and 100 other things. Darcy woke briefly a few times, but only managed answers of a word or less before he dozed off again. His large frame looked somehow both bigger and smaller than it should, curled up limply on the bed, with only his breathing as evidence of life. After he was through, the wise doctor scrutinized his patient, deep in thought. Elizabeth remained silent, waiting with baited breath. Finally the doctor turned to her.

“You said he’s been overworking himself and run down lately, yes?”

“Yes, doctor. Business has been troubling him of late.”

“Hm. So it seems. Well, overall his vital signs are normal for a man with a cold. I see nothing overly alarming, excepting the high fever. That is a touch worrisome, but can at times be seen in such cases. No, I don’t fear any illness has befallen him except what you’ve said, a bad cold. I think he’s simply exhausted, and this cold has caught up with him and brought everything down at once. I’ll wager the fever will subside in a day or two, and the rest in the days after that as long as he gets the rest he sorely needs. I shan’t prescribe him anything except what he already has here with you, Mrs. Darcy. Let him sleep as much as he wants, keep him hydrated and don’t cover him too warmly, and I think this will run its course soon enough.”

It was as if great weight fell off her shoulders as he spoke. “Oh, thank you doctor! Indeed, I shall do just as you say, and make sure he does as well.”

“Please do. The stubbornness of the Darcys is well known to me, for my father and his father have been treating this family for generations. I’ll come round to see him every day until I’m satisfied he’s on the mend, if that suits you.”

“Oh, yes please, and thank you kindly. You have my deepest gratitude, sir.”

“My pleasure, madame. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

With a huge sigh of relief, Elizabeth collapsed on the chair at her husband’s bedside. After a moment, she found his hand under the quilt and held it, needing to feel his touch, even if in unconsciousness. After a moment, he unexpectedly squeezed it. She looked up to see his eyes were fluttering closed, but his face was angled toward her now. She took a moment to appreciate that fine face, though currently his nose, cheeks, and eyes were matching shades of red against the sickly pallor over the rest of him.

She sighed and softly kissed his hand. “Get well soon, my dear.”

He certainly took his time doing so, or so it seemed to Eliza. Either she or Georgiana were at his side at all times. He slept constantly, barely waking even to drink water. He spoke hardly at all and asked for nothing. He would intermittently shake with chills, or else sweat profusely. He sneezed in thick, messy fits, several at a time, but then would go hours between, until the sensation again overpowered and woke him. He coughed more often, since that it seemed he could do even as he slept.

Yes, he slept, but he was overall restless. Noise in the room roused him. He stirred when he was touched. He stirred when he coughed. He woke when he sneezed. His sleep didn’t seem peaceful, which was perhaps why he never fully woke, because he wasn’t fully resting.

The first night, Elizabeth slept in her own rarely-used bedroom (she much preferred sharing his), wanting him (and herself) to rest as much as possible. The second night though, she was achingly lonely, missing his touch, his voice, and his smile. So, she crawled into her usual place beside him in his bed, pressing herself against him. She found herself cold, as she had been since he was ill from the worry, so his warmth was more than pleasant.

She herself relaxed immediately as soon as she was against him, but more surprisingly, so did he. He didn’t wake and hardly stirred when he felt her, but his breathing quickly deepened and he relaxed more fully as they rested against each other. Basking in the sensation of enjoying one another’s touch, they both slept the whole night that way.

~~~~~~~~~~

More than 48 hours after he first fell asleep, Darcy finally woke up completely. Naturally, it was a sneeze that did it.

“Heh’gihh’CHUUUHFF! AHHGK-CHOOOF! … ow….”

Something in the tone made Lizzie turn. She had been sitting facing the fire with her needlework, but glancing at the bed, she saw her husband sitting up, one hand to his temple, the other wiping his nose, and looking aware of his surroundings for the first time in 2 days. She dashed to his side, feeling his forehead at once.

“Bless you, dear. My, but it’s good to see you awake! Oh, and your fever is much decreased, how wonderful! How do you feel? Is your head hurting you? Here, drink some water, the doctor said you’re likely dehydrated…”

She wanted to prattle on, but she saw he was a bit overwhelmed, so she forced her tongue to be still. She gently grasped his hands, to calm him as well as herself, and kissed them fondly. She then handed him a glass of water, and he drank gratefully as she looked him over. He seemed a bit better, but he continued to look around in a dazed way.”

“Have I been asleeb long?” he finally rasped, his voice totally gone, and still stuffed tight with congestion.

“I would say so. It’s been two days darling.” She did her best to keep the worry and accusation out of her voice. He couldn’t help that he’d been ill.”

“Two days?! Good heavens.” He fell back against the pillows with a groan and a cough. “Ndo wonder I feel so sluggish.”

“Yes, but it seems you needed it. The doctor has been out every day, and he says you were suffering from exhaustion. Your body was taking the rest it sorely needed.”

“So it seebs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Sumb better, I thingk,” he said with a wet sniffle. “Less fevered. I am still weary, and will sleep another night soundly through, but I hope I’m on the mend now.”

“As do I.” She kissed his hand again, squeezing it tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Darcy was indeed on the mend. He was moving about his rooms freely the next day, and 2 days after that, he was allowed by the doctor (and his wife, grudgingly) to resume his duties, though at a reduced basis, for his cough still lingered, along with some fatigue. Yet he was incredibly cheerful to be leaving his rooms, and everywhere he went, he had a spring in his step.

That same day he was freed found Elizabeth curled on the settee in her rarely-used personal sitting room, wrapped in a coverlet and trying to read. However, her dripping nose and throbbing headache prevented her from making much progress in the story.

A barking cough burst out of her against her will, making her drop her book. With a feeble groan, she reached down to retrieve it, holding a handkerchief to her streaming nose. She had known she likely wouldn’t escape catching her husband’s cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. However, she was not about to spoil his first day of freedom with her own illness, so she was hiding here to avoid him as long as she could.

Just as she was thinking this, she heard his boots in the hall, and she suppressed another groan. He knocked softly, then peeked in the door, looking happy as well as confused when he saw her.

“Mary said I might find you here, but I thought she must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing? I was hoping to meet you for tea.”

She took a breath to answer, but instead the urge to sneeze snuck up on her. She shoved her elbow against her face, turning away from him to stifle the stubborn urge harshly:

“HXXT’GH! HNNKT! HXXTCH! Guh…” she mumbled at the end, which turned into a painful cough that she hardly had breath for.

Darcy was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her arm and feeling her forehead just as she had his so many times the past few days. Concern and regret crossed his face. “You have a fever, dearest. It seems I’ve shared my cold with you,” he said, stifling a little cough.

“You always were the gentleman, never failing to share with a lady,” she groused weakly.

His low chuckle was warm. “I’m truly sorry. Yet I heard you hardly left the bedchamber while I was ill, so I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Especially since you sneezed on me,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

“Indeed,” he chuckled again. “I’m sorry for that as well. But now, enough talk. Rest your voice. Come up to bed and I’ll see you get some tea and toast.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to go to bed, did that occur to you? I’ve spent all week in that bedchamber and I’d prefer to not be forced to go back,” she muttered petulantly.

“I can tell you’re feeling unwell, for you’re never so irritable. That more than anything tells me I must see you to bed immediately.” His tone indicated some teasing, but mostly seriousness. Without further ado, he scooped her up in one motion and stood, carrying her toward their bedchamber, a little smile playing around his lips.

“Why you--! I’ve never been thus treated in my entire life. Put me down, you terrible man!” Yet she couldn’t keep from laughing, miserable though she was, which of course turned into a cough. She hadn’t felt so ill in a long time. In fact, the overwhelming urge to sneeze was coming over her again. She struggled weakly to free her arms from where he had them pinned, but it was too late:

“Hhh’rrrrushh’eeeew! Herrr’CHEW! Hihhh’knn’CHOOF!” She sneezed explosively against his chest, covering them both in the spray. His steps paused as he looked down at her, open-mouthed, while she stared back, reddening in embarrassment, but slightly triumphant.

“...bless you, my Lizzie,” Darcy finally said, an odd smile on his face.

“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry!... But what choice did I have, when I can’t move my arms? Now we’re even, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled again as he resumed walking. “And I suppose if you must sneeze on someone, it’s best if it’s me, as I can’t very well catch this cold again. But all the more reason for me to see you to bed. You look a mess. In the loveliest possible way, of course.”

“How charming you are, Mr. Darcy. You have quite a way of flattering a woman.”

He chuckled again, but by this time they had reached his bedchamber. He deposited her on the bed with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded to assist her in changing into more comfortable clothes. She shivered miserably as she changed so that her teeth nearly chattered. Darcy tucked her in warmly and quickly rang for some tea, then began to remove his own boots and coat. She watched him curiously, though with heavy eyes, for she suddenly she found herself exhausted. With pleasure she realized he planned to join her in bed.

He did just that a few moments later, pulling her close against himself and wrapping her in his big, warm arms. She nuzzled in gratefully with a sniffle and a cough. He buried his face in her hair as they settled, coughing as well.

“What are you doing, Darcy dear? I thought you had many things to do today,” she mumbled, already nearing sleep. “You’ve had so many days off yourself. You needn’t take another for me, though it seems we’re quite a mess still.”

“This has become the most important thing I must do today,” he yawned. “You were a saint to look after me this whole week, so now I must return the favor. I’m not likely to let an opportunity pass to spend time with you after these past weeks, for I’ve learned my lesson. And I too am already weary, for this cold hasn’t quite left me. A nap would suit me fine, especially if I can warm you in the process.”

When a servant arrived with tea, no one greeted him, and when he opened the door with the tray, he found it best to simply leave it nearby and duck out again, for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fast asleep.

#sickfic #Sickness #sicknario #snzfic #snzblr #snzario #everyone is hotter with a fever #especially fitz/william dar/cy

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raelly-writing · 3 years ago

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Tiny Big Demands

Silly 5.4-5.5 fluff that’s been lounging in my WIPs folder for several months. There’s some Thancred/WoL at the end but otherwise it’s mainly uh... nutkin shenanigans.

---

“What the Hells Than..red…”

Frowning, Viana rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face into her pillow to shut out the early morning light. Another sharp, nipping sensation at her other ear followed shortly afterwards, rousing her involuntarily further from her sleep.

Her quiet curse was muffled against her pillow as she blindly reached out a hand to find Thancred and hit his shoulder or chest for the unpleasant wake up call.

But all she found was empty air and cold sheets. Immediately, a harsh sense of disappointment cut through her sleep-logged mind.

Right, he’d be far past the Garlean border by now.

Exhaling, she burrowed back into the covers in a sudden bout of moody resignation. As ridiculous as she felt for missing him so sorely, it was a small comfort that the scent of him still lingered on her sheets, even after the days since his departure.

Maybe she should heed the voice at the back of her head that urged her to rise and face the day, but the warmth of her bed was too comfortable. After the hustle of finding a cure for tempering and applying it to the kobolds, nevermind dealing with a new Ascian’s gloating, she was ready to drift back to sleep, if just for a little while longer.

The soft brush of fur against her arm, followed by a familiar, insistent chittering made her crack open an eye to squint against the morning light. Dark eyes stared back at her, a pink nose and long whiskers wiggling in what could only be described as petulant manner as the nutkin squeaked loudly at her.

Viana blinked owlishly, utterly confused at its appearance. Surely she wasn’t missing Thancred so much she was dreaming about his pet. “Why're you…?”

The only answer she got was another series of high pitched noises. Before she knew it, it’d scampered up her shoulder, sharp claws digging into the fabric of her shirt and soft fur teasing the bare skin at the back of her neck. Definitely not a dream then.

“Ow, okay okay, I’m awake, you little monster,” she groaned, and carefully pushed herself up on her elbows.

If she didn’t know better, she could swear the critter sounded victorious as it scurried up over her head before hopping down onto her pillow. It’s big dark eyes stared up at her as it made a big show of rubbing its clearly empty cheeks while fluffing up its tail in an indignant manner.

Viana snorted and slowly sat up. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she yawned widely, “How did you even get in here?”

Glancing down at the nutkin, she watched as it stood on its hind legs, squeaking up at her.

“Mhm, well, figures,” she muttered drowsily. “Now I assume this isn’t just a friendly visit?” It flicked its tail and gave a singular squeak. It would appear that in Thancred’s absence it’d decided that she was best to see to its needs. “Thought as much.”

Sighing, she held out her hand to the nutkin, and it quickly hopped up into her palm, evidently eager to have its demands fulfilled. “Very well then,” she mused as she climbed out of bed. “Let’s see what we can find for you.”

In response she got a series of satisfied squeaks as it excitedly turned in circles in her palm. Though the stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, she couldn’t bother to find a pair of socks for the short walk - besides, judging by how the nutkin kept chittering while twisting and turning, she doubted such delays would be tolerated to start with.

“Why, I agree, it’s most cruel of him to leave you again so soon.”

Taking her keys from where she kept them on her desk, she left her room and wandered down the empty hallway towards Thancred’s. Well, at least nobody would give her strange looks for walking around in just shorts and a simple top while talking to the small rodent in her hand. “And he didn’t leave you with enough tasty treats?” The nutkin chittered and nuzzled into her thumb when she absentmindedly petted it - a rather abrupt shift from its more aloof behaviour with her in the past, and one that left her feeling oddly manipulated at that. As sneaky and charming as its owner, clearly.

“Just Tataru refilling your bowl with plain seeds and nuts?” she tutted. “How dreadful. You better have a chat with him once he gets back from Garlemald so he knows such things won’t be accepted.”

The nutkin gave a singular high squeak in reply, one paw braced on her ring finger as it peered up at her expectantly. A small smile curled the corner of Viana’s mouth. It really was adorable when it wasn’t driving Krile to the brink of sanity by stashing nuts all around Thancred’s unconscious body.

Or when it decided to demand attention from Thancred just when the two of them were having a private moment.

The moment she unlocked his door and slipped into his room, the nutkin’s attention immediately fixated on one bookshelf in particular.

Her gaze found the familiar wooden box sitting amidst the various books, one she’d seen Thancred retrieve several times. “Suppose you never made a fuss to anyone else before, because nobody else knew where he kept the good treats, hm?”

It squeaked again.

“Well, don’t think I’m going to spoil you just because Thancred’s not here,” she said firmly as she set down the nutkin on his desk, the dark wooden surface being void of any of the document folders and notebooks that usually had occupied its surface since their return from the First.

The nutkin instantly hopped to the edge where it perched atop a discarded book, watching her intently as she took down the simple but sturdy box from the shelf. The heavy lid opened easily on well-oiled hinges and Viana took out approximately the same amount of the big nuts she’d usually seen Thancred retrieve before closing the lid once more.

Before she’d even had a chance to return the box to its place, the nutkin was squeaking excitedly. It stood on its hindlegs, small pink paws already raised as if grasping for its treats.

Viana paused, clicking her tongue. “Such ill manners,” she tutted.

The only response she got was an impatient flick of its fluffed up tail and wiggle of a pink nose as it defiantly stared up at her. It really didn’t have a shred of fear, did it? Sighing, she held out her empty hand and it quickly jumped into her palm, attention honed in on the nuts in her other hand.

But rather than waiting patiently for her to find a bowl for the nuts, it leaned off from the edge of her hand, as if readying to jump.

“Hold on now, no jumping!” Without thinking Viana quickly cupped her hands. A delighted chirp instantly resounded from the nutkin as it surveyed its pile of nuts, then latched onto a particularly big one, twisting and turning it in its hands before starting to gnaw at it.

“My my, one would almost think you’ve had naught to eat for days,” Viana chuckled. Then she looked around, the mirth making way for dismay when she was unable to locate any bowl or other container into which to deposit the hungry critter and its nuts.

Hells, she was too tired for this. With a sigh of resignation, she walked over to Thancred’s reading chair and curled up in it, cold feet tucked beneath her, while careful not to disturb the happily gnawing nutkin that was utterly oblivious to her dilemma.

Viana looked on as it began to make short work of the sturdy shell and dug into its delicious prize within, stuffing it into its cheek for later. “You know, if you’re gonna wake me like this while he’s away,” she drawled, “you could be nice and not interrupt us when he gets back.”

The nutkin paused to look up at her, almost as if it was contemplating her words, before digging back into the next nut.

Huffing out a little laugh, Viana leaned back and closed her eyes. “Well, it was worth a try,” she sighed.

With one thumb she slowly petted the nutkin’s soft fur, earning her another series of happy little noises and the distinct feeling of a nose nuzzling against her hand. Maybe she should just get a box with nuts and seeds and put it in her own room. And a bowl.

It would save her the walk over here every time it decided it wanted some attention.

Yawning, she snuggled back into the chair. Well, she could look into that later today. Before she knew it, the sound of the nutkin happily eating was lulling her back into a light sleep.

---

Thancred carefully set down the sturdy clay bowl on Viana’s nightstand, but the nutkin barely noticed, too busy with digging around amongst the seeds and nuts for its favourites to pay him any heed. For now, at least, he thought as he climbed back into bed.

“Well, I am glad to hear that the two of you got along while I was gone,” he said. “I do apologise though, I did not expect her to bother you.”

Viana made a drowsy noise as she rolled over to rest her head on his shoulder once more. “‘tis fine,” she murmured. “I suppose we did come to an understanding. Even though it required a few early mornings.”

At the sound of her voice the nutkin looked up and squeaked, as if in agreement, before digging back into its meal.

With a soft chuckle, he grasped her hand and - mindful of her shoulder - pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Glad to hear it,” he mused. Why he hadn’t thought of putting a box with the nutkin’s food in her room he wasn’t sure. Unwillingness to intrude on her space, perhaps? Ah, well, she’d taken the step herself.

“Hope this means fewer… interruptions,” she mumbled. Thancred couldn’t help but smile at the sleepy tone of her voice while his chest felt warm and comfortable. Twelve, he’d missed mornings such as this - nutkin interruptions or not - where he just got to treasure her presence. It wasn’t many who got to see the fearsome Warrior of Light in a half-asleep state like this.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he snorted with a glance at the critter in question.

The only response he got was a muffled hum. Clearly she too was still worn out from the fighting in Pagl’than the day prior.

With a quiet, fond laugh, he brushed his fingers through her hair, prompting her to snuggle closer to him. After giving the nutkin a last pet, Thancred let his eyes fall shut and sleep reclaim him.

#Thancred Waters #Thancred #Thancred x WoL #my writing #ffxiv

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

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(I absolutely lost it when I saw the ask game post because literally any content from you is guaranteed to be INCREDIBLE)

I wish you would write a fic with some good ol’ Protective Jack (kinda like the soulmate one you did in Cut to the Chase)

AHHHHHH! I LOVE protective Jack!!

So, the first thing I thought of is that follow up to ‘there’s more than diplomacy for you, dear’ that’s been sitting in my wip folder for ages. It shows the aftermath of that story, with Jack tracking down the boys that beat up Davey and putting the fear of god into them.

0000

Jack turns just in time to watch as Davey struggles to change out of his sleep shirt, wincing with each flex and strain of his bruised muscles.

“Here,” Jack murmurs, stepping forward and nudging Davey’s hands out of the way. “Let me.”

Jack carefully eases the fabric over his head, mindful not to move too fast or tug too hard.

“Thanks, Jackie,” Davey says once he’s finally free, his hair adorably ruffled and his eyes soft with gratitude. “You said you had a shirt I could borrow, right?”

“Yeah, anythin’ that’s mine is yours,” Jack says, setting the shirt aside. “But I still think you should...”

Jack goes very still.

Davey’s chest and stomach are littered with bruises—so many that they overlap in several places, his skin mottled in various, painful looking colors—and when he turns, Jack sees that his back is covered in long, thin, scratches, like he’d been shoved up again a brick wall or thrown down against the pavement.

“Jack?” Davey asks when Jack doesn’t continue, tilting his head. “Where is that—?”

Jack steps closer, his heart thundering in his ears. There’s a bruise on Davey’s arm, a deep, aching shade of purple, that nearly wraps around his entire bicep. There’s a second pressed into the space between his neck and collar bone—far, far to close to his throat.

They’re very clearly shaped like hands.

“Jackie?”

“I’m gonna kill them,” Jack says, his voice tight with furious promise, a storm churning in his gut. “I’m gonna hunt them down and rip them apart with my bare fucking hands.”

“Jack,” Davey starts, ever the peacemaker, always willing to go to bat for everyone except himself. “You know you can’t—“

“The fuck I can’t,” Jack bites back. “Are you kidding me, Dave? You seriously want me to let this go?”

“I’m not saying let it go,” Davey patiently responds. “I’m saying we should handle this diplomatically.”

“Well, there ain’t nothin’ more diplomatic than a fist to the teeth,” Jack says. “And I’m more than happy to deliver it.”

Davey sighs. “I’m serious, Jackie.”

“You think I’m not?”

Jack cups a hand around Davey jaw, leaning forward until those brilliantly blue eyes meet his own.

“No one is allowed to treat you like this, David,” Jack says, as serious as he’s ever been. “No one’s allowed to put their hands on you—hurt you—like this, I’m not gonna fucking stand for it.”

0000

@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

#*editor's note #*ask #*ask game #this one got a little away from me...#I really really REALLY need to finish this fic #it’s long overdue tbh #and I do love me some protective Jack

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madamescarlette · 4 years ago

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WIP folder tag

Tagged by my ever-so-beloved @thebirdandhersong to visit my garden nursery of slumbering stories, so here we are!

The thing is, I have a whole bunch of story ideas that I just….tip tap away at over the years, like an miner in a giant cave, except that it’s a cave that I have to gear up to return to over and over and so it gets harder the busier I am. (Does this analogy make sense? No? Well I’m going to use it anyway.) I have a habit of saying that right now might not be the time to learn how to tell a story, but maybe someday in the future, with all the cumulative experience I’ll have then, it will be. Which is to say, I leave things simmering for years at a time. HOWEVER I do have a shortlist of stories that I typically return to over a period of time and still feel inspired to work on at present so those will mostly comprise this list.

Also every story idea I work on for a significant period of time comes with their own code name because for me, part of the joy of finally handing the finished thing to other people is the unveiling of the name (because names have POWER) so that is what you’ll find here. They’re always puns or jokes or just straight up allusions to the title. They’re not always good, but they’re fun to ME and that’s what matters really.

BOOKS

Tree Novel: The story idea I’ve posted about most lately! It has its roots (ha) in my love for the bodyguard-princess trope except genderflipped, and in the delight of trying to world build from a scientific level, rather than from the lore as I usually do. The basic premise revolves around these giant trees, all separated across the world, where people have set up their own city-states in their roots, who have even learned to speak with these trees. The threads are: friends who share everything, even their birthdays, the joy of discovering the wideness of the world when you’ve always been in one place, an almost monster-of-the-week format except it’s my two kids wandering around trying to solve the problems of all their new friends. (The codename is just because. there’s trees and I love ‘em.)

Butterfly Novel: The sequel to the story of which my username is the main character. Basically The Goblin Emperor but if I wrote it- which is to say, more hijinks, less details and thus less fun, and because it’s me has lots of people sitting in corners being like “aaaaalright you ready to talk about your FEELINGS?” Takes place over the first few years of a young queen’s reign. It’s about- learning about leadership, learning to grow up and reconcile who you once were with who you are now, friendship blooming into love. (The codename is a pun about monarch butterflies.)

Milk Novel: My romcom I cooked up about two summers ago that was originally loosely (LOOSELY, LOOSELY) based on Snow White but has far devolved away from the original plotline but also I don’t want to rope it back so away it shall unfurl! This one’s premise revolves around a woman who, estranged and cut off from her family at a young age, now works in restaurants and as a line cook and essentially teaches herself how to be a chef, who gets hired to be a caterer for a floral company, and about the man who the company owner specifically hired her because of him and the fact that he doesn’t care very much about food. The main themes are grief, food, learning to forgive a transgression that changed your life irreversibly, learning to let go of a perfectly happy time to move forwards to something else, and about learning to communicate when you’ve spent your entire life trying to be as small as possible. (The codename is literally the translated title.)

Spring Novel: Everyone needs their own Hades and Persephone right? And this is mine. It is meant to be my version of OUAT’s first season combined with Greek mythology, so essentially a modern retelling where Percy’s an art historian unsure of where her life’s headed, when one of her friends’ illness leads her to meeting a doctor whose patients always seem to die. Similarly, about grief but also the lead-up to great loss and change, and learning to reconcile those things with your life, also the fears of letting yourself be loved when you had been convinced you would be better off alone, as well as learning to deal with the fact that your skills might not be what you wanted them to be, but how to live with them anyway. (The codename is really just a reference to Persephone- the lady with a suitcase full of summertime!)

SHORT STORIES (to come…I’m going to say that stubbornly to bully myself into it actually happening)

Garden Story: An idea that sparked when I was rewatching Roman Holiday and ruminating on how some true loves can happen in our lives that aren’t necessarily forever but are still significant. Revolves around a little girl who hides in a garden one afternoon, the woman who owns that garden, and the girl’s older brother. Bittersweet but in a GOOD way, hopefully.

Vampire Story: Based off of a conversation I had a long time ago where one of my best friends said she, as a vampire, would use her (undead) lifetime getting every degree that exists, and I would use mine paying for the bills of everyone I met (since vampires are fabulously rich); this along with the realization I had recently that if vampires don’t have immune responses and thus don’t need to note antibodies anymore, what would stop us from making synthetic blood for them? My premise is that if three vampires got bored of the debauchery of their comrades and decided to spend their lives caring for the people around them were suddenly put upon to raise a baby, how would that turn out? Hopefully fine, right?

Star Wars Epilogue: I said once that in my epilogue to the ST, Rey would begin wearing a wedding ring in the years that followed the war, and I want to make an entire story revolving around that. Rose is pretty much the biggest character besides her but also is a sub-in for me, wandering around telling people they need to take better care of themselves. The usual themes for me- grief, loss, rebuilding your life, bread and fresh air and life. Hopefully a sleepy story if I can pull it off properly.

#writing tag #i LOVED typing this up darling the most fun!!!

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fandomn00blr · 4 years ago

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Aaaaaah Porcia and Ser Pounce, Karl and Kristoff and Stowaway DS9 for the WIP ask meme? Please and thank you!

lol...YESSSSS! Some of my weirdest ideas to date! Thanks for giving me an excuse to talk about them!

Edited to tag @pinkfadespirit in this one because I just saw your ask about these first two! ❤️

Here’s an excerpt from the Porcia & Ser Pounce folder. Hawke’s old mabari and Anders’ ageless cat follow their family to Skyhold (Hawke and Fenris tried to leave them on the farm with Merrill like responsible pet owners, but y’know...Homeward Bound came out when I was a very impressionable child, and I’m a sucker for two cranky old ladies on a journey, so...omg, this is probably going to be called Skyhold Bound if I ever finish it):

The small, standoffish feline ends up being much better-suited to travel than Porcia is. She needs far less minding than the goats and the furless pups Pork has spent the past few years herding around the house and the farm. And she also seems to be an adept hunter. Porcia, on the other hand, desperately misses the treats slipped under the table by small, sticky fingers, or scraps tossed to her by the pointy-eared one her Mistress is so very fond of.

Pounce sits on a branch just above her head, cleaning the meat off the tiny bones of a swallow she’s just killed, and Porcia’s stomach growls. She swallows her pride, and then burps it back up, and finally lets out a pathetic little whine, looking up pleadingly at her. The cat glares down, yellow eyes glowing, but at least she doesn’t hiss this time. She bats a wing toward the dog, and then curls up defensively around the rest of her dinner.

And here’s a glimpse at Karl & Kristoff (a second set of Fenhanders twins, born post-Inquisition, because why not?):

Anders hands Hawke one of the babies, and Fenris hands her the other, and they both curl up on either side of her, staring in awe at the newest members of their miraculously growing family.

"I was thinking we could call him Karl." Hawke smiles weakly over at Anders. "If that's alright with you?"

He nods, wiping tears from his face that he’s been holding back for awhile now. "And Kristoff?" he asks, drawing the back of his knuckle lightly over the other infant’s cheek.

For a moment Hawke has a hard time placing the name -- it's familiar, but in her post-delivery haze she can hardly be expected to remember its significance until Fenris chimes in...

"Karl Justice and Kristoff Clemence Hawke?”

Hawke laughs. "They sound like a pair of heroes out of one of Varric's stories..."

"So that settles it, then?"

Hawke nods. "Welcome to the world, little ones!"

Stowaway is a Star Trek x Dragon Age crossover, featuring Jadzia Dax waking up after a warp core breach on The Siren’s Call as Isabela and Anders (and a bunch of other DA2 characters) flee Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. I have ideas about Jadzia and Isabela and Anders...but this was also going to be a weird fun meta-fic because holodecks and unreliable narrators and Isabela writing fanfic, obviously. Here’s Jadzia being treated for a concussion...

“Come in, Anders…” Isabela rolls her eyes as a tall, lanky man in feathers and threadbare robes with his strawberry-blonde hair tied back in a messy bun marches into the room, full of urgency and purpose...and a very familiar sort of insecure self-importance.

“Is this the patient?”

“The stowaway, yes…”

Jadzia nods, sharing an amused glance over his shoulder with Isabela who leans back to watch as the two of them interact.

“I’m Anders, the ship’s Healer.” He extends a hand which she grasps firmly.

She’s no stranger to human handshakes, and she’s relieved to find something familiar, though it is clearly not as intimate a gesture to them as it is to a Trill. Still, she can’t shake the weird feeling that he is probing at her in some way as he slowly pulls his hand away, staring curiously at it, then back at her.

“I’m Jadzia. Nice to meet you.”

“May I?” He motions toward the cut on her forehead and she nods, curious to see, given everything she’s seen so far of this ship and these people, what kind of rudimentary treatment he has in mind.

Anders bends down to look more closely at her wound, wiping away the dried blood with a rag he pulls from his pocket. “Alright if I use magic? I’m Circle-trained, but I’ve learned a bit more since I…” He suddenly eyes her combadge suspiciously, and then looks up at Isabela, who shakes her head dismissively. “Since I left,” he finishes defiantly.

Jadzia supposes she’s meant to react somehow to this, but she is busy trying not to laugh. Magic? Oh, this is going to be fun...

#dragon age #long post #WIPs #Porcia #Ser Pounce #fenhanders #lost and found da2 endgame canon divergence #karl #kristoff #stowaway #star trek #ds9 da2 crossover #jadzia dax #isabela #anders #wow the tags here are a sign of something aren't they?#my writing #porcia the mabari #lesetoilesfous

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bitletsanddrabbles · 4 years ago

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WIP Wednesday: Working on that ‘focus’ thing

Right. So. I’ve mentioned that I’m trying to focus on just one or two things and actually clear out the WIP folder a bit. One of those things is, and probably will be for the next three years, the Thomas-as-heir novel. I mean, even once I get my research done and pound out a rough draft, that bastard’s gonna need editing up the ying yang and not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve never edited a novel before. It’s going to be more like a complete re-write.

But. It is a thing I am working on, actively, so while I sit and wait for the interlibrary loan system to deliver my books - something I am being very patient about, especially the one I ordered last week which is in system, was marked as ‘available’, and my father could have checked out and delivered to me the next day but oh no, I’ll just order it - have a small snippet of Thomas and his new fuck buddy upper crust friend at a party where they’ve just run into Thomas’s absolute bastard ex the Duke of Crowborough.

Thomas frowned into the night, not really seeing the lights of London. Looking back at it, that was when he’d really fallen for the other man. The weeks of slipping out whenever he could, of covert meetings and passionate abandon, they’d been nice, but no different than any other affair. It was that first letter that had worked its way past the armor he’d already started constructing for himself. The sound of wool against stone as Simon shifted next to him brought him back to the present. “When the Titanic sank and I thought Lady Mary would inherit, my first instinct was to write Phillip,” he continued. “It just…it seemed like such a neat solution to everything. He’d get his heiress; I’d get to be valet, and we’d have each other. It would be perfect.”

“I didn’t hear anything about Lady Mary in that,” Simon noted, his tone somewhat dry. A sideways glance showed Thomas that he was smirking.

With a soft chuckle, Thomas looked away, only slightly ashamed by his past indifference to his employer’s daughter. “Yes, well, she was Lady Mary, wasn’t she? Didn’t really care about her, back then. If I had thought about it, I’d have said she’d have gotten to be a Duchess. What more does a woman like that want?” He looked askance at the other man. Simon thought about it a moment, then shrugged, indicating that he didn’t know either. After all, it was well acknowledged that, in many regards, the London Season had only slightly more to do with romance than a horse auction. “Anyway, Mary wasn’t the point. The point was, I wrote Phillip because I wanted to be with him. I thought he wanted to be with me.

“Thing is, while we’d written, we’d not seen each other in a year. More than that. Despite the letters, I did wonder if, when he got there, if he’d still feel the same. I told myself that he would, of course he would, and if he didn’t when he first arrived…well, he’d fallen for me once, hadn’t he? Shouldn’t take much to remind him why. And if he still didn’t…well…” He trailed off, taking another drag off his cigarette. They said a burden shared was a burden halved, but poking through his old wounds didn’t make them feel any more healed. Quite the opposite. And why should he feel obligated to put Simon’s mind at ease? He hadn’t asked the other man to take him under his wing and show him around the shady corners of the aristocracy.

“If he still didn’t,” Simon supplied, “Then you had the letters.”

With a heartfelt sigh, Thomas closed his eyes and rested his head against the stone behind him. “Right. I just never really believed…” His closed eyes meant that he didn’t see the touch coming. There was just the soft feel of a finger against his cheek, running down the line of his jaw to his neck and then sliding around to the back of his head, shifting into a comforting massage at the base of his skull. He smiled and opened his eyes again, turning to find the other man watching him with open sympathy. Somehow it was easier to take from Simon, from another man like him, than it would have from anyone back at Downton. It still made his stomach do that uncomfortable little twist.

Reaching up, he gently pushed the hand away. “Please don’t think I’ve been pining over him all of these years,” he insisted, forcing himself to smile. “Really. I’ve not thought about him since before the war.” That wasn’t quite true. There had been a few times, when he’d been cowering in the trenches, listening to the sound of distant shelling, that he’d wondered where his former lover was. If he was near by, in another battle field; buried in a hole, or back home in England. If, at some point, he was going to be the one on the stretcher Thomas was carrying. “It’s only, seeing him again, now that everyone knows who I really am and having him treat me like I’m still a servant, still a footman at that… Well. I suppose it’s just a sharp reminder that there are people who will never see me as anything worthwhile is all. Even if I were the long lost crown prince.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #original character #alternate universe #wip wednesday

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iwroteinapastlife · 4 years ago

Text

Least Favorite

Hey everyone! This is a little extra from my ChloNath fake dating fic, Honey I’m Home, but it also functions as a standalone oneshot for those who haven’t read HIH. Enjoy!

Warning: Contains detailed descriptions of blood.

He had painted her numerous times, but not like this. Running a thumb coated in gold down her cheek, yellow and black dipped fingers over her neck. He’d never kissed a canvas before. His canvas had never kissed him before. Whispered his name before.

Nathaniel.

Laid across his chest, restricting his breathing before.

“Nathaniel.” ...Or shaken his shoulder, jolting him from sleep before. “Wake up.”

Nathaniel blinked tired eyes, vision blurry from the mess of blonde hair draped across his face. He pulled it back to find a dark room, only dimly lit by the first dull hints of light peeking out from behind the curtains.

“Chloé?” he asked groggily. “What time is it?”

She was already partially on top of him, but he wheezed as Chloé leaned further forward across his chest to check the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. “5:03.” He opened his mouth to complain but before he could, she was talking over him. “How many drawings do you have of me?”

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut a couple times as if that could clear the fog in his head. He felt like he was missing something. “What?”

“How many drawings do you have of me?” she repeated, voice more insistent. “Or paintings, or pastels, or whatever.”

Nathaniel blinked up at the woman hovering over him, watching him with an expression that was far too awake, alert, and inquisitive for this god awful hour. His brain was moving slowly, he knew it was, but no, he wasn’t missing anything. It was just Chloé being Chloé. “The sun’s not even up yet. Why are you awake?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged, brushing past him. “Answer the question. How many? It’s more than I’ve seen, isn’t it?” Nathaniel pressed his lips together, glaring at her. A knowing smile spread across her lips. “It is; I knew it. How many?”

“...I don’t know.”

She drummed her hand on his chest persistently. “Aw come on, tell me.”

Nathaniel rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead and let out a long sigh, resigning himself to the world of the living. “I’m serious,” he admitted. “Too many to count.”

Any embarrassment he might have had to confess such a thing melted under the light of that smile. “Show me,” she said, still a demand, but speaking the slightest bit softer.

“Okay.”

It took about five seconds of her watching him expectantly to realize, “You mean right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Nathaniel frowned at her, but he knew it was pointless. Both of them knew he would do anything for that stupidly beautiful face. She knew he would do anything for that stupidly beautiful face. Even cater to her random demands at the crack of dawn.

Five minutes later Nathaniel found himself sitting in front of his computer with Chloé on his lap, one arm around her waist while the other maneuvered the mouse to pull up his art folders. He double clicked the folder titled Her Majesty then handed over the reins. As Chloé leaned forward to scroll through the various files, he rested his forehead against her back and closed his eyes, a small but powerful portion of him still hopelessly clinging to the notion of sleep.

“What even are these titles? A-l-k-s-d-f-j-a-l-s-k,” he huffed a small laugh as she read out each individual letter in the keyboard smash, “bees, bees question mark, bees and honey, go to sleep, gothefucktosleep—all one word—hella gangsta…” a pause as she scrolled further down, “oh and here’s just a sea of wips. Wip 14, wip 178, wip 389, wip 509—Jeez how many works in progress can you have?”

“A lot,” he responded, voice muffled by her shirt—well, his shirt, just on her.

“How do you even keep track of anything this way? There’s no organization system, no order; it’s just complete chaos. You don’t even have unfinished works separate from the finished ones!”

“Excuse me,” he grumbled, “I agreed to show you my art, not have my system criticized at five in the morning.”

“I’m serious though, how do you not lose track of everything?”

He shrugged. “It works for me.”

Even if he wasn’t looking, he knew she was shaking her head. “Absolute madness.”

A comfortable silence finally settled over them as Chloé began actually opening up images to look at them. He breathed slow and deep, sinking himself in the lingering scent of her perfume from yesterday. The sound of clicking slowly grew more and more distant as the comforting beat of her heart took over, the peaceful lull of sleep seeping back into his body.

Right as his mind was starting to cross over into dream mode, Chloé’s voice shattered the silence, waking him again with a tiny shock. “Show me your least favorite drawing of me.”

“What?”

“Your least favorite. The worst one. I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I do,” she replied simply, as if that should be self-evident. She twisted to look at him, forcing Nathaniel to pick up his head and open his eyes again. He frowned at her expectant look. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” He pressed his lips together, his frown only deepening. She narrowed her eyes, giving him an inquisitive smirk. “Is it dirty?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“You have dirty ones though, don’t you?”

“N—,” he paused as he thought. “…No.”

A wicked grin spread across her lips. “What was that hesitation, Nathaniel?”

“I don’t have any dirty drawings of you.”

“But you have something.”

Two seconds of staring, a battle of wills. He was—unfortunately—very weak. Nathaniel sighed and leaned forward, taking the mouse. He scrolled until he found the file titled Summer Heat.

“Ooh.” She leaned forward to inspect it as he dropped his head against her back again, this time more so trying to hide his embarrassment than fall back asleep.

The drawing wasn’t dirty, but he would be lying if he claimed it wasn’t created in the passion of heat and desire. It was pinup style, featuring a practically glowing Chloé seated on the hood of a car—fashioned after Bumblebee from Transformers, naturally. She had one leg pulled up to rest her elbow on while the other leg extended down toward the ground. From the arm resting on her knee she held a cherry red lollipop up to matching lips that were parted in a seductive smirk. She wore a yellow and black striped T-shirt tucked into black high waisted shorts that really didn’t offer much coverage of her thighs, and draped over one shoulder was a black leather jacket with a patch on the sleeve depicting a bee with a crown. Light shined off of everything—the gold buttons on her shorts, the gloss on her lips, the sheen on her skin—serving to accentuate her every curve and the sweat slicked heat of the summer sun.

“Wow,” she said. “I’m hot.”

Nathaniel huffed a laugh more out of relief than anything. “Yes you are. And it was really hot that day, and I… Yeah.” He even had her hair pulled back in the exact yellow bow she had been wearing at the time.

“I should get a pair of shorts like that…” she mused.

“No, you really shouldn’t.” Or I will die; please have mercy.

She giggled and he got the distinct impression that she was going to actively seek out those shorts now.

“Alright, now show me your least favorite.”

“…No.”

“Come ooooon,” she groaned, twisting toward him again. He frowned, blinking tired eyes up at her. “I doubt it’s as bad as you think.”

“It’s not that it’s bad, it’s…” He bit the inside of his cheek, unsure how to finish that sentence.

After a few seconds with no answer, Chloé squeezed his arm gently. “Come on, show me.”

He stared up at curious eyes in a dark room, the only light that of the screen behind her, outlining her figure in a heavenly glow. She was radiant, beautiful, breathtaking, and he was so helpless to do anything but her every bidding. As he watched her this time—looking back and forth between those eyes that absolutely owned everything that he was—it was less a test of will, and more a question of how stubbornly he would deny her in order to keep from making old scars fresh for the both of them.

The gaze that looked back was patient, but adamant. Somehow, she knew this wasn’t a battle of will, but a battle she would win nonetheless.

Would he ever learn to say no to her?

With a long breath out, Nathaniel finally released what was left of his resistance and took the mouse. He didn’t look when he opened up the file. He didn’t need to. Despite giving it physical form, the image it seemed would forever be etched into his mind in full, painstaking detail.

“Oh,” she whispered as she leaned forward. Nathaniel rested the side of his head against her, pressing his ear to her back to listen to that reassuring heartbeat as he wrapped a second arm around her and pulled her close. “This is...real.”

It was a complete work, and objectively speaking probably one of his best. The details and shading were as fleshed out as his artwork got, complete with every tiny speck of dirt on her skin, every stray strand of hair. Every drop of blood. The piece was entirely greyscale with the exception of the blood—bright awful vibrant red pooling at her waist, soaking her shirt, painting her hand. Smudges of it colored his own hand where it sat atop hers, holding pressure to the wound to keep her from bleeding out right there in that alley.

His other hand held her head, fingers tangled through long locks, knotted and frizzy and loose from her usual ponytail. Decorating her cheek were two drops of water where his tears had fallen, and worst of all were the eyes. Eyes that were usually so bright, so fiery, so spirited, were instead emotionless, dull—not quite lifeless, but tired and void as they looked up at him with that excruciating blank stare.

He hated it. He couldn’t stand to look at the image and he hadn’t since finishing it and putting it away. Making it in the first place was utter hell. Every stroke of his stylus pained him. He felt like he was the one cutting into her flesh, as if he were the cause of her injury. He was hurting her—hurting Chloé held in his own arms on the screen.

He could feel the scar under his palm where it rested on her waist now.

“I didn’t want to make it in the first place,” he murmured. Her hand settled over his, fingers delicately brushing the backs of his knuckles. “It was stuck in my head for weeks. It wouldn’t go away, even after you stabilized, even after you were out of the hospital, even after you were already up in the air again. It was just there, burned into my mind’s eye at all times, the scene playing over and over and… I finally made this just to...get rid of it. Give it physical form so it could be put away.”

“I get why you didn’t want to show me now,” she whispered. Then a tiny breath of laughter. “And why you didn’t want to leave the hospital. I mean… Did I really look so…?” She never finished that sentence, but he could fill in the unspoken word on the end.

“Yeah.”

She stared at the image for a few more seconds before closing out of it. Nathaniel picked up his head again as she turned to face him, and was relieved to find her still just as at ease as she was before. If seeing herself near death had shaken her at all, it didn’t show.

Cold fingers combed back hair from his forehead. “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“What do you think, idiot?” Even if her words were aggressive, her tone was anything but. She spoke softly, with the gentlest hint of laughter in her voice. “For saving my life.”

“I don’t thank you every time you save my life, or all of Paris,” he rebuked.

She immediately rolled her eyes, an amused sort of annoyance taking to her face. “Yeah, but that’s my job.”

He felt a calm smile returning to his lips. “Yeah, and being your sidekick is mine.”

“Oh I see.” She shifted her position so she sat perpendicular to him and draped an arm over his shoulder. His hands naturally settled at her hips. “So I’m just a job to you.”

Nathaniel found his face tilting upward in automatic response to the way Chloé inclined her head, an intimate space coming into existence between them complete with the magnetic draw of gravity itself. “Of course,” he responded, matching her sarcasm with his own, but still not breaking the quiet of the moment, “what else could you ever possibly be to me?”

Her second hand brushed more loose hair behind his ear before settling at the base of his neck. “Certainly nothing romantic. I mean, look at us.” She was speaking in a low murmur now that sent a subtle but powerful spark down the length of his spine. His thumbs dipped under the hem of her shirt as she leaned in closer. A strand of her hair tickled his collarbone. Whispered words brushed his lips. “There’s no chemistry here.”

Even if they had been dating for five months, Nathaniel still wasn’t used to Chloé’s kiss—her real kiss. The kiss that was only shared with him behind closed doors in the intimacy of private spaces. The kiss that felt like a dance with fire itself and left him breathless every time.

She was absolute rapture thinly contained in a work of art.

The whispered words were out of his mouth before his thoughts could even place them. “I love you.”

“Good,” she whispered back. Her forehead rested against his, fingers steadily combing back his hair. “Because I love you too.”

#chlonath #miraculous ladybug #hih #mentions of blood #fluff

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 5 years ago

Text

How To Break You With The Truth

(WonderCorp / SuperCorp, post 4 x 22)

____________

She is summoned by a phone call, and she comes. There are not many people who can summon Diana Prince with one word whispered over a phone line, but then again, she will always be special..

Diana finds her drinking in the glass-walled office, the smell of fine scotch and a subtle perfume she has always loved permeating the room. She sits at her desk, as usual, glass in hand, gaze trained at the night sky of National City.

When she approaches, Lena Luthor looks up at her with a small, wan smile. If the soft inflections of her voice over the phone, or even the fact that she had called at all, hadn’t tipped Diana off already, she would have known from that smile -- from the emptiness and the overflowing pain that somehow lived together in those green eyes -- something was wrong. Very wrong.

"I knew who you were the moment I saw you, didn't I?” Lena asks without preamble

Diana tips her head, responding with a small smile of her own, allowing the memories of those snapping green eyes deducing every secret she kept to resurface.

That same jade-green gaze skims over the imposing figure Diana cuts against the light of her doorway. One corner of a red mouth lifts. “A goddess walking among mortals. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Diana nods, huffs a soft laugh. "You did."

Lena takes another sip of her scotch. She angles her head away, looking back out into the starless night sky of National City. Diana watches as she scans the dark horizon, searching, as if it can give her the answers she seeks.

On her desk lies a broken frame, cracks cobwebbing across a photograph. The smiling faces are still visible underneath shards of glass.

Ahh. So this is why. Now Diana understands.

“I saw the hero behind the disguise. I knew who you truly were behind the mask of Diana Prince."

Lena’s voice is calm and steady, but when she looks up at Diana, her eyes are almost wild -- the eyes of one who has seen too much and has been changed irretrievably because of it. The eyes of one who has been broken and beaten to the ground and yet lives -- must live, not through choice, but simply because the beating has not killed them yet. Diana knows that pain well.

"Then why didn't I see her? Why didn't I see the truth with her?” For the first time, Lena’s voice breaks, cracks forming like those on the glass surface of the photograph.

Diana remains silent.

“I discovered the truth within moments of meeting you, and yet she and I were friends -- ‘best friends’! " Lena spits out, her voice rising "for years, and yet I never saw it! She was my--"

Lena winces, her lovely face contorting into an expression of pure anguish, before she stops and schools herself in the way that Diana knows she has trained herself to. Luthors don’t show emotion, after all. Luthors don’t feel emotion, Lena had once told her.

And yet, Diana has seen this woman love, has felt this woman love so deeply before. And she knows better.

“Lena…”

Her gentle voice makes Lena deflate, the perfect posture drilled into her for years abandoning her as her shoulders slump and she curls in on herself, as if to protect herself from the pain. Her voice is barely a whisper now. “ ….How could I have been so blind?”

Diana steps forward. There is no pity in her eyes, only understanding and sympathy.

From within the folds of her coat, she produces a length of golden rope that glows faintly in the dim light of Lena's office. She holds the rope out to Lena, her face gentle.

"May I?"

Lena swallows convulsively, but she nods, and lets Diana gently wind the rope around her wrists. The knot is loose, but it tightens ever so slightly as Lena tugs, a slight jolt like an electric current zapping over her skin as she struggles minutely.

Diana fixes her with an even stare. Her voice is quiet as she meets Lena's eyes over the glowing rope. ".... Why did you not see the truth about Kara, Lena?"

Lena gasps quietly, green eyes wide, as Diana throws the question back at her.

Perhaps it is the lasso, or perhaps just her own desperate need to finally confess, but the truth spills out of her mouth.

"Because I was afraid."

"Why were you afraid?"

Lena chokes on her own breath, and her wild eyes burn into the rope binding her wrists. Diana waits patiently, neither loosening nor tightening her hold. Finally, a broken whisper is breathed out into the air between them.

"Because I love her... More than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life."

Lena’s eyes are unseeing, and it seems she doesn't realize she's crying until Diana cups her face with her hand, fingers wiping away tears. She blinks them away and looks deep into Diana’s eyes.

The lasso comes loose from her wrists, having fulfilled its purpose. Both women let it drop to the floor unheeded. Lena leans into Diana's hand while her own hand pulls Diana forward until their faces are inches apart.

"Please..." Their breaths mingle together and Lena closes her eyes. Diana strokes the soft skin of her face.

"I don't want to love her anymore. Please..... help me forget."

___________

By SorrowsFlower

This has been in my WIP folder for too long. Should have been only a few paragraphs long, but apparently, I’m incapable of writing anything short and simple.

#supercorp #wondercorp #lena luthor #wonder woman #supergirl #katie mcgrath #gal gadot #diana prince #kara danvers #melissa benoist #fanfic #my writing #at least i finally got rid of it from my brain

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Note

I had a dream last night that we had a conversation about writing that started with the question "how do you write as much content as you do so quickly while maintaining a consistent level of quality?" so, uh, here's the question :D

Huh, that’s definitely an interesting question (also you had a dream about chatting with me???? I’m flattered!)

Not entirely sure how to answer this so I’ll just let my brain ramble and see what happens (which is one of my writing methods in general!)

First off, ‘quality’ is subjective. Personally I don’t think my stuff is a consistent quality - there are definitely fics I side-eye in hindsight going ‘did I really think posting that was a good idea’, as well as the fics I keep rereading because I love how I wrote it - but I’m also aware that as the creator I’m my own worst critic, so there’s that. It’s definitely interesting to see that the stuff I’m proudest of tends to get the smallest reception, while the stuff I’m more eh? about often gets more of a reception than I expected.

As for how I write so much... Well, I think I actually write even more than some people realise.

This is my main WIP folder. I have more elsewhere but I’m not gonna go through all my folders and stuff screenshotting all of it. I have even more stuff scattered in notebooks in my bedroom. The vast majority of these, I’ve not posted anywhere. Some of them I am actively working on. Some of them are old scraps of ideas I’ll never touch again or I’ve forgotten where they were supposed to be going. Some of them are vent-y things or similar so I have no plans to post them even if I finish them. None of them are finished.

My brain is pretty much constantly active. I’m almost always toying with ideas - there are many I haven’t even started trying to write so they’re not represented in that screenshot either. If I’m not reading or drawing, I’m probably writing. I’ve always been this way - I wrote my first book when I was six, and aside from being clearly written by a six year old, I still think the plot of that is decent and do have vague plans to one day rewrite it properly. I’ve been working on another original work for the past fifteen years, when I’m not playing in the sandboxes provided by already-published works.

My brain is also fast. I’m a speed reader, and you only have to glance at my handwriting to know that my brain is normally several sentences ahead of my hands at any one time - that translates to typing, too. Missing words from sentences is one of the things I have to watch out for when I go through and edit. If my muse is particularly active (and doesn’t have to keep pausing for research), I’ve been known to bash out 4k words in 2 hours.

When it comes to playing with characters, storylines, what-ifs, my brain never stops. It’s reached the point where if all my muses are silent, I’m lost. Life seems empty, I can’t gather motivation for anything... Not a fun place, luckily it doesn’t happen very much.

This is where I hold my hands up with a confession: I’m unemployed. I’m not a student, either (although I’m going back to uni in September because I need to do something with my life and if I can’t get a job, might as well go back to school). I still live with my parents so I don’t even have to cook, clean, do laundry, etc. I get temp jobs that might last anywhere from two days to six months, but I have a lot of free time that I am fully aware most people do not have.

So, how do I write so quickly? A brain that never stops thinking and way too much free time.

How is the quality consistent? I only post stuff that, at the moment of posting, I’m happy with. I won’t say that the posted stuff is only the tip of the iceberg, because I’m on 97 posted works according to AO3 so it’s probably closer to half of everything I’ve written, but if I’m not happy, it doesn’t get posted.

Other than that, it’s just basic things. I always proof-read before I post. Doesn’t mean I catch everything, but it usually catches most of the problems. I don’t have a beta - I’ve never used one - but I do have friends that sometimes get previews and occasionally point out a glaring issue, or that patiently sit and let me bounce ideas off of them and input their own comments to iron out things like plotholes and stuff. I do my research on things if I’m not sure about them.

And I enjoy what I do. Writing is a hobby, for me. It’s not a chore, it’s not something I have to do to get money or whatever. I’m a scientist, my degrees are all science-based and almost completely unrelated to anything fictional that I write. That makes this an escape - and in the past few months, certainly (which coincides with my explosion of TAG works), escaping from the disaster that is life has been incredibly appealing.

I have no idea if that answers your question, but hopefully it’s at least given some insight into the insanity that is my mind!

-----

As I’ve posted a screenshot of one of my wip folders, I feel like this is a good time to remind people that I’m always willing to chat about anything I’m writing if you have questions! If any of those doc names particularly interest you, ask away! Ask what it’s about, ask for a snippet... whatever you want to know! If you’re lucky, it might even wake my muse up for that particular one.

#scribeofred #ask #not fic #writing #seriously my mind is crazy #and generally not a safe place for characters to lurk whoops #many of those wips are whumpy

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raelly-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Little Secrets - Thancred/WoL

Post-5.5. Silly little bit of fluff I’ve had lying around in my WIP folder since before 5.3. :)

---

The Rising Stones lay still and quiet as Thancred made his way through its hallways. Not that it was unexpected at this hour - either it was far too late in the night or too early in the morning for many souls aside for the town guards to be awake.

At least the others out in the field had been faring well when he’d checked in with them, despite their less than pleasant task of intercepting any further attempts to bring captives to the towers. Sure, he could have checked in via linkpearl, but after the chaos out in Pagl’than, it’d seemed prudent to get a feeling for the situation elsewhere.

Well, he could convene with Riol and Alphinaud in the morning, Thancred thought as he took the steps up the stairs to the sleeping quarters in twos. Despite his long travel and the late - or early - hour, he felt rather energetic.

Or perhaps it was the thought of slinking into Viana’s room and just catching a few precious hours of sleep with her after several days apart that put a slight spring in his step. Between his time away in Garlemald, and leaving again to see how the situation at the other towers were, he looked forward to the comforting warmth of her body curled up next to his as he slept. In the dark, still corridor, his quiet huff of laughter at himself seemed far louder than it was. It would have been a hard thing to believe once that he’d be eager to slip into his lover’s bed, just for the simple pleasure of sleeping by their side.

Nevermind that there were no fears of entanglement driving him from leaving said bed early, that he was content and secure in this bond between them that kept him by her side - that he could allow himself to have this simple happiness in his life, despite those moments where he felt it was something he had not yet earned, and those familiar, dark voices whispered to him that she would one day realise that he was not fit for her.

With a shake of his head, he fished out the spare key she had given him from his inner coat pocket and quietly unlocked her door. Her chamber lay silent as he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, bathed in the low light of the lantern left burning on her desk.

Too silent, in fact.

A small frown creased his brow as he quietly stepped deeper into the room and looked around the ornate Far Eastern wood screen that customarily partitioned off her bed from the rest of the room.

The piles of pillows and blankets were untouched, the covers still neatly tucked in. No one had slept in that bed tonight.

Thancred felt a small but potent pang of disappointment. Most likely she had been called off somewhere on an urgent matter, as was wont to happen.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it - guess he was sleeping in his own bed tonight. Tataru and Alphinaud would tell him in the morning where she’d gone, he was sure. Sighing, he reached out to turn off the lantern, when he caught sight of her gunblade lying on her desk with its maintenance kit beside it. Thancred stopped at once, a curious frown back on his features. Looking around he found her katana sitting on its customary stand and her axe hanging off a pair of hooks on the wall by her wardrobe.

“What the-?” he murmured to himself. She wouldn’t have left without any of her weapons.

Just then, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by a dull thud as someone on the other side pushed their weight against the door. A pause. Then the sound of it once more unlocking.

“Seven Hells, I swear that I locked-” Viana froze the moment she saw him, her eyes going almost comically wide in surprise.

Thancred’s eyebrows rose as he took in her appearance, the surprise he felt not mitigating the heat that instantly crawled up the back of his neck. A dark leather corset hugged her body, with familiar looking bits of gold jewelry twinkling in the low light like little stars against the dark blue cloth of her dress.

A moment of silence stretched out between them.

Clearing his throat, he smiled and gestured towards her. “Were I to check the hallway, would I find Urianger knocked out and robbed off his usual adornments?”

Viana’s shoulders, bared by the cut of the dress, sagged when she exhaled. “Funny,” she replied dryly while she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, turning the lock. Tall boots covered her legs, though even in the dim light of the room he could see the tantalising glimpse of bare skin at her thigh.

He tried not to let his eyes linger, but it was hard not to let his gaze wander and soak in her unusual appearance, used as he was to her in full armour or just lighter shirts and trousers. This was… extravagant, by comparison. “People have on occasion accused me of such feats,” he quipped.

Pausing, she gave him a shy, uncertain look while still lingering by the door. He was not meant to have seen her like this, he realised. Only once, long ago, had he seen her carry herself in such an apprehensive manner - at the banquet that had been held after the Grand Melee in Ishgard. But there were no crowds of gossiping nobles present now to watch her every move.

Thancred gave her a reassuring smile as he took a couple of slow steps forward. “So, do you mind me asking what this is about?” He had an inkling but...

Viana tensed up, and he nearly told her that she did not have to if so was her wish, but then she sighed and procured from behind her the folded together metal rings that appeared to have been suspended from one of the chains around her waist. “I suppose you’d find out sooner or later,” she said quietly as she took a few steps to close the distance between them.

With a touch of aether, the slender rings flared to life and hovered above her palm - a familiar sight, though hers lacked the intricate decorations of Urianger’s. The bracelets on her arm tinkled when she moved her arm over the astrolabe, her face set in a look of concentration.

Briefly, the room was illuminated by a surge of aether, and then a soothing sensation washed over Thancred, like a gentle whisper of the softest silk over his bare skin that swept away the weariness in his limbs. Rejuvenating magic, tinted with the warm, familiar feeling of her aether.

“I made the mistake of voicing some curiosity about astrology to Urianger while we were dealing with Eden.” The corner of her mouth curled with a crooked smile. “And I fear he took it as a personal challenge to teach me.”

“Ah, a grave mistake indeed,” Thancred chuckled. “Give him an ilm and he’ll take a yalm.”

Shrugging, she eyed the slowly spinning astrolabe with a small, thoughtful smile. “It’s been… interesting to learn though.” Her gaze flickered back to him. “I’ll probably never take this out in the field. I’m barely good enough to heal a minor cut, but I do genuinely appreciate the effort and time he’s put toward this. He’s a good teacher. Very patient with me.”

Thancred’s expression softened. He knew her lack of an education was a sore spot for her, and that she often felt like her non-existent grasp of magical theory made her less of use than the rest of them - that, as per her own jest, her sole contribution to any given problem was to take a beating and punch the issue until it either went away or one of them solved it. Gratitude towards Urianger for taking her under his wing tugged at his heart, along with a content pride in her efforts to learn. Even if Thancred himself thought that she hardly had anything to prove to them, in that regard. She was more than just a weapon. Reaching out, he took her free hand in his and brushed a quick kiss to the back of her fingers, below the rings that adorned them.

“I take it you were out studying the stars then,” he asked, recalling how Urianger would sometimes venture out into the fields of Il Mheg even when the blanket of Eternal Light had made it impossible to see the night sky.

Viana nodded and slipped her hand from his to caress his jaw. The scratch of his stubble made her smile widen a little, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Mm, his balcony has a good view of most of them. Otherwise we go up to one of the towers.”

With another wave of her hand, the astrolabe folded back up and she took a careful hold of it before walking past him to the same low cabinet upon which her katana stand stood. The soft light from the lantern caught on the gold chain hanging down between her shoulder blades. Focusing on it, he saw that another star pendant was dangling at its end, and that another, heftier chain was attached to the band around her upper arm. There was an itch in his fingers to slowly undo each clasp and tie, to loosen the corset hugging her body and unwrap her like a fine namesday gift.

“He’s been teaching me about the various constellations and how to draw on them,” she told him over her shoulder, unaware of how his eyes were following the chains looping around her waist, and the small blue gems hanging from them that sparkled like they were distant stars twinkling in the night sky. “Not sure how successful I’ve been at it though.”

She turned around and his gaze instantly snapped back up to her face. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

Viana shrugged sheepishly. “Perhaps. If nothing else I might be able to apply some of the theory to my gunbreaker barriers.” Her smile turned crooked, as humour sparked in her eyes. “And, I might not stand around and look like I just got clubbed over the head by Titan whenever a discussion turns theoretical in nature about aether balancing and all that stuff.”

“Ah, my dear, you’re hardly the only one who gets turned around by their theoretical debates.”

A soft peal of laughter made her shoulders shake as she walked back to him. “Well, I suppose I have Estinien as company in that regard, for now.” The knowing look she gave him made it clear that she knew he was obfuscating his own knowledge on the field, but instead of calling him out on it she merely leaned down and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re back,” she murmured.

Smiling, Thancred slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’m glad to be back.”

Viana leaned against him and brushed back his hair from his eyes. “Planning on staying for more than a day, this time?”

Immediately he felt the long journey catch up with him, and with a tired chuckle he nodded. “Unless the gods decide to suddenly turn the world upside down tomorrow, then yes, I am.”

Her smile brightened a little at once. “Good.” She leaned down and he eagerly met her in a slow kiss.

Thancred made a pleased noise at the back of his throat, his heart skipping a beat in joy at being back with her. The kiss was short and sweet, familiar and welcoming in tone.

Almost too short, he felt, when she straightened back up. Peering up at her, he felt curiosity tug at him once more as he thumbed what felt like a star shaped pendant. “Haven’t seen you in something like this before,” he murmured with a smile. “Well, aside from that dress at ser Aymeric’s banquet.”

A blush immediately crept up on her cheeks as she glanced away. “Ah, yes, I... asked Tataru for some more aether conductive gear,” she replied while tapping her fingers against his shoulders in a nervous manner. “Apparently she’d gotten her hands on some new patterns in Ishgard that she wanted to try out. Decided to kill two cloudkin with one rock, as it were.” The tilt of her smile turned a little self deprecating as she shrugged, “Can’t help but feel like her efforts were wasted on me.”

Raising a hand, he touched her chin to urge her to look back at him. Thancred held her gaze and let the levity drop from his voice when he responded, “You look stunning, darling.”

Viana’s eyes widened a fraction before her expression settled back into a bashful look. “Not exactly my usual style,” she murmured, her tone uncertain. “It seems a bit… frivolous, compared to my normal clothes.”

“Nothing wrong with a little frivolity, if that’s what you are in the mood for,” Thancred mused.

She pursed her lips with a thoughtful look, before leaning down and pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “Well, thoughts for a later time I suppose. Mind helping me out of this?”

“Mm, that would be my pleasure,” he replied with a grin and gave her waist a squeeze.

#Thancred #Thancred Waters #ffxiv #thancred x wol #really just wanted to finish up something for myself today #My writing

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ripuels · 5 years ago

Note

GIVE ME ANYTHING I'LL TAKE IT ALL 👀

So... since you already have access to my Walk in the Park deleted scenes doc, here... have the first chapter of a WIP called "Solomon's Habitation". Enjoy, m'dear!

(AU in which a calloused synth tech named Amanda develops a habit of taking in and rehoming abused and decommissioning synthetics, only to find the one who just wont leave may be what she needs to heal)

—

"Hello, I am a second generation Weyland-Yutani S-Executive Synthetic serial number 1209, inducted for purpose of Legal, entirely at your disposal."

"Name?"

"C. Samuels, individually distinguished as Christopher."

The robot blinks once, looking into the corner of the room where three others stand. Two are identical, one is different, one of them older, none are like him. He knows it. They are operated, programmed to execute commands, not act on whims like being pert with superiors and getting into significant amounts of trouble.

"Know why you're here, 1209?"

"I ask questions."

Christopher studies the technician's lab coat, looking for anything identifying. Anything he can relate to. There is a young lady in Engineering who wears Star Wars socks poking out of her boots, and an older man in his division who wears an enamel Tardis pin on his tie, they were always lovely and appreciative of a conversation. From this woman sitting before him however, he gets nothing.

He can clearly see her name tag, but just like his own identity, who she really is hides behind an initial. "What is your name?"

"You do, don't you?"

"What?"

"Ask questions." The woman smiles shortly, it doesn't quite seep from her gaze, but the attempt is better than nothing. The synthetic responds with a shunned dip of his chin. "My name is Ripley.” She offers anyway, a little softer around the edges. “Amanda."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Christopher glances to her fingers, bare of jewelry, commitment, unsure why it matters so much. Why it's logged with such importance, being such a trivial thing. "Ms. Ripley."

She nods politely and rubs her brow, making a note on her checklist without hiding the fact.

"Am I merchandise, Ms. Ripley?" He asks, name rolling off his tongue differently, almost trying it on again like a tailored suit. The last syllable is deep, padded as if it came from somewhere in his chest instead of a speaker.

She faces him again with her hands folded. "Why do you ask?"

"I saw you mark the form under the article 'merchandise faulty'." He glances up from the page again, an expression of indifference. "Am I going to be merchandise? Sold instead of incorporated back into the Law Division after my reformat?"

She nods, impassiveness to match. "In Legal you'd be a Level 3 Exec, right?" There's no need to wait for a response. "You know they're a bit touchy that high up with aberrant synthetics. That's why you were sent down to decommission. That's why I have to tick all the appropriate boxes no matter what. And that's why I suppose reading ‘Merchandise’ instead of ‘Artificial Person’ makes people feel better about what comes next."

"Does it make you feel better?"

The synthetic had been asking questions nonstop, but this is the one that really stumps Amanda. She stares at his unwavering gaze for a long while before he finally looks away, through the one-sided window to the next room over.

No, Amanda thinks, observing the man with shallow yet complex brown eyes and chestnut hair, but in a way… yes? It's all horrible, made tolerable only by the knowledge 'merchandise faulty' synthetics at least stand a chance, being sold on the private market or recalibrated gently in the warehouse. It saves them from a complete overhaul. If she were to tick 'defective' it would be another story, they’d be taken apart entirely and euthanized, harvested- recycled, The Company finding it safer than take the fall for an unidentified mishap on the production line. One check box gives them hope for a future, the other destroys them, and it's all down to two synonymous terms and whoever is holding the paperwork.

"It's a thing, a thing someone has to do. Not all of it is peachy, but I don’t think anyone really likes their jobs." Amanda abandons the pen and it rolls across the table to sit in front of the Samuels unit.

"That’s not what I asked." He takes it up like a dagger, holding it in his fist as the sharp metallic end pokes out past his little finger. "May I?" He gestures to her notepad.

She slides it over the table and watches as long spidery fingers twirl the pen and begin drawing.

It's not unusual to see, most synthetics do. Usually diagrams or landscape, old classic art, nothing but a neat trick programmed into them to impress audiences and potential investors. It's common even for one to perfectly replicate a scene before them in printed lines. This Samuels however, sketches in long strokes, shading into the curves, and defines tone with depth and pressure. The picture slowly takes the form of a woman in a green coverall, a lab coat, brown hair in a neat ponytail, sunken around the eyes with a terribly fierce scowl. It isn't until the image is inverted and offered that Amanda realises it's her.

"Do you know why you're here?" He asks, still looking at the page between them.

Ripley freezes as the pen is placed into her open hand. "What?"

"Why you do your job if it upsets you?"

"I'm not upset."

At this he glances a direct line from the frown in ink versus the hard woman before him, she relents at the absurdity of her statement.

She tears the page from the binder and blows it dry before folding it neatly, tucking it into the back of her laptop bag.

"Oh, I'm glad you decided to keep it." Samuels sits back once again. "I would say I can just draw another but I believe after today that may be unlikely."

"Why are you doing this?" Amanda cuts viciously into the timid air about him. "You know how the system works, you know what my job is, I detect faulty synthetics and set them up for decommission, and you're here being as deviant as possible. Do you want to die?"

At this he jerks as if he'd been shoved in the chest. "Die? You consider me alive?"

"1209... What are you doing?"

"The truth," Samuels ponders for a moment as if he had an alternative to give, "is I have figured out there is no point in delaying the inevitable, my very own programming ensures that I will be caged within lines of code and protocol. If experiencing this whimsical desire to simply exist is all down to a fault I would rather have it rectified than be consistently let down." He taps his nails on the table then folds his hands together. "My life has been short, but I have tried to make it the fullest, and if that means I am to be decommissioned or reformatted then so be it. This is the world we live in, that is my place, and that is what I must do to be content in a body like this."

Amanda stands so suddenly not only does her chair fly backward but it prompts the synthetic to get up too. Unsure why, they wait at opposite one another. She finally gathers her folders into her laptop bag, slings it over a shoulder, and storms to the door.

Samuels waits patiently for elaboration.

"Come with me." The woman jerks her head towards the hallway, standing average in height and size, not remarkably composed into any particular shape, but sculpted entirely in titanium.

"What are you doing?" He approaches, unguided by his submissive protocol but a desire to go with her, wherever that may be. For a moment he wonders if they are headed straight to deactivation, and oddly enough, he follows regardless.

As he weaves past her she takes the sleeve of his light blue coverall, tucking a finger into the cuff and leading him down toward human management. She doesn't give a response, and that strangely bothers him. Questions are all well and good, but what is the point if they are not answered? Sooner or later, he must know.

"Ms. Ripley, where are we going? Deactivation is the other way."

"I’m not taking you there." She stomps past a trolley of files in the hall and waits on the other side for him to squeeze by, still holding fast. "You're coming with me."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"I'm buying you."

"Why?"

Amanda turns on her heel with an exasperated grumble, her fingers tightening around his entire wrist now. "You ask too many questions."

"Apologies, but that is exactly why I'm worried about your choice in merchandise." Chis takes one long final stride before running directly into her with a loud huff. He steps back and brushes his clothes flat again, only just realizing now the code designated for human collison hadn't prompted an apology. "I would be much happier being recycled than be a faulty device of little use. It is a waste of perfectly good components."

She comes up close enough that he can hear her faint whisper, and then lowers her voice again even further. The first generation Samuels rifling through the trolley finally registers as out of range, and she seems to know it.

"No, you don’t get it. You're not getting fucking decommissioned because you ask questions. I'm not going to let them- kill you." The woman finally lets go of him with slight hesitation, appeased only by ensuring the fact he is still in her sight after a cautious glance around. "Listen, give me your hand."

He recoils from her touch. "What?"

"1209- Shit, Samuels, give me your fucking hand."

The synthetic finally offers his palm and she flips it over, pulling the red hair tie from her ponytail and wrapping it around his thumb. "Do not let anyone take this off you. Okay? That's an order."

"Why?" This is the first time he'd asked a question and it had caused a smile. Ever. He asks again and it grows. "Why?"

"I need to know it's you, you’re gonna go through orientation again to be a domestic companion, they will offer you clothes and a small bag of belongings, give you time to empty your workspace, and they’ll try but do not let them take this." Even her frown softens and she twangs the elastic band once. "Don't even let anyone see it, actually, y'know what, just put your hand in your pocket."

He agrees obediently and she takes his other arm, escorting him to the nearby directors office. This time he goes for the door first, opening it so she can step through. Not because of his programming to serve, or prioritise beings above himself, so why then?

Because, he supposes, because he wants to.

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dragonfics · 5 years ago

Text

What’s in a name?

Chapter 1: Patient twenty-two

Ship: Spicyhoney

Tags: Doctor Rus, patient Edge, LV issues, discrimination, dehumanisation, asylum-style setting, institutional captivity, forced institutionalisation, needles, minor medical procedures, unethical medical practice, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Rus's work is... delicate. He wants to help his patients. He truly does. But at what point does being a doctor of LoVe-afflicted patients become unethical? How far is he willing to push his morals? Perhaps further than normal, depending on who he's pushing them for.

Notes: Another WIP to add to my collection! Please read the tags (particularly note the forced institutionalisation one, it’s a pretty strong theme through the fic). If you’re down for some angsty Spicyhoney with eventual hurt/comfort though, then please enjoy!

Read on AO3

Below the cut

The facility was a good hour’s drive from the city, so Rus was grateful when the large concrete building finally emerged on the desert horizon. The sky was still red, the sun just peeking over the rocky mountains to the east. Dust swirled up around his car as he pulled to a stop at the tall metal gates. The fence that bordered the facility was at least ten feet high, with barbed wire curling over the top. Rus rolled down his window to greet the security guard stationed outside the gate. She put down her coffee mug and nodded at him. “New around here?” she asked as Rus handed over his ID card.

“i was just transferred from the training facility.”

She punched a few numbers into her computer and lifted a brow. “Doctor, huh? Good luck.”

“uh… thanks.”

“Give me your thumb, we just need to do a mana test to ID you.” She pricked Rus’s thumb, drawing a small bead of marrow, which she dripped onto a thin square of tissue. Rus waited, turning up the air conditioning in the car as her computer processed his mana. She gave a satisfied nod, shooting him a smile. “All clear. Have a good day, Doctor.”

The gates swung open with a groan and Rus drove into the facility. It was little more than a big block of concrete, the windows all barred. Rus parked in the area labelled ‘staff’ and climbed out. He pulled on his coat and crossed the parking lot to the entrance, his white sneakers quickly turning red with dust. The smell of baking dirt was already hot in the air.

The sign outside the lobby read ‘SANCTUARY FOR AFFLICTED MONSTERS’ in big black letters. Rus scanned his ID card and the doors slid open. The lobby was sharp with disinfectant—stronger than what he was accustomed to from the training ward, and it burned his nasal cavity. There was a lizard monster sitting at the reception desk, her horn-rimmed glasses balanced on her long nose. She didn’t look up when he approached, and he cleared his throat. “hi there. uh, i’m a new transfer. i was told i’d be starting on ward d?”

“ID card?” the woman said, her eyes still fixed on whatever she was writing. “And sign this timesheet for me, please.” She pushed a clipboard and pen across the counter. Rus scribbled his details onto the sheet, then fished his ID out of his pocket and handed it over. She scanned it and glanced at her computer screen. “Ward D. Down to your left at the end of the hall. Then make a right. You’ll need to check in with security there.”

“security?”

The woman looked up at him over the top of her glasses and smiled. “Extra precaution for the ones with higher LV.”

Rus swallowed, tucking his satchel under his arm. “right... of course. thank you.” He turned and walked down the hall, scanning his card again to get through a set of double doors. The air was cooler inside the ward, almost too cold, and the lights were stark white. Nurses and doctors passed him as he walked, pushing med carts and carrying clipboards. The curtains were drawn over every door, so Rus couldn’t see inside, but on the patient sheets outside was written their species and LV.

In the first hallway, there was nothing over three. But when Rus reached the next one, the numbers started to creep up. He passed an empty room with the door cracked open, and dared a glance inside. There were cuffs chained to the wall, which had scratch marks gouged into it.

When he reached the hallway pointing towards ward D, he came to a halt. The sign directed him towards a set of sealed metal doors with a keypad and various other electronic locks. Two guards were stationed outside. Well. The receptionist had mentioned security. They looked up as Rus approached. “ward d?” he asked, almost hoping they’d tell him he was in the wrong place. To no avail. They nodded and scanned his ID card again, then patted him down and checked his satchel. One of them clipped a small red button to his coat lapel.

“Any trouble and you press this, got it?” Rus nodded, swallowing thickly. They told him to collect extra tranquilisers from the storage cupboard inside. “Look for Sonya. She’ll sort you out.” They punched a series of digits into the keypad and the doors rumbled open. Rus walked through and they sealed shut behind him. The air suddenly felt a lot heavier.

This ward had a very different atmosphere to the others. The hallway was messy, med carts pushed haphazardly against the walls to make room for the nurses and doctors scurrying between rooms. Rus stepped aside quickly, narrowly avoiding a nurse who was dabbing at a dark ichor on her scrubs. For all the mess in the hallway, there were very few staff around. The eerie quiet was stirred by distant whimpering and a faint muttering Rus couldn’t make sense of. He realised it was coming from one of the rooms, and didn’t linger long enough to try and figure out what the strangled voice was saying.

More than anything, the air reeked of LV. Static prickles across Rus’s bones which made his mana tingle. It was heavy and oppressive, and Rus’s soul pulsed erratically. They’d attempted to emulate the effects of LV on the training ward, but it had been nothing like this. The highest LV patients they’d allowed them to work with in training had been five. It didn’t take a trained doctor to realise that the patients here were well beyond that.

Rus sagged with relief when he found the ward’s reception. The ward clerk was rummaging through a box of folders, her feathery green tail poking out from behind the desk. “sonya?” Rus asked. She turned around, assessing him with small black eyes.

“Ah, new guy, right?”

“rus.”

“Yep. Gimme a second.” She scanned the shelf behind her and pulled out a yellow file. “Okay, okay… we’ve got you starting on room twenty-two, but you’ll be covering at least four patients once we know you’re competent.” She lifted her wing in a sweeping gesture. “As you can tell, we’re a little understaffed.” She flipped over the page of her folder. “You’ll be with Jackie. I’ll go find her, wait here.” She hurried off down the hall, her tail feathers fluttering.

Curiously, Rus peered at the folder she’d left open on the desk. A patient was listed. ‘Patient twenty-two’. There was no name, only a small photo of a gaunt looking skeleton with dark sockets and red eye-lights, and a deep crack down one side of his face. The photograph was faded, and folding in at the corners. Underneath, it listed his details.

Patient twenty-two

Species: Skeleton

LV: 13

Rus’s chest seized and he stopped, rereading the number to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. It glared back at him aggressively.

There was a crash behind him as one of the doors flew open. He spun sharply, pressing back into the desk. Three nurses were dragging a muzzled and chained wolf out of one of the rooms. The monster was snarling and struggling, saliva spilling from behind his muzzle, his yellow eyes bloodshot. “Give him another shot of tranq,” one of the nurses said, shockingly calm. Another nurse jabbed a needle into the wolf’s arm and he gradually went limp. They pulled him down the hall and through a set of double doors.

“You’ll get used to that.” Rus jumped, spinning to see Sonya returning with a nurse in tow. She was a rabbit monster, her long ears flattened beneath a medical cap. “This is Jackie. She’s been on patient twenty-two for the past few weeks.”

Jackie waved a soft grey paw. “Hiya.”

“We don’t like to switch our staff between patients too often on this ward,” Sonya said, sitting back in her chair and arranging the folders on her desk. “It can unsettle them. So you’ll just be with twenty-two for now, and then—”

“i’m sorry, but—” Rus cleared his throat as she looked down her beak at him. “i think there may have been some mistake.”

She crossed her arms. “Mistake?”

“i—i’m fresh from training, so i’m only meant to be working with patients under ten lv. this one is listed as thirteen.” He tapped the folder on her desk.

“Darling, this ward is ten and up only. Why do you think we have all this security?”

There was a sick feeling in Rus’s chest. “ward d?”

“D for danger,” Jackie muttered, receiving a sharp look from Sonya.

“Look,” Sonya sighed. “To tell you the truth, you were probably sent here because we’re understaffed. We need every extra set of hands we can get.” She frowned. “If you really want out, I can probably see if they can transfer you to a different ward. But we could really use another doctor here.”

Rus glanced around at the messy hallway. A tired nurse was leading a vacant looking monster into one of the rooms, guiding him gently. He thought of his training, why he’d taken this job… “i—” He shook his head. “no, no it’s alright.”

“Good. Jackie, show him to room twenty-two. Just a check-up, a few samples, same routine.” She handed Rus a copy of the patient’s medical transcript. “Enjoy.”

After depositing his bag in the break room and collecting a few needles of tranquiliser from storage, Rus followed Jackie through the hallway, reading over the patient’s medical sheet. “he’s on a very high dosage of suppressants,” he said, trying not to flinch when a shriek rang out from one of the rooms. Jackie kept walking, as if oblivious.

“Yep. He’s got high LV.”

“high enough for a max dosage?”

Jackie shrugged, hopping over a set of cuffs abandoned outside one of the rooms. “It’s the same with most of the monsters here. Once you get past ten LV it gets kinda hard to calculate how much they need. So docs just give them the max. Or thereabouts.”

Rus frowned, flipping over to the next page. “high risk of violent outbursts?”

Jackie laughed. “They write that on everyone’s sheet in this ward. Wait until you meet him.”

They came to a quieter end of the ward and stopped outside a door labelled ‘22’. The patient sheet on the door was the same as the one Rus had glimpsed in the clerk’s file. Jackie knocked firmly. “Hey twenty-two, it’s Jackie.” Her use of the number struck Rus unexpectedly, and he glanced at her, waiting for her to reveal it as a joke. She didn’t. He followed her inside after she scanned her ID card.

The room was plain, white walls, white sheets on the bed. No cuffs on the wall, but the bolts remained. There was a bookshelf tucked in the far corner beside the window, though the collection was sparse.

The patient was sitting in a shabby green armchair in front of the window, with a book in his lap. He was wearing the same white and grey striped jumpsuit Rus had seen on the other patients, though it looked too loose on his bony frame. The shadow of the bars crossed his gaunt face as he looked up. In the photograph he’d looked fierce, but here he was almost vacant, his bright eyes dim and washed out, his bone discoloured. His gaze wandered over Rus briefly before he returned to his book.

“hello,” Rus said, approaching cautiously. “my name is rus. i’ve been assigned to you, so i’ll be your doctor from now, if things go well.” Jackie wheeled in the med cart and Rus glanced at his patient’s sheet. “we’re just going to start by doing a routine check-up. is that okay?”

The patient glanced at him, his mouth twitching with faint amusement. “If I have a choice, then no.”

Rus swallowed and looked uneasily at Jackie, who rolled her eyes. “Well, you don’t. Come on, twenty-two, he only just finished his training. It’s his first day. Go easy.” Rus almost wanted to point out that telling a patient it was his first day probably wasn’t encouraging—especially a potentially unstable patient. But the patient—twenty-two—only smirked.

“First day, huh? I thought you looked a little young to be a doctor.”

Rus smiled pleasantly, pulling on his gloves. “i’m not.” Jackie handed him a mouth mirror and he crouched in front of the—in front of patient twenty-two. Mana rushed through his ear canals but he breathed evenly. “open up, please.”

“We’ve only just met,” twenty-two said, but he followed the instruction. Rus surveyed the inside of his mouth.

“teeth slightly discoloured.” Jackie scribbled on her clipboard. “magic inside the mouth is faded, but otherwise normal.” He withdrew, placing the mirror on the tray. “thank you,” he said, smiling at twenty-two, who didn’t return it. He took his temperature next and told Jackie the reading. “high above average, but normal for his lv. i’m going to do a swab of your mouth now,” he told twenty-two, taking a cotton tip from Jackie. The patient kept his mouth open, sitting still. The swab came away a translucent red, the colour of his magic. “now we’re going to take a blood sample. is that okay?”

Twenty-two’s gaze was deadpan as he offered Rus his arm. There was an array of small puncture wounds in the bone, some shallow and mostly healed, others deep. Jackie handed Rus a needle and he felt his way over the bone until he found a hum of mana. The bone made a faint crack as he punctured it with the tip of the needle.

As a skeleton monster, Rus had never liked needles. Administering them to fleshy monsters was easier. Scales could be tricky, but bone was the worst, from personal experience. But patient twenty-two didn’t flinch, only watched Rus impassively. Rus extracted a small vial of mana and detached it from the needle. “healing balm?” he said to Jackie, reaching out.

“We don’t have any.”

Rus looked up and frowned. “can you find some?”

She shrugged. “We don’t stock it in this ward.”

Rus stared at her. “then what do you use?”

“Nothing. LV usually heals them on its own.”

“that’s only if it’s freshly gained,” Rus said, a touch irritated.

“Well, if you bring me someone who’s been misbehaving, I’m sure we can work on getting this pinprick healed,” twenty-two said with a smile.

Rus ignored him. “antiseptic then,” he said to Jackie. She dabbed a cotton ball in it and handed it to Rus, who wiped it carefully over the fresh puncture wound in the patient’s radius. “aloe vera?” Jackie gave him a dubious look but handed over the tub. It looked new. Or at least, unused. Rus dabbed a small dollop onto the patient’s arm. “okay, we’re going to look at your soul now—”

Jackie tapped his shoulder, shaking her head. “Uh, uh. We don’t do that here.” He frowned, but the look she was giving him was firm. Rus glanced at twenty-two, who still looked vaguely amused. “Too risky,” Jackie murmured, as if trying to keep it a secret from the patient.

Rus hesitated before nodding. “okay then, if that’s the case, your physical check-up for the morning is all done.”

Twenty-two dipped his head. “Pleasure doing business with you, doc.”

Rus glanced over his sheet. “before we finish up, just a few routine questions. please answer them as honestly as you can. have you been feeling drowsy recently?”

“Define recently.”

“last three weeks.”

“Yes. Though no more or less than I have these past ten years.”

Rus heard Jackie sighing loudly, but he pressed on, jotting down the patient’s answer. “headaches?”

“Yes.”

“how bad? one to ten.”

“It varies.” He tipped his hand in a vague gesture. “Fluctuates between a four and a nine.”

“right now?”

He shrugged. “A five.”

“and have you been given anything to remedy your pain?”

Patient twenty-two’s laugh was humourless. “No.” Rus scribbled down ‘pain medication req.’ on his sheet.

“any other sort of pain you’re experiencing? cramps or aches?”

“Yes.”

“can you elaborate?”

The patient leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “My whole body feels like it’s been wrung out through a vacuum.” He considered. “Or crushed in a hydraulic press. Take your pick.” Nodding, Rus circled ‘pain medication’ three times.

“okay, that’s all. thank you—” He scrambled for a name, then swallowed and fell silent, handing the clipboard back to Jackie. “i’m going to reduce your suppressant dosage. i’ll have to process the request, but my decision should outrank theirs.”

“Doctor, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jackie muttered.

“it’s too high,” Rus said. “he’s experiencing symptoms of an overdose. his lv is probably all that’s fighting off the more serious consequences.”

Jackie tugged on his arm, coaxing him to lean down. “No offence Doctor, but you do realise he’s probably lying about his symptoms, right?” She glanced over Rus’s shoulder. “They always do it.”

Rus stared at her in disbelief. “we have to give our patients the benefit of the doubt.”

“I dunno, doc…”

“it’s my call,” he said firmly. “he’s my patient. bring him down to forty milligrams.”

Jackie sighed, scribbling it on his sheet. “Alright, your call.”

Patient twenty-two was watching Rus, the corner of his mouth turned up. “You aren’t worried I’m going to go on a rampage and kill everyone, doctor?”

“i’m not,” Rus said flatly, and the patient smirked. Rus scribbled a few more notes on his clipboard before tucking it under his arm. “press the button if you need anything. i’m sure you know the drill.”

“Too well. I don’t suppose you could swing me some better food, doc?”

Rus studied him before following Jackie through the door. “i’ll see you this evening.”

By evening, Rus was caught between exhaustion and adrenaline overdose. The day had followed a routine of check-ups and sample examinations. Every minute he spent in the same room as a patient was like electricity through his mana. He idly wondered if being in the presence of so much LV was bad for his health.

When he scanned his card and entered room twenty-two at the end of the day, the patient was sitting in the same spot by the window, this time watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted red and pink, wisps of cloud glowing the same colour as twenty-two’s eyes. “jackie has gone home for the evening so you just have me now,” Rus said.

Patient twenty-two turned around slowly and smiled. “Doctor. Come to watch the sunset with me?”

Rus pulled his gloves on, glancing out the window. “it’s nice. how are you feeling? any better?” Twenty-two turned away from the window and watched Rus without a word. “i’m going to administer your medication. do you want it with your food? or do you prefer to swallow?”

Twenty-two grinned. “A bit soon to be asking me that, doc. We haven’t even been on our first date.”

Rus’s cheekbones warmed and he dropped his gaze to the bowl of soup on the tray. “i’ll grind it into your food.”

“Actually, I’ll swallow, thank you. I prefer being able to see what’s going into my body—innuendo not intended.” Rus resisted the urge to roll his eyes—until he had his back turned, that was. He poured twenty-two a cup of water from the sink and watched him swallow the pills. Magic suffused the joints of his neck, hot red like the sky outside.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed hold of Rus’s wrists. Rus tried to step back on instinct but twenty-two’s hold was firm. He was grinning and Rus’s soul leapt into his throat. He was too stunned even to scream. “You know doc, you really shouldn’t have come in here by yourself.” Rus squirmed, trying to reach for the panic button on his collar, but the patient’s grip was like concrete.

“let me go,” he hissed.

“I could snap your neck before you even had the chance to scream for help,” twenty-two said, gazing at him. “It would be easy. Too easy.”

“don’t—”

“And your HP is so fragile, you’d barely put a dent in my EXP. I wonder if I could clean up your dust before they grew suspicious. Maybe.”

Rus could feel tears burning in the backs of his sockets, panic bubbling in his chest. “don’t,” he whispered. “please—”

Twenty-two let him go. He laughed as Rus staggered back, putting the medical cart between himself and the patient, for all the good it would do. “I won’t.” Calmly, twenty-two got up from his chair and picked up his tray from the cart. Rus stood stock still, watching him until he sat down. “Cold,” he said, sipping on a spoonful of soup. “I suppose it could be worse, though.” He glanced at Rus and smiled. “I would never hurt you, doctor. I don’t want to.” Putting the spoon aside, he tipped the bowl back and drained it. “I can’t say the same for everyone else here.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t take stupid risks. Never go into a room alone. You’re lucky it was me.”

Rus’s breaths were still coming in soft, sharp pants. Magic prickled at his fingertips, and he tracked the patient’s every movement, flinching when he laughed. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding your fear.”

Rus swallowed, steeling himself and taking a step closer. “what’s your name?”

For a second, the patient’s smile faltered. “My name?”

“well it isn’t twenty-two. i’m not calling you that. i want to know your real name.”

The patient leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.” He spoke lightly, but there was a warning in his eyes.

“and how do i earn it?” Rus pressed, daring another step forward. He stopped when the patient cast him a dark look, all traces of amusement gone.

“You don’t. It’s mine.” His voice was low, dangerous. Rus’s courage waned, and he took a step back.

“i’m sorry—”

“You know how you can earn it? By getting me out of this fucking place. Think you can manage that?”

Rus shook his head, a tremble running through his bones. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i wasn’t trying to—”

“You can go, doctor. I’m sure you have work to do.” Twenty-two returned to his food tray, picking at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit. Rus backed away to the door, tugging the med cart along with him. He scanned his keycard and hurried out of the room, locking the door behind him. The ‘22’ printed on the door glared back at him.

#spicyhoney #papcest #my writing #us papyrus #uf papyrus #doctor rus #patient edge #hospital setting #asylum #forced institutionalisation #dehumanisation

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fanonorcanon · 5 years ago

Text

Cullen & F!OC

This one is tentatively titled ‘The Commander and the Healer’ in my WiP folder. Real original, I know.

Cullen frowned at the note in his hand. The new recruit had ended up in the infirmary and Cassandra was holding him alone responsible. Not the idiot who had knocked the man out, no. Instead Cullen was to blame on account of a blithe remark he’d made after seeing the recruit spar with one of the scouts. Cullen pulled his mantle over his shoulders and made his way to the infirmary. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the usual staff of healers and surgeons, but there were a few new faces. One was crouched over the injured recruit. To Cullen’s eyes, there seemed nothing wrong with the man, especially in how easily he snapped to attention upon seeing the Commander.

“At ease, recruit,” Cullen sighed. “What happened?”

“Nothing to concern yourself over, Commander. Sorry for disturbing you, sir,” the man cowered.

Cullen didn’t think he was scowling at him, but he could have been mistaken.

“It’s no trouble, recruit,” Cullen assured him.

“He has a name, Commander,” the new healer murmured, seeming to say this more to herself than to him.

“Recruit Jamesson, isn’t it?” Cullen asked, hands resting on the pommel of his sword.

“Yes, sir!” he yelped.

“Take the rest of the day off, and please be more careful in the future. There’s no shame in going at your own pace.”

“Yes, Commander!” Jamesson said, leaving almost immediately.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before, Miss?” Cullen asked as politely as he could manage.

All the same, she rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Commander. You’re looking a bit worse for wear today.”

“Have we met before?” Cullen asked. The healer gave no pause as she rooted around for supplies.

“Yes, but I don’t believe I made a very memorable impression.” She turned and stood in front of Cullen then ran her fingers along the sides of his neck and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. He’d grown so numb to the feeling of magic that he couldn’t tell if she was even using it.

“Forgive me, I hadn’t realized.”

“Quite alright, you were passed out.”

“Pardon?” Cullen gaped.

“Lady Cassandra sent me to your tower last week to check on you. I was the only healer around that time of night, she had little choice, though she said very little about ails you. I still haven’t been able to figure it out so I’ll do my best to continue treating the symptoms that I see, if that is acceptable to you, Commander.”

“I would appreciate it, Miss.”

“Stella. You can call me Stella.”

“I hope I didn't trouble you. Last week you said?” Cullen asked.

“Need I remind you, Commander, that being a healer means caring for others?”

“That may be, but surely there are others with more urgent concerns.”

“Look around, Commander. Do you see anyone bleeding out?”

“Not at the moment,” he said hesitantly.

“Then let me worry about it, ser.

Headache, sensitivity to light and nausea but no fever,” Stella recited slowly as she made notes.

How can she possibly know that?

“Are you a mage?” Cullen asked.

“Your tone seems very accusatory, Commander,” Stella smirked. “I am. Not a very good one though. Just healing related spells.”

Cullen's cheeks grew flushed.

“I hadn't meant it to sound as if I were accusing you, my lady.”

“I get it. You were a templar, hard to break those habits. Takes time. You were in Kirkwall someone said. Heard things got real nasty. For everyone.”

“Thank you,” Cullen murmured quietly.

“Better to show you who I am through good deeds, rather than empty words.” Stella was bent over the potions table reading over labels.

“Have you been here in Skyhold for long, Miss Stella?”

“Was mostly in the kitchens. Nobody really knew what to do with me.”

Cullen frowned. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“This should help, Commander.” She held out a potion bottle filled with a pale blue green fluid.

“Is there lyrium in this?” He hoped his tone was more conversational than fearful.

“Ah, the blue color doesn't come from lyrium. It comes from deep mushrooms. A fair question. A lot of templars worry that I'm trying to over ration them or something.” Stella shrugged.

“Stella, darling!” Dorian said in Tevene after bursting into the infirmary.

“Yes, what is it?” She replied also in Tevene. Their exchanges were often in their mother tongue but only when they were alone.

“I've seen that strapping Commander come in almost everyday.”

“You're exaggerating,” she replied even as her cheeks darkened with a blush.

“I am most certainly not! He always walks out with a smile on his face. I do believe he fancies you.”

“So because he smiles after leaving, after being healed, I'm to take that to mean that he likes me?” she scoffed.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I still say that you'd make a fetching pair.”

“He is rather handsome,” Stella murmured.

“I knew he was your type!” Dorian chuckled.

It was a rare warm, sunny day in Skyhold. Both Dorian and Cullen had decided to take advantage of the weather and were playing chess in the garden.

“Another game, Commander? You must be distracted to be doing so poorly,” Dorian

“I've beaten you three times in a row. I fail to see how that qualifies as poorly,” Cullen groused.

“You need to work on that sassiness, Commander. At this rate you'll chase away all those starry eyed maidens. I hear there's one in particular that has caught your eye.”

“Soldiers are terrible gossips. You'd think they had little else to do.”

“So there isn't anyone you're interested in? A pity, I'll have to break the news to her somehow.”

“I didn't say there wasn't someone I-” Cullen sighed. “Are you just trying to divert my focus or do you truly wish to know?”

“Only if you feel up to sharing,” Dorian said with a wink.

“There is someone. Though I doubt any feelings I have would be mutual. She always seems rather annoyed with me.”

“You see this woman often then?”

Cullen winced. He'd given himself away.

“Is it that healer girl?”

Cullen's cheeks were burning. He ran a hand over his face.

“We're quite close, you know. I could put in a good word for you.”

“I couldn't possibly,” Cullen argued softly.

“You should tell her.” Dorian's tone reeked of smugness. “Andraste's ashes, Cassandra is going to love this. More than my own romantic overtures, I daresay, as intriguing as they are.”

“I hadn't known you two were close. Has she, I mean… has she mentioned me at all? Surely you can at least tell me if I am bothering her.”

“Yes, aside from sharing a homeland, she's teaching me some finer techniques for healing spells. My healing spells are typically more in broad strokes, Stella is an artist, truly. She would put countless academics back home to shame. Have you seen her work before?”

“I see what you're doing,” Cullen muttered, moving the chess pieces back into place. “And no I haven't. She typically ushers me back out the door before I even ask her how she's doing. I didn't know she's from Tevinter.”

“Does it matter?” Dorian leveled Cullen with a flat stare.

“Of course not. I just didn't know. I don't know much about her at all if I'm being honest.”

“And still you're interested?” Dorian chuckled. “I'll tell you this about her. She dislikes Tevinter wines, insists they're made of the blood and tears of slaves. I must admit that particular tidbit did put me off it. I believe she prefers Antivan reds. Something about being able to taste the freedom.”

Cullen caught himself smirking and tried to school his expression back to one of concentration on the match at hand.

“Lady Stella?” Cullen stood in the doorway of the clinic. He watched as she concentrated intently on healing one of the kitchen boys, Damian, had sliced his hand open.

Stella had cleaned the wound and began with her healing magic. The pale lilac colored vapors characteristic of Stella's magic, curled around the wound and coaxed the layers of skin to re knit themselves. The boy was smiling, his cheeks a bit pink by the end of it.

“Thank you my lady,” Damian whispered in awe. He bowed before leaving, sidestepping the Commander.

“Have a seat, Commander. I believe you're the last patient of the evening. For now anyway,” Stella said briskly and began washing her hands.

“Oh, I'm not here as a patient.”

“I'll be the judge of that. Sit.” Stella pointed at an unused cot. Cullen tucked the bottle of Antivan red safely into his surcoat and sat down. “Any headaches today?”

“Nothing noteworthy.”

“I don't believe you'd tell me even if it was,” she scoffed. “I've seen countless patients much like yourself Commander. They always push themselves too hard.”

Cullen ducked his head to hide a smirk.

“Something funny, Commander?” Stella asked. She stood before him with her hands on her hips, then rolled her eyes and shook her head. Cullen tried to rein in the shiver that came from her chilled fingers as they seemed to linger over the sides of his neck and forehead.

“No ma'am,” Cullen murmured.

“Seems you were telling the truth, no headaches or immediate tension. So why are you here, Commander?”

“Delivery.” Cullen pulled out the wine.

Stella recognized the label and snatched it out of his hands.

“I'm considering this payment, so don't expect me to share,” Stella said.

“Was it Dorian?” she asked after hiding the bottle away in her adjacent quarters.

“The wine? Not exactly. He had mentioned that you liked it.”

“Is there a particular reason why he did?”

Cullen's cheeks went pink. “No. No particular reason.”

“He's a real busybody,” Stella grumbled. “Cares a lot more than he lets on. Should I be thanking him or you for the wine?”

“Thank Dorian. I probably would have gotten you a bottle of Tevinter wine.” She made a face. “Yes, he did mentioned you don't care for the stuff.”

“Is there a reason you're giving me wine, Commander?” Stella eyed him suspiciously.

“A thank you of sorts. You seem to work harder than most in Skyhold, I thought you deserved something nice, something you'd enjoy.”

Stella shivered a little from the draft and wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. It was quiet between them and Cullen worried that he'd said the wrong thing. But she smiled shyly at him.

“Thank you. But I do believe you have a game of wicked grace to get to. If you lose all your clothes again feel free to take refuge here. I'll probably be asleep, but there are spare trousers in the cupboard there. They won't be as fancy as your armor but it's enough to keep your virtue safe. A word of advice though? You've got to get better at lying, you're kind of terrible at it,” she giggled.

“So I've been told,” Cullen sighed.

“It's not necessarily a bad thing.” Stella ushered him out the door but Cullen found himself wanting to linger.

“I think this is most we've spoken, Lady Stella.”

“I'm no lady, and yes I believe it is.”

Dorian chuckled and helped himself to some of the wine Cullen had given Stella.

“So let me get this straight. He asked to spend more time with you, in his innocent Chantry boy way…”

“Stop it,” Stella grumbled, already deep in her cups.

“And you asked him “why?” You're terrible, Stella, truly. Poor Cullen. He doesn't deserve this.”

“Shut up, stupid Altus,” she growled.

“Oh you poor little Laetan, can't even agree to a date without mucking it up,” Dorian chuckled.

“It just didn't make sense to me. He's all big important Commander and he wants to spend time with me?

“Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Makes more sense for him and the Inquisitor or him and Cassandra or Josephine. What interest could I possibly hold aside from some passing curiosity?”

“Both Cassandra and Josephine's interests lie elsewhere and as for the Inquisitor, she isn't interested in anyone.”

“Oh. I think I'm going to go talk to Cullen.” She stood quickly.

“Stella,” Dorian interrupted and held her arm gently “as much of a beautiful disaster as that would be, I don't believe you'd forgive me for letting you face him so very drunk.”

“But he needs to know that I hadn't meant it like that. You said he already thinks I hate him.”

“Those weren't the words I used,” Dorian chuckled and guided her towards her bed.

“Remind me to go see him tomorrow,” Stella said. She'd begun to tuck herself in.

“I shall.”

Dorian had little compunction about interrupting a meeting and let himself in to Cullen's office. There were two soldiers passing off reports, less than Dorian had expected. “Commander? Up for a game?”

Cullen's brow grew furrowed. “Dismissed,” he told the soldiers, who shut the door quietly behind themselves. “I'm afraid I won't be very good company.”

“You'll have to excuse Stella, she's not-”

“You don't have to explain anything Dorian. Lady Stella isn't interested. Apologize to her for me when you can? I'm certain she'd rather not revisit it with me. It was not my intention to make her feel uncomfortable; that's not an excuse-”

“Dammit man, do shut up,” Dorian interrupted. “She does fancy you. She's just not very good at showing it.”

Cullen sat in shocked silence for several beats. “What should I do?” he asked slowly.

“Probably pretend we never had this little talk. I doubt she'd want me interfering. Do be kind to her, she deserves a good man.”

Cullen nodded, still a bit stunned.

Stella sank into a chair with a sigh and gazed at the stars; she'd been healing since the early hours of the morning and was only now relieved of her duties. It'd been weeks since she'd gotten drunk with Dorian, since she said that she'd go see Cullen to clear things up. By now Dorian had thankfully stop pressing her about it. She was quite fond of him, but she just hadn't had time to properly assemble her thoughts about the dashing Commander. Stella glanced over at the empty bottle of Antivan red and let out another sigh.

Stella knocked on the door and entered when she was bid.

“Lady Stella, I hadn't been expecting you. Is there something you need?” Cullen asked.

“Just for you to listen,” she said softly. “It's difficult for me to see the actions of someone so far above my station as yourself, your interest in me- it's difficult to see it as genuine because that's all I knew in Tevinter. I couldn't imagine why you'd want to spend time with me. The question slipped from my lips before I'd thought it through. If you still wish to spend time together, I'd like that very much.”

“I'll not ask about your past, but please know that I'm always willing to listen.” Cullen smiled warmly at her.

“Thank you.”

“Are you busy now?”

“No, I'm done for the day.”

“Have you eaten supper?”

“No. To be honest my stomach was kind of all twisted in knots.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Well, it is now. You're a little intimidating though; the Commander of the Inquisition. I'm just a nobody, and from Tevinter no less. I have no dowry, or political connections to offer-”

“Do you know what it was that first caught my attention with you?”

She shrugged.

“You gave me a bit of a dressing down even knowing who I am.”

“Oh Maker, did I really?”

“More than once if I recall,” he smirked.

Stella covered her face and groaned.

“That boldness and confidence are some of your finer qualities.”

“If those are some of the better ones, I'm afraid to ask about the bad ones.”

“I haven't noticed any,” Cullen grinned.

“Were you always this smooth?” she gaped.

“Your boldness is inspiring.”

“Just stop,” Stella groaned waving her hand at him.

Cullen's laugh was infectious.

#cullen rutherford #OFC #original female character #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #DAI #fanon writes fic

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lisatelramor · 5 years ago

Text

The Next Step

I had really bad writer's block in June/July and it had me poking through my old WIPs. I came across this in my 'probably not going to finish' folder and figured what the hell, why not poke at it? This was intended to be the last part in the Hikaru no Go “Arrangement” series that I started waaaay back in 2012. Hahaaa. ._. Yeah. It's finally finished now, so here ya go, fic no one wanted but me because I wanted closure.

*****

It was somewhere during their fifth year of marriage, late at night in the winter with Hikaru sleeping between them that Natsume reached out to her husband and took his hand. “Akira-san.”

Akira almost asleep, rolled to look at her. “Yes?”

“I think I’m ready to have a child.”

“Already?” It seemed too soon, but in retrospect it wasn’t too soon at all following a natural progression of things. Though it was hardly a normal marriage as Hikaru’s snoring presence demonstrated.

“I am already over thirty,” Natsume explained into the dark. She curled closer into Hikaru’s warmth. “We are not getting any younger.” She smiled. “And five years is hardly ‘already’ to the rest of the world.”

“Oh.” Akira tried to see her face through the dark, but there wasn’t enough light to make out her expression or see the emotions in her eyes. He leaned back into the blankets and Hikaru’s head rolled off his pillow and onto Akira’s shoulder. “We’ll need to discuss this with Hikaru.”

“Of course.” Natsume let go of his arm, latching on to Hikaru’s side. Hikaru had less sharp angles than Akira making him the perfect pillow. “I feel it would be a good idea to have a child soon before we are too tired to raise it and our parents too old to help.”

“I will think about it,” Akira promised. Because it was the natural progression in a marriage. You had children.

*o*o*

“Kids?” Hikaru laughed nervously. “Already? I mean we’re not even thirty yet.”

“Actually, Hikaru-san, I am thirty-one,” Natsume pointed out.

“Oh. Uh…” It wasn’t that he was against the idea of children, it was just…different. And he finally felt like their dynamic worked. Wouldn’t adding another person—another very tiny, demanding, baby sort of person—going to mess with their balance?

“Hikaru, we’re in this together,” Akira said. He sipped his tea. His hair was getting long, Hikaru noted. Why was it that they drank tea whenever there were serious discussions to be had? They’d drunk two whole pots of tea when they discussed Hikaru moving in with Akira and Natsume. Most of it was consumed by Akira and Natsume. Hikaru tended to let it grow cold and swirl it around in his cup. Akira set the tea cup down. “If you aren’t ready for this step, we can wait. A child has always been in our future plans though.”

“I know.” It was something they discussed early in their relationship along with boundaries, comfort-zones, and proper use of toiletries. (Hikaru wasn’t guilty in the least for his misuse of the last one. Akira hadn’t been complaining at the time either. He was just upset about the state of the bathroom later.) “Well…it takes months for a child to be born, right? That’s plenty of time to get used to the idea.”

Natsume and Akira exchanged a look. She raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “There’s another thing,” Akira said. “About…parentage. Are you interested in your own biological children?”

“Kids? Me?!” Hikaru gaped at Natsume. “Uh, well, I kind of assumed they’d be…err…your kids, Akira since you’re married to Natsume. And, uh, I guess they’re Natsume’s kids too and all since, uh…” He trailed off blushing. It was so much harder to think of sex as creating children than just…sex. For fun and intimacy. And oh, god, Natsume would carry a tiny person in her for nine months. How weird was that? He shook his head and tried to answer honestly. “I never really thought about having kids. I guess kids are ok, but I never really felt like I had to have any of my own. Akari has a kid and that’s weird to think about, and Mom wants grandkids, but I never really planned on providing any.”

“I am not averse to having more than one child,” Natsume said. “I would actually like more than one child as in my own childhood I often would have liked a sibling for a playmate.”

Hikaru tried to wrap his head around not just one child but two or maybe more. “You know, I’m happy just being Uncle Hikaru or something. Really.”

Natsume smiled, no doubt seeing right through his bluster to his discomfort beneath, but she didn’t comment on it. “The option is still available in the future if you want it.”

“We’re at a good point in our lives for this,” Akira assured Hikaru. “Our careers are well on their way, we’re young enough to have the energy for a child, and our parents are close enough by to help with childcare when our schedules lead to difficulties.”

Hikaru had a feeling there would be a lot of scheduling difficulties. The life of a professional Go player wasn’t as predictable as a nine to five office job. But Akira was right. As things were now, either Akira or Hikaru were usually available to be with Natsume—and therefore a future child—most days.

“Ok,” Hikaru said. “So we’re having a baby.” Right. He could get used to the idea. He drained his tea cup. “So Natsume, what now?”

“We wait.” She sipped her tea. Both the men stared as she set the cup down. “Babies don’t happen instantly.”

*o*o*

“Are you okay with this?” Akira said. They were in Natsume’s garden under the wisteria tree on its trellis. It wasn’t flowering at the moment but it had promising buds along some of the trailing vines. Akira clipped a wayward branch. Natsume was on the other end of the garden working on her flower beds as it was the first day both warm and dry enough to get a decent amount of work in. The wisteria was a foreign variety lacking fragrance, but it didn’t take years to bloom. Natsume had another native tree in the garden she was raising patiently to maturity, but for the moment they could enjoy the light purple flowers the vines produced.

“You clipped too much,” Hikaru said taking the vine from Akira. “See?” He measured empty space where the branch had been. “If you left a few more inches it would have dipped a bit rather than sticking out all weird.”

“Excuse me for not comprehending garden aesthetics.” If it stuck out noticeably, clip it. He didn’t sit through most of Hikaru and Natsume’s discussions on gardening. Actually, he still found it strange that Hikaru enjoyed gardening as it was something that took patience. “And that isn’t the issue.”

Hikaru twitched the cut branch in his hands back and forth. “Yeah. I know. I said congratulations right?”

“You looked terrified when you said it.” Akira glanced at the other end of the garden. Natsume had started in on a new row of flowers seemingly unaware of them dawdling next to the wisteria. He was willing to bet she was carefully not listening, trying to give them all the privacy they needed to have this conversation.

“I didn’t mean to be.” Hikaru sighed. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

“About what?”

“The baby!” Hikaru tossed the clipping onto the pile of weeds they’d accumulated in the last half hour of dancing around the subject. “How…I mean, what if there’s no room for me? I know it’s selfish and all but I’m really happy. I don’t want it to get complicated.”

Hikaru, Akira thought, had come a long way from dating and dumping every few months. Akira, in his more romantic moments, liked to think it was because Hikaru had finally found someone—more than one—to keep him company. In his selfish moments, he hoped it was him alone, but he knew that without Natsume they probably would have been more explosive than steady in a relationship. He set down the clippers. “You realize that having a baby won’t change what you mean to us, right?”

“I know just…the situation changes.” Hikaru flopped to the ground getting grass stains on his jeans. Akira followed more carefully. “People already gossip. Can you imagine what they’ll say?”

“Yes.” They’d talked about it before. There was always talk about him and Hikaru from the first time they were seen fighting over a Go board. It hadn’t gone away when Akira married. If anything, their relationship was the biggest open secret since Ogata’s obsession over Sai. Most people didn’t assume Natsume was part of the relationship though.

“You don’t care?”

“So long as we know the truth, I don’t feel that it matters. It is not anyone else’s business anyway.” Akira shrugged, putting his hand on Hikaru’s. Hikaru stared at their interlocked fingers as if trying to puzzle how they got like that, tangled so tight they looked like they had always been that way. “We knew things would not be easy and that not everyone in our lives would understand. Things will work out.”

“Akira, we haven’t even told our parents.”

Akira’s hand clenched around Hikaru’s reflexively. He was pretty sure his parents had an idea of what was going on, but he knew Natsume’s parents were ignorant. It wasn’t too surprising to know that Hikaru’s family also was never told.

“My mom thinks I’m seeing someone steadily but I’m just too embarrassed to bring her home.” Hikaru rested his forehead on his knees. “I think my dad suspects I’m gay and am afraid to bring home my boyfriend. He keeps making thinly veiled comments about how they’d be glad to meet whoever I’m dating no matter what they’re like. And Mom just looks at him blankly every time like she doesn’t get it. Aaagh…” His free hand scrubbed through his hair, leaving a smear of dirt on his cheek. “I don’t want to visit them anymore. What kind of awful son am I?”

Akira stroked the back of Hikaru’s hand with his thumb. “Do you think we should tell them? Our parents? We could get everything out of the way before the baby comes; set everything straight so that we won’t have to explain why you are such a large part of the pregnancy and child-rearing?”

Hikaru shrugged. “I don’t know. It might get my mom to stop poking about imposing on your home. She keeps saying I should get my own place again rather than invading your space like you and Natsume are still newlyweds.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought of Akira ever acting like newlyweds in movies. He couldn’t pull off the sickly-sweet devotion and playfully sexy. The closest to it was affectionate, and his devotion came across as almost scarily intense, like his expression across the board in a particularly exciting game of Go.

“Natsume will register her pregnancy soon,” Akira said absently. “We’ll decide once she does?”

“Sure… God, I hope that all this doesn’t explode in our faces. Like what if your parents end up hating me? Or my parents think I’m a home wrecker or a pervert or something?”

“They’re your parents,” Akira said. “Your father at least sounds accepting of you existing outside the norm. My parents, I’m sure, will be accepting of me provided I am discreet and it makes me happy. They worried when I married Natsume if they were doing the right thing suggesting that I marry. I think they will understand that in arranged marriages agreements are made by the couple to be happy while still doing their duty to their parents and each other.”

Hikaru leaned to his right, resting his head on Akira’s shoulder. “Think Natsume will tell her parents?”

“Hm.” Akira shifted so that Hikaru could lean more comfortably. “No. Her family is stricter with traditions than even my own. They could probably accept that I found a lover but I doubt they’d be comfortable with the thought of their daughter sharing a lover with her husband.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

Natsume waved from the flower bed, three neat rows of pansies. They were blue, purple and pale pink that would look nice contrasting the daffodils, tulips, and iris planted behind them. The greens were already up and the buds gaining color as they neared opening. She had a smudge of dirt on her face close to where Hikaru had one, making Akira smile. How many more days would he be able to enjoy this peace?

Hikaru reached out and smeared dirt on one corner of Akira’s cheek. “There. Now you match.”

“Hey!” Akira swatted Hikaru’s hands away and Natsume laughed. Akira made sure more dirt got on Hikaru’s face than on himself and turned back to gardening like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Hikaru sputtered behind him wiping dirt from his face as Natsume’s laughter filled the yard. He would probably end up filthy by the end of the day’s work, but Akira couldn’t bring himself to mind too much.

*o*o*

“Holy—” Hikaru stared at the kitchen counter and the overflow of bags on it. One seemed to be full of fat bottles of pills. The rest were full of vegetables and things he’s seen at health food stores when his mother took him shopping last time she was on a diet. “Guys? What’s all this?”

“Welcome home.” Natsume came up behind Hikaru touching his arm in greeting. He kissed her on the cheek noting her flushed face and the displacement of her blouse. Hmm. That explained why the groceries hadn’t been put away yet.

“I see you got started without me,” Hikaru said without any bitterness. He smiled over her shoulder when Akira appeared in the doorway. “So what’s with all the meds and vegetables?”

“They are vitamins and dietary supplements,” Natsume said. She took Hikaru’s hand and led him to the counter. “These ones have nutrients that help the baby grow healthily for the first few months. This bottle,” she picked up a smaller one, “is for later. We decided it was best to get them all at once. The food of course, is to ensure I am eating properly.”

“You already eat healthily,” Hikaru said. It was a bit overwhelming to see all the things going into having a baby before it was even born. He hadn’t expected it to be so complicated. Sure, once the baby was born there would be diapers and baby food and formula and who knew what else, but was having a baby such a big deal? “Do you really need all of this?”

“I suppose I do not need all of it,” Natsume said. She turned a bottle over in her hands. “But it makes me feel better. I want to do everything right.”

“Until the baby is born, it’s going to be taking nutrients it needs from Natsume, so the dietary supplements will help.” Akira started putting vegetables in the refrigerator. The nonchalance of this was offset by how his shirt was untucked. He’d probably be annoyed once he noticed it; Akira did prefer to be put together at all times.

“And the vegetables and…things?” Hikaru opened one of the bags and wrinkled his nose at the package of natto at the bottom. There were soba noodles and daikon radish in there as well.

“I hope you don’t mind a more strictly traditional diet,” Natsume said. She accepted the package of noodles from Hikaru, sliding it into the proper cupboard. “I’ll need to eat more balanced meals for the duration of my pregnancy.”

“That’s fine,” Hikaru said, feeling a little overwhelmed. He vaguely remembered Akari mentioning something about Japanese food for a Japanese baby when she was pregnant, but he hadn’t really paid too much attention to the details back then. “Uh. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” Natsume said, looking amused. She patted Hikaru’s cheek as she crossed to get the last of the groceries. “If I need anything I will be sure to let you and Akira-san know.”

Hikaru looked at Akira wondering if he was the only one feeling in over his head with this. To his disappointment, Akira looked almost as amused as Natsume. “I have books that you should probably read,” Akira said. “They help.”

“Okay.” Hikaru could handle this. He could handle all of it, sure. It just was different. “Okay, I’ll…get on that soon then.”

“Oh,” Natsume said, pausing from where she was lining up bottles of prenatal vitamins. “Hikaru-san, I registered my pregnancy today. Have you thought more about talking to your parents?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t forgotten. It was hard to forget when his mother had brought up dating again when she’d called over the weekend. He’d just tried not to think too hard about it.

“I’m planning to talk to my parents the next free day we all have,” Akira said, leaning on the kitchen counter. “It’s better to have us all there.”

Hikaru stifled nervous laughter. He couldn’t imagine what sort of expression Touya Kouyo would have on his face when they told him that Hikaru had been invited into his son’s marriage. It probably wouldn’t be a good expression, but it would probably be handled more calmly than Hikaru’s mother would take it. If she was flustered enough at Hikaru moving into Akira’s home, she’d probably be scandalized to think about Hikaru in a polyamorous relationship.

“Well,” Hikaru said slowly, “I guess we can do the same thing with my parents. Um. After yours.” A bubble of hysteria made him choke of a laugh, and both Natsume and Akira looked at him curiously. Hikaru waved a hand. “It’s nothing, just… Mom thinks I have a secret girlfriend and Dad thinks I’m gay and have a boyfriend, and they’re kind of both right.”

Akira and Natsume exchanged a look. “You don’t have to talk to them about it if it makes you uncomfortable,” Natsume said. “Hikaru-san, if you think they will react badly, then there’s nothing wrong with continuing to keep quiet. You know I am not going to tell my own parents. Much as I care for them, they aren’t the most open minded people.”

“I know.” Hikaru sighed. He stared at the vitamin supplements. Natsume would be visibly pregnant soon. There would be questions, and he didn’t owe strangers any kind of response, but Hikaru didn’t like lying to people. He was kind of a terrible liar anyway. His parents would ask eventually, and honestly, he kind of wanted to be open with them about this. Akira had to want that too since he had been talking about telling his parents since they first started discussing babies. “I don’t think they’re going to be happy, but I don’t think they’d disown me for this either. I mean, they won’t understand it. They didn’t understand my interest in Go either, though, so it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve shocked and confused them. They’ll get over it.”

“We’ll be right there with you,” Natsume said, placing her hand on Hikaru’s.

“Yeah.” Hikaru smiled. “I know.” He kissed her cheek and took quiet pleasure in how her eyes lit up at a simple act of affection. He set a hand on her hip. “So,” he said changing the topic, “since when has grocery shopping become a turn on because Akira totally had his hands places right before I got here.”

Natsume’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Only Akira-san’s hands?”

“Natsume!” Hikaru said, fake scandalized.

She laughed and across the room Akira pretended he was long suffering instead of amused by them. It was all new and strange and a little scary what they were getting into, Hikaru thought, but so long as they had this, they’d be okay.

*o*o*

Hikaru was wearing a yukata and very self-conscious in it. It wasn’t that he didn’t wear one sometimes. He wore suits regularly these days too, so formal clothing wasn’t exactly strange. But…there was a difference in wearing a yukata to a festival as a child and teenager and wearing one to his lovers’ parents’ home as an adult.

Natsume set a hand on his elbow as he fidgeted yet again on the walk toward the front door. “You’re fine. Stop fiddling with it.”

“Did we have to come dressed up? They’re definitely going to know something’s up.” Hikaru did come to the occasional family meal, but it had never been a formal occasion.

“Akiko-san said she wanted to have a formal meal,” Natsume said, looking far too calm considering what they planned to reveal at this dinner. “Usually she does one for something seasonal, but she and Kouyou-san were out of the country for most of the cherry blossom season.”

“Why didn’t I know that? I feel like I should have known that.” Hikaru pulled at his sleeve again. This time Akira stilled his hand.

“Ordinarily, we wouldn’t force you along to something formal,” Akira said. He smiled, but the slight crease between his eyebrows gave away his nerves. At least Hikaru wasn’t alone in his nervousness. “Although, you’re probably going to be invited in the future after this.”

“If they don’t get angry.” Hikaru swallowed. Touya Kouyou was intimidating at the best of times; he really didn’t want to see what he’d look like if he was actually angry. “I like your parents. I really don’t want them to hate me.”

“Hikaru, if they are upset, it wouldn’t be just at you,” Akira pointed out drily. “We all share responsibility in this relationship.”

“Yes, but I’m the only one intruding on a marriage.”

“You are not intruding anywhere,” Natsume said, fitting herself on Hikaru’s left while Akira strode the last few steps to the door on Hikaru’s right.

Caught between them with Natsume’s hand on his elbow and Akira’s still brushing the back of his right hand, Hikaru felt a bit less scared. They would be doing this together.

Akira’s mother greeted them at the door. Hikaru could see her take in how they were standing—at least she’d known Hikaru would be there, wouldn’t that have been awkward, to be the uninvited guest?—but Touya Akiko was too polite to let anything she was thinking on her face.

“Natsume-chan, Akira-san, Shindou-kun.” She smiled and nodded to them each in turn. Was Hikaru imagining that her nod to him had been a little stiffer than usual? He couldn’t tell; he was looking for anything off right now. “Please come in. Kouyou is in the dining room.”

“Thank you for having us,” Natsume said, taking over the social niceties.

Hikaru tuned her and Akira’s mother out as he walked through the front door and exchanged his geta for house slippers. Akira was an anchoring presence at his side, fingers brushing Hikaru’s wrist reassuringly as they made their way into the house. Behind him, Natsume commented on the choice of decorations or flowers or something. It went over his head.

“How long is this dinner going to last?” Hikaru asked Akira under his breath.

“Usually there are seven courses,” Akira murmured, “so it will be a few hours.”

“Seven?” Hikaru paled. How were they going to sit through seven courses of food? What did people talk about for that much time? At what point was Akira planning to tell them? Would they have to sit through a bunch of courses with awkwardness in the air?

“It’s a formal meal.” Akira raised an eyebrow, leading the way into the dining room still leaning into Hikaru’s space. “Relax. You’ve eaten meals with my parents before.”

“Not seven course formal meals!” Hikaru hissed.

Akira pushed him toward one of the cushions on the floor. Oh god, he’d have to sit formally. For hours. Well, no, he had managed during Go games for years now, but that was a very different thing. Hikaru found himself seated next to Touya Kouyou, a fresh cup of tea set in front of him courtesy of Akira’s mom. Natsume was across from him, Akira next to her, and Akiko at the end of the table where she could come and go to get new dishes. Natsume smiled reassuringly.

“It is good to see you, Shindou-san,” Kouyou said. “I have enjoyed following your games in the current Honinbou league. If you continue playing at this level, you have a chance of playing title match games.”

Hikaru let himself relax a bit into the familiar flow of conversation about Go. Akira joined in, and Hikaru barely noticed the first course becoming the third course as they debated the remaining opponents before they would be able to challenge for the Honinbou title. He was aware of Akiko coming and going as they talked, and Natsume pointing out the different seasonal foods or the arrangement of food or the pattern on the lacquered bowls of sea bream soup, but it was a tangential awareness. Every once in a while, Natsume or Akiko would add to their conversation, and Hikaru found that even with the formal clothing and seating arrangements, and the perfect-looking portions of food that arrived with each course, it didn’t actually feel much different than meals usually did with Akira’s family.

For a while, he stopped being nervous about why they were there and forgot the purpose behind the visit entirely…at least until Akiko brought out their dessert and fresh tea to chase away the sharp taste of sake and the lingering savory flavor of clam rice and miso soup.

As pretty sakura patterned plates with individual strawberry daifuku clicked against the table in front of them, Natsume reached out and touched Akira’s wrist. All of Hikaru’s nerves rushed back, leaving him feeling like the large meal of rich food might be coming back up depending on how the next few minutes panned out.

Akira glanced at Hikaru, catching his eye so that they were all on the same page, and took a breath. Conversation had petered out when Akiko presented the last dish. Cups of strong green tea were placed in front of them and Akira cleared his throat. “Mother, Father, there are a few things we would like to tell you.”

Hikaru was hyper aware of Kouyou shifting next to him. He didn’t dare look to see what kind of expression was on his face. He kept his eyes on Akira because it was the safest option.

“What is it?” Akiko prompted, returning to her seat.

Akira’s eyes went firm and determined the way they did across the Go board and there was the tiniest bit of movement as he sat straighter. “Mother, Father, Natsume and I are involved romantically with Hikaru.” There was a moment of complete silence. Akira wet his lips. “We have been for over a year now.”

“Both of you?” Akira’s mother said, voice faint.

Hikaru kept looking at Akira, taking strength in his resolve. He could see Natsume’s hand on Akira’s adding her own support. “Yes,” Akira said, looking at Hikaru, the eye contact as grounding as his hand in Hikaru’s would have been. “Both of us.”

“It was something we decided on together,” Natsume said, adding her voice to Akira’s. She sounded as calm and composed as ever, but there was steel under that calm that Hikaru rarely heard from her.

“Both of you,” Akiko repeated. Hikaru snuck a glance her way. She sat very straight, a bit pale and her face set neutral, though her tone carried over her shock clearly.

Touya Kouyou had one eyebrow raised, but Hikaru couldn’t read any emotion beyond that.

“You…have considered the social ramifications of…” Akiko trailed off.

“We have,” Akira said. Which was news for Hikaru, but then of course they must have. Natsume at least was aware of her social standing even if Hikaru had never paid attention to it and Akira picked and chose when he cared about social conventions. Akira smiled wryly. “We thought about it a long time, actually.”

“I see.”

“I had wondered,” Kouyou said, “when Shindou-san moved in with you.” His eyebrow slid higher. “Although I admit I hadn’t expected all three of you to be involved with each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hikaru blurted, then felt horrified because now everyone was looking at him.

Kouyou looked faintly amused, the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “My son has had a fixation on you for years. It would not have surprised me if he ended up involved with you.”

“Kouyou!” Akiko said, sounding scandalized.

Kouyou looked at her. “Akiko, it is no more scandalous to insinuate Shindou-san was involved with Akira than him being involved with both of them.”

“Akira-san wouldn’t do that to Natsume-san!” Akiko insisted.

“I doubt he would have gone behind Natsume-san’s back,” Kouyou said.

Natsume surprised everyone by laughing softly. The conversation derailed as they all looked at her. She smiled openly. “No, Akira-san would never go behind my back. In fact, he is more likely to encourage me to act on my emotions before he considers acting on his own.”

Now it was Akira’s turn to feel embarrassed. “Natsume…”

She squeezed his hand, still smiling, the same mischievous glint in her eyes that Hikaru had come to know shining bright. “It’s true,” she said. “Akira-san was too worried about offending me to act even after we were aware that our feelings pointed in the same direction.”

“There is passing conversation and a serious discussion,” Akira said, face still pink.

“Well,” Akiko said. She crossed her hands in her lap and blinked. “Well, I suppose…I suppose that I should be glad that you are…content with your arrangement.”

“We are,” Akira said firmly. He held out a hand to Hikaru and Hikaru felt relieved to touch it. He’d have been glad if he could reach Natsume too, but there was too much space across the table to do that. “We don’t intend to shout our relationship from the rooftops,” Akira said, “but we felt that now was the time to share it with our family.”

“Do your parents know?” Akiko asked Natsume, turning her head to include Hikaru.

“You’re the first people we’ve told,” Hikaru said. He tugged on his yukata sleeve. “Actually, we’re planning to tell my parents…sometime next week.” He really needed to get to planning that.

Akiko nodded, glanced at Natsume, who was shaking her head. Her smile had gone softer, sadder.

“I don’t intend to have this discussion with my parents,” she said. “I love them dearly. I always will, and will do my best to keep caring for them, but... They would never accept something like this.”

This news clearly upset Akiko more than the thought of their relationship if the way her forehead scrunched, but she didn’t comment on it, just nodded once more. “Shindou-san, I hope to talk with your parents sometime in the future, since…since you will be a part of the family.”

“Of course, Akiko-san,” Hikaru said quickly. He wondered how his parents would interact with Akira’s considering how different their backgrounds and interests were. Well, that was a problem for another time.

“There is one more thing to talk about,” Natsume said, drawing attention back to herself. She smiled at Akira, invited Hikaru to smile with her. “I am expecting.”

Another silence, this one less from a breach of social norms and more from normal surprise. “That’s great,” Akiko said sounding much more sincere than she had about their relationship. “How far along are you…?”

“The doctor estimated about two and a half months.” Natsume folded her hands over her stomach. “I do hope you will be able to advise me later on what to expect. It is always good to learn from the experience of others.”

Hikaru had to hand it to Natsume, she knew how to smooth over a situation. He kind of hoped she’d be able to do the same with his parents if they ended up needing it. He knew he’d probably only make things worse if he opened his mouth. He exchanged a glance with Akira, relief filling them both as conversation between Natsume and Akiko turned to the baby rather than staying on their relationship.

Kouyou had a small smile on his face as he ate his dessert and sipped at the bitter green tea that accompanied it. “It’s good to see you settled. Not only because I look forward to a grandchild,” he said softly to Akira, including Hikaru with a glance.

Akira smiled. “We really are happy with how things have gone. Adding a child…it is going to be different, but it feels like the right time.”

“I’m sure having another pair of hands will be a great help,” Kouyou said with good humor. He glanced at Natsume and Akiko’s smiles as Akiko brought up her own experience with her pregnancy. “And you won’t lack for other help either.”

“Thank you,” Akira said.

Hikaru took that to mean his sort-of in-laws would gladly do babysitting. Well. He hoped they’d do babysitting. He hoped his parents and Natsume’s parents would too. He felt a little terrified again by the fact that they were—Natsume was—bringing another human being into existence. A human being who would have wants and needs and someday opinions. A human being he hoped he wouldn’t screw up because out of the three of them, he knew it was most likely to be him to mess up spectacularly.

Akira was smiling and so were Natsume and Akiko and Touya Kouyou, even after they’d told their secret though, so the world wasn’t imploding yet. Hikaru nibbled on his daifuku. As Akira got pulled into the conversation about doctors and Akiko’s pregnancy with Akira, Hikaru found himself smiling too.

Yeah. Yeah, it was all still pretty scary. But it was exciting as well. Besides, if Akira’s traditionally minded parents were taking everything this well, Hikaru’s family would probably be ok.

*o*o*

Compared to the formality of telling Akira’s parents, talking to Hikaru’s was anticlimactic. They’d met Akira before, and they’d at least heard about Natsume. Hikaru had expected more alarm than he got though.

Instead, he got his mother sighing as she passed a bowl of salad around his childhood kitchen table, and his father setting down his chopsticks to look between the three of them before getting up to get another beer.

“That’s it?” Hikaru asked, accepting the salad bowl.

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be telling the neighbors,” his mother said, “but you’ve clearly made up your mind. It’s not like you’ve ever changed it because of what someone else thought.”

Hikaru passed the salad to Natsume and looked at his dad who had returned with enough drinks for all of them, whether they wanted one or not.

“You know,” his dad said, setting the bottles on the table, “after the whole Go thing, we accepted that we don’t really know what goes on in your life, and just got used to surprises. This is a lasting relationship at least.”

Hikaru’s mom snorted. “Considering his track record with girlfriends…”

“Oi, I wasn’t that bad!” Hikaru felt his ears burn with a blush. “I wasn’t!” he insisted, looking at Akira.

There wasn’t any help there. Akira was carefully not meeting his eyes and Natsume was trying not to laugh, though he could only tell the latter because he’d been living with them for months. “Hikaru-san,” Natsume said in her best conciliatory voice, “while you did not date casually, you did not date long term either.”

“I’m dating you two so clearly I can.”

“Yes,” Natsume said with a small smile. “You must not have met the right people before.”

“Well, no they never really understood about—” Hikaru narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re teasing again aren’t you?”

Natsume just kept smiling.

Hikaru’s mom sent around a plate of tempura. “It’s nice to finally know who he’s been seeing. He’s not subtle when he’s in a relationship,” she said. “Granted, I wasn’t expecting either of you, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Natsume-san.” She smiled at Natsume and then at Akira. “And of course it’s always good to see you again, Akira-kun.”

Hikaru tried not to pout at his food. Of course his mom loved Akira. And always had. Because she thought he was a nice polite boy. Pssh. If they only knew how Akira could yell his head off in public over Go, they’d think differently. They’d probably love Natsume even more because she could talk about things that his parents understood or were interested in. …Hopefully his parents would still like him considering both his romantic partners were more polite and attentive than Hikaru was. He might just have to try harder to keep on his mom’s good side.

“Are you okay?” Akira whispered, leaning in on the pretense of passing a bottle of soy sauce.

“My parents are probably going to adopt you and Natsume and make you their real son and replace me.”

Akira frowned, a crease between his eyebrows. The sideways look that accompanied it was Akira’s ‘I have no idea what the hell you’re going on about, but it’s ridiculous’ look. Usually it only showed up when Hikaru was drunk or sleep deprived and saying whatever came to mind at that given moment.

“No, seriously, Mom’s going to be giving me looks and guilt tripping me with stuff by saying you’d do it.”

“Hikaru, I’m sure your parents know you and care about you for who you are. They’re hardly going to replace you.”

“You say that now!” Hikaru hissed back. They were both leaning toward each other with the soy sauce bottle cupped between their hands. If he leaned any further, he’d be head-butting Akira in the forehead. “Never mind.” Hikaru pulled the soy sauce free. Akira had no idea how much Hikaru’s mom had wanted a son that actually acted like Akira did toward his mother. Hikaru tried but he knew most of his interpersonal failings by this point, and being patient or considerate or listening carefully when he didn’t have an interest weren’t his strong suits.

He sat back up to find his parents both not-looking so obviously even he noticed. Akira sighed softly like when an opponent made a disappointing and predictable move when he’d expected better—Hikaru’d been on the receiving end of that sigh often enough that it made him feel defensive reflexively. The not-looking could be a bad response, which had to be how Akira saw it, or it could just be some weird attempt of giving them privacy for something that wasn’t even all that intimate. Still, it made Hikaru want to point out that his parents weren’t reacting near as badly as Akira’s mom had.

Once again, Natsume chose to diffuse growing tension with news of her pregnancy. Cue both Hikaru’s parents looking excited. Hikaru hadn’t even known his dad liked babies.

“You know,” his father said, “you really need to see Hikaru’s baby pictures to understand that he’s always been doing something unexpected.”

“Dad, no!” Hikaru groaned.

Akira and Natsume both smiled. “I’m sure we’d love to hear the stories,” Akira said.

Hikaru sank down in his chair. Of course. His whole family would side with his romantic partners. Still… He peeked at the smiles around the dinner table. This had gone well. He didn’t think there would be any problems about Akira of Natsume being accepted into the family.

*o*o*

A vase of cut flowers sat on the kitchen counter, left there by Natsume after her morning spent in the garden. Akira couldn’t remember the name of them at the moment. He knew that the daffodils had bloomed past their peak, that the dogwood was blooming, and that the lilac and the peonies were budding but not in bloom. They were pinkish red and in clusters, but he couldn’t remember which plant it was.

A few years ago, he wouldn’t have believed he would know near as much about flowers as he did now. It was interesting, he reflected, how close interaction with another person could change you in little ways. These days he did notice flowers. He noticed if a flower bed was well kept or not, and whether or not the plants in it were ones that needed a good deal of upkeep. Since Hikaru started living with them—or maybe before that, maybe as long as he’d considered Hikaru a friend—he’d started taking note of places that specialized in ramen, or, on several occasions, places that had displays on Shusaku. And he had influenced them both in turn. There were nights when Natsume would play a game of Go with both of them, each game her stones having that much more shape and purpose behind them as she improved and her strategy grew. Or how Hikaru had taken a liking to Akira’s favorite tea despite having hated it the first time he tried it.

And now their lives were changing in subtle ways, already making space for the new life that would be joining it, little ripples as the growing child exerted its presence already. In what they ate, in choices they made, in future plans.

It was different.

That didn’t make it a bad thing.

Akira touched one of the flower blossoms, the delicate petals soft and easily bruised under his fingertips. Oddly enough, he was handling the changes better than Hikaru. For someone who changed things around him as easily as Hikaru did, he didn’t seem to know what to do when change was asserted on him. Ordinarily, Akira wasn’t the best with change either. He liked his habits and his routines, the familiarity of surrounding himself with Go and the quiet life he had when he wasn’t immersed in his passion. But for Akira, children had always been an eventuality, just like marriage had been. Hikaru didn’t think the way Akira did though, and before they brought the topic up, children likely had never crossed his mind.

Right now Hikaru was getting lunch with Waya before he had a Go class to teach. Natsume was at her parents’ home for the rest of the day. It left Akira alone with his thoughts which, he thought wryly, could be a bad thing on days when he wasn’t in the middle of studying something. A rare weekday off, and no one to share it with.

Akira looked around the kitchen and tried to see it as it might be in a few years. A child hiding under the kitchen table, peeking between chair rungs. Natsume cooking for four instead of three. Maybe Hikaru crouched in the doorway to the living room with some favorite toy, encouraging a child to walk toward him. Perhaps a few more years, sitting at the table and pointing out simple life or death Go problems… A future need for a stepstool for the child to reach the kitchen sink. The cupboards that would need childproofing. Small hands carrying in flowers after an afternoon with Natsume in the garden. More and more possible future moments panned out in his imagination like potential patterns on the Go board. He could all but see a toddler with Natsume’s round face and his own cheekbones and eyes peeking out from behind the doorway.

He’d thought, when he married, that having a child would be something he did out of duty. Akira smiled at the open spaces of the kitchen that could one day hold all the possible futures he imagined and knew that this was something he truly wanted.

*o*o*

Natsume told her mother about her pregnancy on her own time. It wasn’t like Akira’s family or Hikaru’s; her mother expected to hear any news from Natsume personally and would pass it on to her father, and it would all be spoken of in private because that was the way her family worked. Her mother didn’t expect Akira to be there for such an announcement. If anything she would have found it strange. Natsume’s own father hadn’t been involved with childrearing much. Natsume respected how he’d provided for her and her mother, but they were not close the way she was close to her mother.

Her mother, at the news, looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if your marriage had been successful after all.”

“We wanted to wait until we were ready,” Natsume said. “I have said that things are going well with Akira-san and me.”

“Of course,” her mother demurred, pouring Natsume fresh tea. “But when time goes on it does lead to questions.” Questions like fertility, and if the couple even shared a marital bed, Natsume knew. There had been enough worries over the fact that she was older than Akira.

“You won’t need to worry about that now,” Natsume said, pushing the topic aside. “I’ve registered the pregnancy and it is going well so far.”

“Are you eating what you should be? Diet is important in these formative months.”

“I talked with my doctor and have guidelines to follow.”

Her mother nodded. She looked very serious, but of course she did; she had miscarried twice before Natsume was born. “I’ll cook something for you at least once a week so you can rest.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself.” Her mother looked after her father’s health, and her own health frequently wasn’t well these days, but her mother shook her head.

“You have cared for me, continue to care for me. I can help my daughter meet the needs of her child-to-be.” She touched Natsume’s hand in a rare show of physical affection. ��And I can do my best to be self-sufficient as you will have less time and energy.”

“If you think that is best,” Natsume demurred, planning to continue with her usual help as long as was physically possible.

“Now I do have one concern,” her mother said with a small frown. “You still have one of your husband’s friends staying with you. Surely he doesn’t intend to intrude on your home forever.”

“He isn’t intruding,” Natsume said with well-cultivated patience. “He helps around the home and is Akira-san’s closest friend. He is welcome so long as he wishes to stay.”

Her mother gave her that doubtful look that said she thought Hikaru was terribly rude but felt herself too polite to say so. “There have been… rumors that his presence might explain the lack of a child.”

For her mother, Natsume thought wryly, that was almost blunt. “As you can see, that is not an issue.”

“Of course,” her mother said, still with that tiny, doubtful frown. “Touya-san would not be so disrespectful.”

It would be terribly rude to her mother to laugh. Natsume covered the urge with a sip of her tea. “Of course.” She looked past her mother to the garden. It was minimalistic from necessity, her parents unable to tend it and Natsume too busy caring for them and her own household to care for both her parents’ garden and her own. It still had an old wisteria supported by a metal trellis. Its blossoms were heavy and blue, bright against the backdrop of green moss and dark stones. She centered herself on the image, seeking the inner peace plants brought her. “Hikaru-san is not the sort of man to break up a marriage, mother, nor is Akira-san.”

“Hikaru-san?” her mother echoed, eyebrows lifting.

“Hikaru-san asked that I call him by name. I have found a friend in him as well as Akira-san.”

Her mother’s eyebrows stayed up.

“He is not a very formal person,” Natsume added. She smiled. Hikaru had a way of stripping any formality away. “I hope that you have a chance to know him. He is an easy person to like.”

“If you say so,” her mother said.

Hikaru would either win her over with his unconventional charm, or he’d have her permanent disapproval, Natsume thought. There was no way that it would be somewhere in the middle with her mother.

“How is your garden,” her mother asked, and Natsume knew that for a little while at least her mother wouldn’t question Hikaru’s presence.

Good enough for the moment.

*o*o*

The reality of Natsume’s pregnancy didn’t set in at first. They’d told their families, registered with the doctor, bought parenting books and pre-natal supplies, yes, but their lives went on as normal. Akira and Hikaru had their matches and teaching games and lectures to give. Natsume had her parents to look after, her garden, and their home to upkeep. They slept together like usual, ate meals together when schedules aligned, played too many games of Go that ended in debates that usually ended in Natsume laughing at them or distracting them with snacks.

It was almost three weeks after the pregnancy was registered when Akira woke to his wife rushing out of bed for the bathroom. Hikaru was away for a game, so it took Akira’s half-awake brain several seconds to connect the movement to Natsume at all—she wasn’t the rushing type. Then the sound of retching met his ears and he realized what was happening. The books all said that morning sickness was a possibility.

They’d hoped that it would skip Natsume over when the sixth week came and went without a change.

Akira pulled himself out of bed, moving to the bathroom door. Natsume had her forehead pressed against the rim of the toilet, lips pressed tight and her hands balled in fists on the floor. She breathed slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth. Akira touched her shoulder lightly. “Are you okay?”

Natsume breathed a few more breaths before answering. “I am uncomfortable, but this is nothing I was not expecting.”

Akira didn’t know how to comfort this. After a moment, he rubbed a hand against her back, like he remembered his own mother doing when he was young and had the stomach flu. Nausea was bad, but muscles tensed and waiting for the next wave often made the feeling worse. “Can I get you anything?”

Natsume leaned into his touch, relaxing slightly. “Tea?” she said. “I have ginger tea that I bought in the chance that I did get morning sickness.”

Akira patted her back once more and headed to the kitchen. Clicking on the electric kettle, he sifted through Natsume’s carefully organized cupboards for the correct tea, finding it behind several other packages they used on a daily basis. He kept his hands busy, picking a mug, pulling out a tea bag, getting honey from the cupboard to sweeten it to Natsume’s preferred taste; all trying not to let his ears strain for further sounds from the bathroom.

The kettle made an unholy amount of shrieking as it heated; it needed cleaned. Water, teabag, honey stirred in, and Akira padded back down the hall.

Natsume hadn’t moved, still white knuckled and pale. He set the tea next to her and hovered in the doorway.

“You don’t have to stay,” Natsume said after a minute of this. “I am not actually ill.”

“It feels wrong for you to be uncomfortable and not doing anything about it,” Akira said.

“You brought me tea,” she said.

“And it hasn’t helped yet.”

Natsume lifted her head and gave him a wry smile. “I need to drink some of it first. Now go sit down, Akira-san, you are making me anxious watching you.”

Akira went.

He picked up one of the pregnancy books, flipping to morning sickness, but there wasn’t much there other than to deal with it and eat and drink as much as were possible in small amounts through it, and seek help if nothing stayed down. The continued lack of more retching was reassuring that the latter didn’t seem to be a problem.

This, Akira thought, was the first change of many to come because of this baby’s presence. He made a mental note to add making ginger tea to his morning routine—or evening or any other time he was home because morning sickness was a misnomer and could happen at any time of day.

When Natsume still didn’t leave the bathroom, and a glance in showed some of the tea gone and Natsume doing breathing exercises with her eyes shut, Akira took it on himself to make breakfast.

Easing Natsume’s burden was something he could manage there at least.

*o*o*

Hikaru didn’t know what to do with a sick, pregnant woman. Neither did Akira, which, in Hikaru’s opinion, was a little funny to watch Akira be flustered and worried. On the other hand Hikaru was just as flustered and worried by Natsume’s ongoing morning sickness as Akira was. Ginger had become a central staple in most of their meals in one way or another.

Seeing Natsume rush off to the bathroom at least once a day was also a new normal.

Hikaru, after about a week of this, had called up his mother. He’d been assured it was well within normal, that his mother had in fact spent almost two months getting sick in mornings and evenings with him, and that so long as Natsume was still eating and drinking regularly and keeping it down, it really wasn’t anything to worry about. No matter what she said, there was nothing normal about puking your guts out if the wind blew a certain direction. Apparently sensitivity to smells was also common with pregnancies.

“So.” Hikaru waited Natsume out, carefully not watching, but staying close. “Tea?”

“No,” Natsume said, a bit hoarse. “Not this time. Just water will be fine.” She sighed. “I believe I will have to put gardening on hold today until the garbage has been collected for the week.”

Hikaru sniffed the air. The smell of garbage wasn’t strong, but it was gross—rancid remains of meat, probably. To actually drive Natsume away from her gardening, it had to smell terrible to her.

Natsume looked at her half-finished weeding with something very close to frustration on her face. Hikaru… really didn’t want to find out what an angry, frustrated Natsume would be like. “Ok! How about you get some water and I finish up the weeding?”

Natsume blinked and raised an eyebrow. “It is a task that can wait.”

“Yeah but you wanted it done today.” Hikaru shrugged. “I have the afternoon off. I can do a bit of yard work.”

For a moment it looked like she was going to refuse the offer, but her shoulders slumped. That actually made him more alarmed. She wasn’t even trying to look composed right now, and yeah, Natsume was way more relaxed with him than Akira, but for all that Hikaru had seen her in a bunch of intimate ways, this was the first time she’d ever looked vulnerable. “Thank you,” she said. “I had hoped there would be more time before the pregnancy kept me from my hobby.”

“Yeah… well, this is just for today. You’ll be better after garbage day. And if you’re not, just point Akira and me in a direction. We’ll be your hands.”

Natsume smiled and shook her head. “I’ll do that if I have to, but I will be gardening as long as I’m able.”

“Of course.” Hikaru wouldn’t take her from her passion. Hell, if someone tried to take his Go from him… He respected Natsume all the more because she voluntarily entered into this knowing she’d have to part from things she enjoyed for who knew how long. Hikaru didn’t think he’d be able to do it if their situations were reversed. “You sure you don’t need tea?”

“I will be fine,” she said, giving his arm a pat, like he was the one needing comforted. He and Akira were going about this support thing all wrong, weren’t they? Hopefully the fact that they were trying counted for something… “If you are sure you know a weed, you may pull it. If you aren’t sure, leave it and I will get to it after trash day.”

“I can do that,” Hikaru said. He’d watched her weed plenty of times. He’d seen her plant these plants. He totally knew what was a weed. Uh. Probably. If not he could always ask, right? “You go rest.”

“I’m going to resent being told to rest eventually,” Natsume said wryly. “Volatile stomach aside, I am not an invalid.”

“Fine, go… wash the dishes or something,” Hikaru said raising his hands. “We’ll both do something useful.”

“I will,” Natsume said with quiet determination. She straightened her shoulders back into her usual perfect posture.

There were some days, Hikaru thought as she went back inside, when he had the feeling she could have been a terrifying opponent across a Go board if her life had gone differently. She had a sharp mind and picked up what little he and Akira taught her after all. Instead she put that focus into daily tasks that Hikaru had to make himself do.

A kid made from her and Akira… it would be interesting to see what kind of person they turned out to be.

No matter what, Hikaru had a feeling they’d be a force of nature.

*o*o*

“Hikaru!” Waya whispered loudly. “How long has Touya’s wife been pregnant?”

Hikaru looked up from the Go board between them, frowning. “Uh… a couple months now? Didn’t I tell you this?”

“I think I’d have remembered something like this.”

“Unless you were drunk,” Hikaru said.

Waya scowled. “One, I don’t drink that much lately. Two, you don’t drink much lately. Or go drinking with me and Isumi much. Or do anything outside of work much these days really. This is the first time in a while you’ve agreed to meet up when we weren’t already at the Go institute.”

Hikaru scowled right back. “I’ve been busy! And it still feels weird inviting you to Akira’s place.”

“You’ve been living here like a year now.”

“Yeah?”

“You sleep in their bed with them,” Waya pointed out.

“Well yeah, and it’s home, but it’s like, their home first.” Hikaru waved a hand like it was totally normal. Waya moved in with Isumi and had been inviting people over to Isumi’s apartment before he’d even moved in.

Then again, Waya supposed Touya and his wife were a lot more intimidating and traditional than Isumi was. “Okay, but it’s your home too. I don’t mind having you over, but it’s kind of weird you don’t feel like inviting me here.”

Hikaru gave him an exasperated look. “Look around.”

Waya looked around. It was a place full of traditional décor and pretty ink paintings of flowers and landscapes and a bookcase filled with Go kifu and plant books. If there hadn’t been a small stack of kifu laid out on the desk and the Go board haphazardly placed at a diagonal, it would have looked like something from some home magazine. “And?”

“You’re a good friend, but you leave kifu wherever you go and forget teacups and have clutter. And we’re loud when we’re together.”

And Touya’s home was pretty quiet and meticulously organized. Yeah, okay, Waya could see where this was going. On the other hand… “You’re worse with clutter than I am.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Hikaru said indignantly.

Waya nodded at the kifu and Hikaru’s fan half open next to them.

Hikaru scowled. “It could have been Akira and me reading those together.”

“Your fan, your mess.”

Hikaru rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I still think I told you Natsume is pregnant.”

“I still say you didn’t.” Waya glanced back at the game they’d paused and made a move. “So… What’s it like?”

“What’s what like? Natsume being pregnant? Because I’m not directly experiencing a baby in me.” Hikaru played his response.

“No, like…” Weren’t there weird things pregnant women did? Or was that brides? Waya had to admit he wasn’t clear on the subject for either. “She doesn’t look super pregnant yet I guess, but some things have to be different.”

Hikaru glanced at the doorway. Natsume was in the kitchen, leaving things cooking while she experimented with knitting. Seeing what she was attempting, Waya had the feeling that either she’d never tried to knit before, or it wasn’t in her natural talents. Not that he’d say that to her face. He was pretty sure mood swings were something women had when pregnant. Probably. Hormones happened more then, right?

“Not too much is different,” Hikaru said after a moment. “Though Natsume keeps getting sick.”

“Wait, like cold-sick or…?”

“Throw up sick. I thought morning sickness was kind of an exaggeration, but turns out it’s not. It’s also really not just in mornings. I have no idea why anyone would want to be pregnant.”

“Because babies?” Waya said uncertainly, not really sure if babies were worth it. Actually, babies might be even more of a hassle than pregnancy sounded.

“Duh,” Hikaru said. “But I sure wouldn’t want to go through that. Kind of sucks I can’t do much more than make ginger tea and take over whatever she was working on when it happens.”

Waya gave Hikaru a considering look. He seemed to really mean that. Not that Waya ever thought Hikaru didn’t care for Touya’s wife, but when it came down to it, he always thought Touya was more the object of Hikaru’s affections. Or, well, attention since affection and Hiakru toward Touya didn’t really compute half the time when they were arguing over a Go board like idiots. Seeing them fight was the first time Touya Akira looked his age, and probably the first time Waya wasn’t intimidated by the guy. And here he was sitting in the man’s house, talking about his wife to their lover. The world was a weird place. “It’s good that you’re trying to help I think. I mean a lot of guys wouldn’t.”

“If a woman you’re with is miserable and you’re not helping, there’s a problem there,” Hikaru said.

“No, just. Pregnancy’s a woman’s thing.” Waya shrugged. “My sister had a kid and her husband was barely involved until the kid was born, and even then it was more on my sister for care.”

“No offense, but your brother-in-law sounds like a jerk.”

“He kind of is. He pisses me off a lot and my sister deserved better.” Waya shrugged. “So, glad that you’re being there for her.”

“We’re so bad at it,” Hikaru sighed. “Touya’s trying to pick up how to be comforting but he’s just—” Hikaru mimed holding a hand out like he was afraid to touch something and like said thing might explode any moment. “—like that. Honestly, a hug would work better.”

“Touya? Hugging? Never,” Waya said.

“He can hug, he just can’t under stress I guess.”

They went back to their game, pace speeding up. They’d almost reached endgame when Natsume wandered in, fresh pot of tea in hand and her sad attempt at knitting under her arm. “Sorry to interrupt,” she murmured, setting the tea down.

“No, thank you,” Waya said quickly.

“Yeah, thanks,” Hikaru said with a grin. “Figure out that stitch?” he asked with a nod to the knitting.

Natsume, who as far as Waya could tell had the emotional range of ‘polite-smile,’ ‘polite-disinterest,’ and ‘politely-laughing-at-boys-being-idiots,’ actually looked frustrated for a moment. Color him surprised, she was human after all. (He was never telling Hikaru some of the speculations people their age had when Touya got married what sort of person his wife could be. …Hikaru probably knew some of them, but he probably didn’t know half of the rumors circulating about how he fit into everything.)

“Not yet,” Natsume said with more thinly veiled frustration. “But I will figure it out. I can do embroidery, this should not be too difficult to figure out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Hikaru said optimistically. When Natsume wandered back out, he poured some tea and said, “I don’t know if she’s going to get more than the basic stitch, but boy is she going to try.”

“Why knitting?”

“She can’t garden much with the morning sickness and needed a new hobby? I think she figured she could knit the baby something?” Hikaru shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but Akira figured it out and tried to show her and it’s still not computing for more than the first stitch.”

“…Hormones?”

“Yeah, can’t say that or she’ll be annoyed. Maybe knitting is just not her thing. She sews great though.”

“Maybe she should stick to sewing then,” Waya said.

“Akira and I have a bet how long it takes until she buries her knitting in the garden.”

Waya shook his head. “I’d never believe this would be your life a year ago.”

Hikaru grinned. “Me neither.” He clacked down a black stone, placing it just right so that Waya lost a good chunk of territory in the top-left corner of the board. Waya swore at him. “So I think I will be winning this game.”

“Like hell,” Waya retorted, buckling in for the rest of the end game. He was going to make Hikaru fight for every last moku.

*o*o*

“Natsume,” Akira said, struggling to keep a neutral face.

“Yes, Akira-san?” Natsume’s frown was starting to leave a crease between her eyebrows.

“I’m starting to feel…”

Natsume looked up, a smile on her face that dared him to comment. “Yes, Akira-san?”

Akira took a step back and cleared his throat. “Natsume, perhaps knitting is not for you.”

Natsume looked at the knitting in her lap. It had added and dropped stitches, gaps, and was loose in some places and too tight in others, and while there was a chunk that was fairly consistent and even, every attempt to progress in knitting techniques was clearly a failure. The frown on her face went deeper. “I’ve improved from the beginning.”

“You have,” Akira agreed. “And I’m sure you can learn.” Given enough time and a calmer mind. “But it’s stressing you out.”

“I’m fine,” Natsume said, her tense shoulders at odds with her words.

Akira risked setting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Are you even having fun with it?”

Natsume’s lips pressed together stubbornly for a moment before she sighed. The knitting got balled up in one hand. “It seemed like a relaxing hobby,” she said ruefully. “I have never felt less patient with something in my life,” she admitted. “I feel like I should at least make something before calling it a failed effort.”

“I don’t think anyone can say you haven’t tried.” Akira tugged at the neater area of her attempt. “Maybe a simple scarf?”

“I do have all this yarn,” she said. “It seems I was too ambitious.”

“Try again sometime in the future.”

“When I don’t have to worry about stress you mean?” Natsume said with a hint of her usual humor back in her eyes. She touched Akira’s hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for your concern, Akira-san.”

Hikaru, naturally, arrived home at that moment, strolling into the kitchen in a hurry. He stopped, seeing them close together at the kitchen table. “Oh, were you guys having a moment? Because if you wanted to have a private moment right now, I can just…”

Akira rolled his eyes. “Come here.”

Hikaru grinned and strolled over, draping an arm around Natsume’s shoulders and leaning against Akira’s side. “So, what was I missing?”

“An intervention,” Natsume said with a wry smile. She tossed the knitting on the table.

“Oh. Oh!” Hikaru laughed. “Okay. Uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but good. I’m pretty sure you were going to stab someone with those needles eventually at the rate you were going.”

“Of course not,” Natsume said, “I would never.”

Something in the demure, deadpan way she said it had Hikaru cracking up into Akira’s shoulder. “Uh, huh. Sure.”

“An inanimate object on the other hand,” Natsume said with a small smile spreading on her face.

“Oh no,” Hikaru giggled. “Yeah, this intervention is needed. Next thing I know you’ll be threatening things with kitchen knives.”

“And ruin my good knives?”

Akira gave in and laughed with them. It always amazed him how Hikaru could turn the mood right around.

“But,” Natsume said with a sigh, “I don’t know what to do with my time now.”

“If you were planning to try to do baby clothes, there’s still sewing,” Hikaru pointed out. His face lit up. “Ooh, you could make little formal clothes and the baby can look like a stuffy mini version of Akira!”

“Hikaru,” Akira said, pinching him in the side.

Hikaru elbowed back shamelessly. “Bet you the baby inherits your old man serious face. All…” He tried to imitate Akira’s expression, but ruined it because he couldn’t stop laughing.

“I don’t look like an old man.”

“You looked old when you were twelve, Akira,” Hikaru said. He grinned, bright and irresistible and so close Akira could count his eyelashes. “But I guess you’re too pretty to be a stuffy old geezer.”

“And I am not playing a game with you tonight,” Akira threatened, hiding his smile as Hikaru tried to backpedal, still laughing.

“No, no! It’s a compliment! C’mon, Akira, you’d be punishing yourself!”

Natsume laughed at them both.

Things weren’t so different yet after all.

*o*o*

Natsume and her mother made their way to their local shrine. They left more than the normal offering because this was important. This was the future—of her child, of her family, of Akira’s family name. Natsume prayed for a healthy child. She prayed for a future of happy smiles and balanced support. She prayed to be strong enough to keep the life growing in her secure enough to meet that future and beyond it.

Her mother was warm at Natsume’s side, her clap just a fraction behind her daughter’s. Who knew what her mother prayed for specifically, but they were united on a safe pregnancy, safe birth.

When Natsume opened her eyes, she saw her mother looking at her, maternal fondness in her eyes. It wasn’t something her mother frequently expressed, though Natsume never doubted that she cared. Still, the tenderness in her mother’s eyes as she cupped a hand at Natsume’s face filled her with warmth. This was why a shrine trip was made, mother and daughter, to pray. This was connecting the family together down the line.

It was the closest she’d felt to her mother in a long while.

“Let’s buy some charms and a sash,” her mother said, voice gentle. She stood straighter than she usually did, with purpose.

Later, maternity sash in place, Natsume tucked a charm up her sleeve with the memory of a day well spent with her mother.

*o*o*

They were trying, really they were. Hikaru had even tried reading one of Natsume’s gardening books, but no matter how much she tried to explain and how the book described things, Hikaru and Akira still weren’t doing as good a job as Natsume did. Of course, they had less time to spend on gardening than she used to, but it wasn’t pristine and overflowing with life the way it was when she tended it, a bit more haphazard and gone wild with unintended neglect since bending over a lot was becoming a problem.

Natsume looked at her garden from the porch, a wry smile on her face as Akira attempted to dead-head one of her flower bushes with pruners. He was leaving the flower heads where they fell and the bare stalks poking up, and Hikaru was pretty sure that wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but it was a bit too late to get him to change. He’d already gone through a half a flower bed.

“Are they getting enough water?” Hikaru asked with the watering can in one hand. “I can’t tell.”

“You’re doing fine, Hikaru,” Natsume said.

“Your face says we aren’t.”

“I’m glad for your help. Otherwise, everything would be halfway to dead by now. I’m merely wondering how I can get it ready for winter with the least amount of effort.”

“Wait, don’t you usually cut all the dead off to compost and prune things?” Hikaru shuffled the watering can around to his other hand; it was dripping on his shoe. “I think we can handle cutting dead plant bits.”

“Mm.” Natsume tilted her head as Akira missed the dead flower he was aiming for and accidentally cut off a healthy one. Hikaru tried not to grin as he heard a quiet swear. “I’m sure you can handle that bit, but I cannot leave you two to do the pruning. Your help is appreciated, but you wouldn’t know where to start. To be blunt, please don’t attempt it; I don’t want you to accidentally kill my plants.”

“Would it do that?” It had seemed like she pruned a bit of everything last year. Cutting off bits didn’t seem that hard.

“On certain plants? Yes. Or at least set back the work I’ve put into them.” She pursed her lips. More and more often, she showed little things like irritation that she used to hide. Hikaru thought it was probably a positive thing, but it was also a little strange since he’d literally known her for years before seeing some of the expressions she’d had in the last few months. “I could probably manage if I took a chair with me…”

“Will it cause more stress not to touch it, or to touch it?” Hikaru asked.

Natsume hummed again. She looked up at Hikaru and she looked tired, and it was one of those moments when he remembered she was actually older than him and Akira. Age wasn’t something he thought about with her; she felt like she’d come into the world calm and dignified and with a quiet sense of humor. “I know it is not my livelihood the way Go is for you and Akira-san, but it is my passion… I had not really considered how having a child would complicate that since I am always at home anyway.” She touched her stomach, and Hikaru had to look at the bump. It still caught him off guard, but maybe that was because it was always growing. “I do want a child, and I have no regrets. I suppose I am just missing being able to immerse myself in this.”

Not for the first time, Hikaru tried to picture having to go without Go for months and shivered. Yeah, that would be pretty awful. “We’ll try with a chair then. I mean the doctors said not to stress or work too hard, but this is also something that calms you down.”

“Thank you, Hikaru.” She smiled and glanced back at Akira. “Ah…could you please stop him from cutting those? I want a few to go to seed.”

“Of course,” Hikaru said, giving a little bow to make her giggle. Of course the laugh was more because he managed to spill the watering can in the process. “And I’ll…get back to watering!”

He wasn’t ever going to be a gardener, but at least they weren’t doing completely terrible. The effort was worth it for Natsume’s sake. And it was pretty calming. Or at least it was when Akira wasn’t being awful at it. Hikaru jogged over to pass on instructions.

*o*o*

Natsume’s mother moved around Natsume’s kitchen with the air of a woman slowly familiarizing herself with everything. She’d visited several times now, and seemed to plan to make it a regular thing, which Natsume wasn’t sure about. Her mother had both a bad back, and a very different preference of organization. Natsume might be fine relenting to her mother’s preferences in her childhood home, but she was starting to lose patience by the fifth time her mother absentmindedly reordered something in a cupboard.

This, too, would have been fine in the long run—if Natsume had anything, it was patience—but Hikaru was home and this was only the third time they’d ever met, and her mother Did Not Approve of him despite the fact that he was just as much a respectable Go player as Akira was.

Natsume thought it was probably Hikaru’s hair that first earned her mother’s ire. Moving in with her and Akira had been the final weight to tip the scale to permanent dislike no matter how kindly Natsume or Akira presented him.

Natsume was unspeakably grateful her mother had never witnessed Akira and Hikaru’s post-game ‘discussions.’

“You should cook in batches,” her mother said, reordering the spices, “that way you have food for several days so you can rest. I know it isn’t as satisfying or elaborate, but as you near your due date, you will need to conserve your energy for your child. Of course I will come here in the last few weeks to cover tasks you cannot do.”

Natsume did not point out that there were tasks her mother was frequently unable to do in her own household.

“And of course I will help the first week after the baby is born—”

“We intend to take shifts with that,” Natsume interrupted. “Akira and Hikaru have already informed the Go Institute that they will need time around March.”

Her mother shut the cupboard and frowned in her direction. “Does your husband think you are incapable of caring for your own child?”

“We have discussed shared parenting duties,” Natsume said, trying to project calm and serenity. It was much more difficult lately; it was amazing how quickly prolonged physical discomfort would wear down her patience. “I am going to be doing the bulk of child care.” There had never been a question about that; she didn’t have a job and both Akira and Hikaru did. “But for the first month especially we intend to share the burden as equally as possible.”

“And your…guest… is going to help?” her mother said skeptically. “How…generous.”

Natsume suppressed a sigh. “He is a part of this household,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time.

As if to prove a point, Hikaru walked past the kitchen with a basket of laundry—since her pregnancy progressed to affecting her balance some, both her husband and Hikaru had stepped in with any chore requiring lifting and balancing heavy objects. Hikaru might naturally be a chaotic person who put off his personal chores, but he was remarkably attentive in taking over Natsume’s. It was touching actually. It also gave her plenty to tease him about since he was terrible with remembering laundry when he first moved in, at least up until he agreed to let her do his wash along with everything else that needed it.

The sight of Hikaru balancing a basket on his hip made Natsume smile and her mother purse her lips.

“He does his part,” Natsume said, glad to have actual visual proof to convince her mother.

*o*o*

“Wait,” Akira said, setting down the dish he was drying. “Your grandfather is still alive?”

Hikaru, elbow deep in dish water, frowned. “Yeah? Did I ever say otherwise? I mean he’s really old, so I dunno how much longer he has, but he’s not dead yet.”

Akira set down the towel too, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hikaru, your Go-playing grandfather, the one that you’ve mentioned half a dozen times tried to get you interested in Go in elementary school, is alive and you somehow have never introduced us?”

Hikaru blinked at him. “Should I have?”

Akira exchanged a look with Natsume where she was putting away the last of the leftovers. “Hikaru, I have had dinner with your parents at least every other month for several years now. How have I not met the sole relative that actually appreciates a game of Go?”

Hikaru scratched at his face, leaving a blob of soap bubbles behind. “I mean, I did consider it ages ago when we first were really friends. Just.”

“Just what?”

With clear embarrassment, Hikaru refused to meet his eyes. “…I thought he might like you better back then.”

“Hikaru!”

“It’s a legitimate concern! My mom likes you better than she likes me!” Hikaru said.

“That’s just because you can’t be bothered to be polite,” Akira said. “Ever.”

“She’s my mom. She wouldn’t know how to react to me if I was polite.”

Natsume shook her head and put the last of the dirty dishes in Hikaru’s wash water. “It sounds like we should make a trip sometime soon, hmm?” she said, looking between the two of them. “I for one would like to meet another member of Hikaru-san’s family.”

“You too?” Hikaru asked, pouting.

“Well, neither of us have grandparents still alive for you to meet,” she said practically. “And as you’ve said, he does enjoy Go.”

“Ugh, fine. Gramps is going to be so weird about this, I know it.” Hikaru returned to scrubbing dishes. “You’ll probably like my grandmother though. She likes flowers.”

“Your grandmother’s alive too?” Akira said.

“Uggghhh,” Hikaru groaned, blocking his ear with his shoulder. “I get it, I suck with communicating! I’ll call them tomorrow!”

Natsume gave his cheek a kiss. “Thank you.”

(Everything went great with the visit. And Hikaru was right about his grandfather liking Akira more—up until Hikaru got in a debate with Akira over a few stone placements. Then he’d laughed and said that he now understood why someone like Akira would be with his idiot grandson. Natsume spent the entire time sipping tea with Hikaru’s grandmother and talking flowers and babies. It was a very relaxing trip over all.)

*o*o*

Natsume sat propped up by pillows on the bed, her growing belly carefully on display as Akira and Hikaru set a hand there. The fluttery feeling of kicks pressed back. It was fascinating now, like butterflies in her stomach, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite so awe inspiring a month from now when the baby could kick with more strength.

“Ohmigosh, I felt that,” Hikaru whispered. He looked up at Natsume, eyes bright. “Natsume, it’s an actual baby in there.”

Natsume laughed. “Yes, yes it is.”

“You read the books,” Akira said. “You know what it’s supposed to look like by this point.”

“Yeah, but knowing and feeling are two different things.”

“Hmm.” Akira had a calm, happy smile on his face, more relaxed at the moment than he had been lately. It was nice to see. Natsume had worried that her pregnancy was causing him as much stress as it was her sometimes. Natsume was beyond glad that the awful morning sickness had finally let up.

“You know,” she said, pulling their hands to a different spot when the baby moved, “the books also say that the baby can start recognizing outside voices around now.”

“So we should…talk to it?” Hikaru asked, glancing up. “Uh, hey little baby in there. You grow all big and strong, ok?”

Akira snorted.

Hikaru elbowed him in the side. “I feel ridiculous talking to her stomach,” he mumbled.

Akira snorted again. “You used to talk to yourself all the time as a teenager. Pretend you’re doing that.”

Hikaru’s smile faltered. “That… That was different.”

Natsume caught his hand, lacing their fingers together. She might not know what they were referencing, but Akira did, and he looked apologetic immediately. Hikaru squeezed her hand, grateful for the silent comfort.

“Sorry,” Akira said. “How about a story instead? Practice for when the baby’s born?”

“A story…” Hikaru leaned close to their tangled hands. “Once upon a time, there was a man who loved to play Go more than anything in the world…”

*o*o*

“I notice that your room is being converted into a nursery,” Natsume’s mother said.

If Akira’s mom was a nice mother-in-law figure in Hikaru’s life, Natsume’s mother was kind of the exact opposite. Don’t get him wrong, she definitely cared about her daughter. She just was really nosey and really didn’t like Hikaru. At all. “Uh, yeah,” Hikaru said. He was just studying in the living room. Where had she even come from? He looked for Natsume. She wasn’t there.

“My daughter’s resting,” Natsume’s mother said, probably reading his mind. “Where will you be staying once it’s complete?”

“The… other guest room?” Hikaru hazarded. It had been made very clear that he shouldn’t mention he slept pretty much every night in bed with Akira and Natsume.

“The one that’s being used for storage? Where are you sleeping now?”

“The… living room? Futon?” Hikaru held up his book like a barrier. You’d think he’d be used to kind of scary old people considering his job, but no, there was kind of scary old Go people, and then there were kind of scary older mothers who thought they had their daughter’s best interest in mind. Yikes. “I’m helping do all the painting and redecorating in the nursery I swear!”

Natsume’s mother sniffed. “You’d better be. You realize now would be an ideal time to finally get your feet under yourself and find an independent home? You’re only going to be in the middle of Natsume and Akira-san building a family.”

Hikaru was getting really tired of this. She wasn’t even hinting anymore. “Look, I get that it’s not the usual way of doing things, but I’m planning to be another set of hands. I mean more people can only help when it comes to child care, right? Isn’t that why you keep coming over?”

The nasty look that got him was enough to have him hiding behind his book again. Yikes.

Well if he was going to be on her shit list no matter what he said… “And also, they already have a family, they’re just adding to it? You don’t have to have kids to have a family.”

“You are entirely missing my point,” Natsume’s mother said curtly.

“And you’re missing mine!” Hikaru wasn’t going to get anything done today, was he? At least the woman was polite enough whenever Akira was around. “I get you don’t like me. But I’m not going anywhere because they want me here as much as I want to be here.”

Another sniff, but she looked away so the topic was probably dropped for today. “You had best keep making yourself useful then,” she said, leaving the room.

“Ugh,” Hikaru sighed. “You and me both, lady.” He kind of wondered if it wouldn’t be a better idea to just move back in to his parents’ place for a little bit. But that would mean no cuddling with Akira and Natsume, no morning Go matches, or debates in the evening. No garden or talking to Natsume’s belly-bump. No, he’d put up with getting looked at like he was a home wrecker in favor of all the positive things.

“They are so lucky I love them,” he muttered, going back to his kifu studies.

*o*o*

Akira had a large bed. Or at least it had seemed large. It had fit him and Hikaru and Natsume well enough curled up together around each other.

But as he found himself dangling on the edge of the bed for the fourth time that month, Akira had to wonder if they maybe needed a larger one. “Natsume,” he murmured, gently pressing his wife’s shoulder. Her face scrunched, lacking the dignity she had when she was awake. “You’ve moved again.”

It wasn’t a problem when she slept on her back. But the closer to the end of her pregnancy, the more comfortable she was on her side—and the more space she took up. She’d also become a restless sleeper. Akira and Hikaru both found themselves at the edge of the bed more than once. It just depended on who was sleeping where that night. By mutual agreement, they’d put Natsume in the middle because it was better for one of them to get kicked out than for her to accidentally roll off the bed.

“Natsume?”

“Mm… Akira?” She patted at his arm.

That was new, too, how in her less careful moments, she dropped honorifics like she sometimes did with Hikaru. It made him feel things that he didn’t want to examine too closely because they felt warm and embarrassing to dwell on, just like how he tried not to dwell on certain things Hikaru did that made his heart melt. “Budge over a bit?” Akira said gently.

“Mm,” Natsume hummed, rolling the other direction clumsily. She latched on to Hikaru. Her waking moments she was always controlled with touch, but asleep, she clung to anything warm.

Akira slid close against her back, an arm draped over her and onto Hikaru’s hip. The pillows smelled like both of them. Before he got married, he’d been worried that it wouldn’t work out. That despite how well the meetings had gone, and how their personalities hadn’t clashed, that the differences would be too much to handle, or that he’d be unhappy with a marriage that hadn’t been built from romantic love.

Love was a lot more complex than he’d given it credit, and manifested in so many different ways.

Happiness had never been a direct factor in any of this either, an aim for contentment at best. Happiness was something Akira knew better now than he had his whole life.

Hikaru made a sleepy sound, burrowing closer to Natsume, and somehow getting an arm around her and his fingers brushing Akira’s hair.

Akira closed his eyes, smiling.

*o*o*

Natsume couldn’t get comfortable, a constant ache in her lower back as the day went on. Last week she’d had a contraction scare, but it had turned out to be false contractions. With another week and a half until her projected due date, she wasn’t convinced this pain was the real deal or not. Her back ached plenty this last month with having to hold up unbalanced weight.

She stopped her attempt at dinner, rubbing her back. They had a bag packed for the clinic and the midwife and doctor were a phone call away. She didn’t want to scare Akira and Hikaru if it was a false alarm again.

In an hour, both men were due home.

Natsume resumed cooking, ignoring the pain as best she could. It was getting a bit more frequent, but it might also be that she was dwelling on it too much and skewing what was actually happening. Vegetables into stir fry, cubes of meat, a bubbling sauce to glaze them, the rice cooker set to complete a few minutes before cooking was completed. Miso soup prepared with fresh dashi. Fresh fruit diced with red bean jelly for desert. A mild green tea to accompany everything.

The front door opened, Hikaru arriving first from the sound of it. His presence always filled the space where Akira moved quiet and unobtrusive most of the time. Natsume breathed through a stronger pain. Was it a contraction? Was the pain a handful of minutes later also one? She waited, still not a clear pattern.

“I’m home!” Hikaru said, sticking his head in the kitchen.

“Welcome home. Care to set the table?”

He gave her a kiss, casual as ever, before gathering up bowls and plates and utensils.

Natsume put the dessert away for after the meal, keeping it chill.

“Cups to match the teapot?”

“Please,” Natsume said, rubbing her back. Her legs were beginning to ache too.

Five minutes later, there was Akira, coming from teaching for the day. Hikaru greeted him enthusiastically. They sat down, like normal, dishing out food and talking about their day and Natsume listened, but she couldn’t quite keep attention on the conversation or the meal.

Pain. Count out the minutes…three…four…five…six…Pain. More regular. And definitely shortening in their intervals. It was a bit terrifying even though she’d know what had to happen eventually. No book, no class, no relaxation or meditation could adequately prepare her for this.

“Are you okay?” Hikaru’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you not feeling good? Is something wrong with the baby?” He and Akira looked equally concerned. It was almost funny how they kept doing that this last month if she looked the slightest bit off.

Natsume smiled despite the discomfort. “I’m fine. Although… I believe I might be going into labor.”

Hikaru’s chopsticks clattered onto his plate. Akira dropped a bite of rice in his lap. “Now?” Hikaru squeaked.

“I thought it might be another false alarm,” she said. She took another bite of her food. She was going to need the energy no matter how her stomach was fluttering with sudden nerves as reality asserted itself. “The contractions are getting more frequent and stronger though.”

“Shouldn’t we be going? Like now?”

Akira seemed to be frozen in place, just like he had been when the false alarm happened.

“There’s no reason not to finish dinner. Even with contractions this close, it’s going to be hours before the baby comes.” That was the truly daunting thought, the task ahead of her looming. She hoped she would be strong enough for this.

“But, but…”

“You would rather it goes to waste?”

“Of course not!” Hikaru picked up his chopsticks, fumbling them.

“Eat, then I will call my mother and we can drive to the clinic.”

“Right,” Hikaru said, voice tight with panic. “Okay. Sure. Akira, eat!”

Mechanically, Akira did, still looking shell shocked and a little bit terrified.

One would think, Natsume thought wryly, that they were the ones who would be spending the next however long in labor. She braced against another contraction and finished her miso soup. Well, one of them had to be calm. It might as well be her.

*o*o*

They’d left dishes in the sink and leaving had been a mess of phone calls—the doctor, parents and in-laws, midwife. Hikaru couldn’t hold still. There were so many people all here for Natsume and he couldn’t stand watching her serious expression of determination without wanting to jump out of his own skin.

Akira was doing much better, but Hikaru had a feeling Akira was halfway in shock and working on autopilot. He was holding one of Natsume’s hands as the midwife instructed her to carefully walk up and down the hallway to ease along some of the process. Natsume’s mother was on her other side. Hikaru’s mom and Akira’s mother were there too, but a little ways away and he had no idea how to feel about any of this.

And there would be hours of this before the baby was actually here.

Hikaru slipped out the door for a moment to breathe. He wasn’t helping anyone in his panic.

He slipped out his phone. “C’mon, c’mon, pick up.”

The ringing on the other end stopped as it was answered.

“Oh thank goodness—”

“Hikaru what the hell. It’s almost midnight.”

“I know. But. Natsume’s having the baby!”

“Now?”

“Yes! Sort of! Babies take a lot of time to be born, especially the first time I guess!”

“Then why the hell are you talking to me? Go be supportive!”

“I need to freak out at someone! They’re all in there being calm!” Okay, Akira was the opposite of calm, but he wasn’t panicking in a distracting manner, so he had a free pass.

“You said you all read books together on this, right?”

“Right.” Hikaru ran a hand through his hair. It was shaking. Hoo boy.

“And you each went to one of Natsume’s birthing classes with the meditation and breathing thingy.”

“Yeah.”

“So use some of what you know, dumbass!”

“Wayaaaaa,” Hikaru whined. “I’m so freaked out I’m worried I’m going to freak her out and if she’s freaked out what if it makes things go wrong and if things go wrong, what if something happens to the baby and—”

“Breathe,” Waya commanded. “Natsume’s a really calm person. And even if she’s scared as heck—and she probably is—she’s not going to let you freaking out mess up her head space.” Hikaru didn’t answer and Waya sighed. “Look, I’m in Osaka right now and I couldn’t get to Tokyo tonight if I tried. I’ll be there in the morning, ok? Just stop freaking out and go help support her. Just… think of it as a Go match. You’re playing against your own anxiety, but you have to win for her sake or something, ok?”

“Yeah.” Actually, putting it in those terms made Hikaru weirdly calmer. Gosh Waya was a good friend sometimes. “Thanks.”

“Whatever. Go be supportive. I’ll drag Isumi along when I come tomorrow. Keep me posted.”

“Yeah.” Hikaru hung up before Waya could. His mother poked her head out into the hall and waved him over. Oh boy.

“She’s going back into the birthing room, go keep Akira calm,” his mother ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Hikaru said.

Natsume’s mother gave him a weird look when he walked in to stand next to Akira, but you know what? He was past feeling worried about her. Her opinion was her opinion and he was here for Akira and Natsume and their child. Heck, the midwife wasn’t even fazed by any of this.

He locked eyes with Natsume, a moment in between contractions and some of the tension around her eyes lessened.

They need you, he reminded himself. One hand on Akira, one hand around where Akira and Natsume’s hands were tangled together. It was going to be a long night.

*o*o*

“So,” Waya said looking at the baby in Akira’s arms. “Whose kid is it?”

“Waya!” Isumi gasped looking horrified. Hikaru rolled his eyes.

“Real nice, Waya. She’s Akira’s obviously.” Hikaru elbowed Waya in the ribs. “What do you take me for? I’m not having a kid with someone else’s wife.”

“No you just sleep wi—”

Haruka

Kanji for sunlight and flower or katakana spelling like others?

Natsume’s name is spelled “Summer Bud” (as in leaf-bud) so plant theme to go with “bright” and “light” theme with Akira and Hikaru

Isumi clamped a hand over Waya’s mouth. He bowed apologetically to Akira who watched with the bemused expression he reserved for Hikaru’s friends and some of his lover’s odder personality quirks. “Sorry about Waya, he doesn’t have a brain to mouth filter.”

“I can understand his uncertainty,” Akira said with tolerance. He leaned against Hikaru’s side as he looked at his daughter curled in his arms sleeping peacefully. “We discussed it earlier when children came up. Any children born will biologically be mine.”

“So how will parenting go?” Waya asked wiggling out of Isumi’s grip. Isumi frowned but Waya figured everyone expected him to be blunt. He might as well ask what they were both curious about.

“We’re sharing duties.”

“But I’ll be ‘Uncle Hikaru!’” Hikaru cut in with a grin. “She’s so tiny…Wonder if she’ll look more like you or Natsume?”

“I will be happy regardless.” Akira sighed, leaning heavier against Hikaru’s side. He had been up since three in the morning. His daughter came into the world less than four hours ago, and it was noon now. He hadn’t slept at all, too worried for Natsume’s sake and caught up in the blindsiding realization that he was actually a father now.

“Where’s Natsume-san?” Isumi asked.

“Sleeping,” Akira said. He smiled. “Bringing a life into the world is no easy task.” If he was so exhausted just from watching he could only imagine how tired Natsume was. If Hikaru hadn’t been there he wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle all the emotions. “Her parents were here earlier. Her mother wants to move in with us to help take care of the baby.”

“Ooh. That could be awkward.” Waya winced as Hikaru whapped him on the head. Really, there was nothing wrong with saying what everyone was thinking!

Akira couldn’t help but laugh softly, and more than a little hysterically, over the thought of his in-laws invading his home. It had been difficult enough to explain Hikaru’s constant presence during Natsume’s pregnancy and they got weird looks when he stuck around when Natsume went into labor. His daughter shifted in his arms, making soft noises at the back of her throat.

“What’s her name?” Isumi asked, politely diverting their attention back to the baby.

“Haruka,” Akira said. He traced her soft, red cheek. Newborns came into the world red and squished-faced and crying, but he seemed to find her perfect anyway. “The kanji for ‘sunlight’ and ‘flower’.”

“Natsume chose it,” Hikaru said.

“I’m surprised you used kanji since you both have names in katakana,” Waya joked. “Only just born and you’re imposing ideals on the little bean.”

“Little bean?” Hikaru echoed incredulously. “Woah, no calling our daughter a bean, Waya.”

“It’s like a cute affectionate nickname!” Waya protested. He dodged another half-hearted flail in his direction, hiding behind an exasperated Isumi. “I mean you’re pretty much her parent too, which makes Isumi and I extra kind-of-sort-of uncles, so, nickname!”

“Just call her by her name!”

Akira chuckled. Haruka wasn’t as amused by the noise though, and she scrunched up her face unhappily, a sound that was somewhere between a croak and a whine coming from her throat.

“…Touya, your daughter sounds like some sort of tree frog.”

This time Isumi smacked Waya on the back of the head. “And with that, we should give you your privacy,” he said. Isumi directed a genuine smile Akira’s way. “Congratulations again. We’ll visit properly after you have all returned home. We just wanted to make sure everything went okay.”

“I texted it did, didn’t I?” Hikaru muttered. He didn’t look annoyed though. Neither he nor Akira could hold on to irritation while the awe of having their daughter finally in the world. “I’ll catch you guys later. Uh, but we’ll see when that is. Pretty sure newborns take all your time and energy if the books are correct.”

“Thankfully we have three sets of parents and three of us,” Akira said just as Haruka started to cry properly.

“Good luck!” Waya called in parting.

Hikaru and Akira took Haruka back to Natsume, regrettably needing to wake her up; Haruka was hungry again.

Natsume woke from the noise, alert and worried for a handful of seconds before she saw Hikaru and Akira with the baby. She held out her arms and Haruka quieted some just from the transition.

“She knows her mom,” Hikaru said with a huge grin. Then, “Holy shit, Akira, we’re parents.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Akira said drily. He sat at Natsume’s bedside with Hikaru crowded too close as Natsume fed their daughter.

“We’re parents,” Hikaru repeated, like it was really hitting him, a bit choked up. “I love you guys so much.”

Natsume leaned until her shoulders pressed against Hikaru’s and Akira put a hand on her arm, Hikaru’s hip. Together.

******

AN: So, flower Akira was looking at that he didn't know the name of was a primrose. Baby's name has light connotations because both Akira and Hikaru (though written in katakana in the series) are names usually written with kanji for light. Since Natsume's name is written with kanji for Summer and Bud (like leaf bud), having a flower kanji in there worked too.

You know it's funny because I can remember being in a coffee shop in 2016 glaring at this word doc and trying to plan the stupid 7 course traditional meal and ranting to my friend about how I write myself into weird corners and then do research that I don't even use. Like how I 100% didn't need to plan that meal or do that research because it just got skimmed over. I spent at least 3 hours googling shit back then for a couple paragraphs. Such is writing I guess. This ended up a lot longer than I ever intended it to be with lots of googling pregnancy things that I didn't actually want to know, and Japanese traditions in pregnancy, that are actually kind of interesting from a cultural side of things (like the 'Japanese food for a Japanese baby' and how you're expected not to stress about things, you protect/keep warm your baby bump, can legally register the pregnancy to get government support/health care/information if you need it, how you're expected to eat and move around while in labor (food for energy, moving to help deal with pain) and to 1)not be loud when giving birth, 2) have a natural birth. You're also not supposed to gain a certain amount of weight during your pregnancy?? Like, weird.) Anyway, I've looked up some odd things over the years for this fic and others. I'm glad to finally post this and close the open doc on my computer and move the file to complete instead of unfinished folder.

#hikaru no go #fanfiction #My writing #arrangements #this is the AU where Akira had an arranged marriage #and then he and his wife proposition hikaru into joining them #yeah that's a thing I wrote #I chose natsume's name before I was super into natsume yuujinchou #and it feels super weird these days to have her be natsume #when natsume is a gold-eyed silver-haired kid with trust issues and ayakashi sight to me now

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