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mono-socke · 4 months ago

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kleine hurt/comfort Geschichte für Rhun, ft. die anderen vier Brüder. (der Fokus liegt zwar mehr auf Fips und Zeke, aber die anderen zwei sind auch da)

request von @rhuns-zahnseide ! hoffe das ist okay so !

Rhun konnte nicht schlafen.

Der Tag war anstrengend gewesen. Sehr anstrengend. Seitdem xier und xiers Brüder die ersten Andeutungen magischer Kräfte offenbarten, waren die Nonnen ungefähr zehnfach so streng zu ihnen, als sie es früher waren. Natürlich wurde dies um einiges schlimmer, als diese Anzeichen deutlicher und ausgeprägter wurden, und die Nonnen begannen, sie Experimenten zu unterziehen. Qualvolle und schmerzhafte Experimente, um die Magie zu untersuchen und, im Idealfall der Angestellten, zu unterdrücken.

Der Fakt, dass die Kräfte der Brüder nicht im Geringsten zu schwinden schienen, und stattdessen nur stärker und mächtiger wurden, war ihnen offensichtlich nicht von Vorteil. Stundenlang mussten sie sich Qualen unterziehen, bis die Nonnen sie endlich gehen ließen, um zu beten im Gottesdienst or sonstige Arbeit zu erledigen.

Es machte Rhun zu schaffen. Nun, es machte allen zu schaffen. Aber Rhun gab es ungern zu. Wenn keiner der anderen standhaft bleiben konnte, musste xier es eben. Klaus gab zwar sein Bestes, einen auf unbekümmert zu machen, jedoch hatte auch er gelegentlich Zusammenbrüche. Keiner der übrigen drei hatte besonderes Interesse an einem Gruppenzusammenhalt. Rhun selbst auch nicht sonderlich, aber allein und durch Streitereien oder ständiges Zanken würde sich ihre Situation auch nicht bessern.

Jedoch konnte auch Rhun nicht für immer ruhig bleiben. Xier ließ zwar niemals äußerliche Schwäche vor xiers Brüdern zu, bestand darauf ihnen bei ihren Aufgaben zu helfen wenn diese besonders schwer waren und schenkte ihnen ein offenes Ohr und Trost, sollte es einer notwendig haben. Rhun war zwar nicht der Älteste im Pack, aber im Vergleich deutlich am Vernünftigsten. Und so sehr Rhun auch Zeit allein liebte und sich nach dieser sehnte, lagen xier die eigenen Brüder doch sehr am Herzen.

Sich um sich selbst zu kümmern fiel Rhun im Gegensatz jedoch relativ schwer. So einfach es war, einem der Anderen zuzuhören und Zuspruch zu geben, so schwer war es allerdings auch, selbst mal um Hilfe zu bitten. Oft genug fraß Rhun lieber alle Sorgen und Zweifel in sich hinein, als dass xier jemanden bat, mit xier darüber zu reden.

So kam es nun eben, dass Rhun öfter mal wach im Bett lag, die anderen alle schon am schlafen, und die Decke anstarrte. Einfach nur nach oben sah, und vor sich hin schwieg, in der Hoffnung, doch noch einzuschlafen. Wenn sie tagsüber müde waren, waren die Nonnen besonders streng.

Ab und zu wurde es dann doch zu viel für Rhun, und statt nur stillschweigend da zu liegen stand xier auf, verließ das Bett das xier sich mit den anderen teilte und setzte sich an einer entfernten Ecke des Raumes hin, die Knie an die Brust gezogen und den Kopf in den Armen. In dem Wunsch, xiers Brüder nicht zu wecken tat xier alles um so leise wie möglich zu bleiben. Manchmal konnte Rhun die Tränen, und die darauffolgenden schweren Atemzüge um ja nicht zu weinen, nicht unterdrücken.

Rhun wollte nicht weinen. Weder in Gegenwart anderer, noch allein. Xier musste die Fassung behalten, egal was geschah. Ohne den nötigen Vernunft würde nichts funktionieren, wie es sollte, und dieser würde sicherlich von niemandem sonst kommen. Aber Rhun konnte weder den merkwürdigen Druck in xiers Kehle, noch die verschwommene Sicht, noch sonst irgendwas unterdrücken, und so saß xier einfach da, und spürte wie langsam der Stoff von xiers Ärmel nass wurde.

Zu vertieft darin, auf Krampf leise zu bleiben, hörte Rhun nicht das Geräusch einer sich bewegenden Decke. Sowohl dass einer der anderen vier scheinbar aufgewacht war, als auch dass dieser Rhun seine Aufmerksamkeit schenkte, bekam xier nicht mit. Erst nachdem wer auch immer aufgewacht war sich aufgesetzt hatte und langsam aus dem Bett stieg, wurde Rhun auf seine Präsenz aufmerksam. Das Knarren des Bodens ließ xier fast zusammenzucken, und Rhun traute sich kaum zu atmen.

Logisch gesehen wusste Rhun natürlich, dass es niemand war, der xier verletzen wollte. Es konnten weder die Nonnen, noch sonst irgendwer von außerhalb des Zimmers sein. Und doch war xiers Adrenalinrausch so hoch, dass xier angespannt und nervös wurde.

Die vorsichtigen und langsamen Schritte gingen auf xier zu und Rhun's Atem stockte, als sie zu einem Stehen kamen. Die andere Person hielt scheinbar einen Moment inne, bevor er sich neben Rhun auf den kalten Boden setzte und der fast zitternden Person neben sich eine Hand auf die Schulter legte. Die sanfte Geste und die Wärme neben xier, schienen Rhun zu beruhigend und xier sah endlich auf.

Neben xier saß einer der jüngeren Brüder. Der jüngste, um genau zu sein. Fips.

Und Fips sah xier besorgt an, so ehrlich besorgt, wie Rhun ihn schon lange nicht mehr erlebt hat.

“Alles okay bei dir?” fragte er leise, damit keiner der restlichen drei aufwachte. Rhun nickte zwar nicht, versuchte aber trotzdem rasch ihn zu beruhigen und abzuschütteln. Xier hatte nichts dagegen sich mit Fips zu unterhalten, aber nicht jetzt und nicht hier und nicht über dieses Thema. “Geht schon. Alles in Ordnung.”

“Du siehst nicht wirklich ‘in Ordnung’ aus,” beharrte Fips, und die Hand auf Rhun's Schulter hielt unmerklich etwas fester. Xier wischte sich schnell über die Augen und blinzelte frisch aufkommende Tränen weg, doch xiers Stimme klang beim Besten Willen nicht so gelassen wie sonst immer.

“Ich komm klar, keine Angst. Geh lieber wieder schlafen, sonst bist du morgen früh müde.”

“Nur wenn du auch schläfst."

Mit Fips zu argumentieren war schon immer ziellos.

Er war stur und dickköpfig aber seine Aktionen und Aussagen kamen meistens dann doch aus Empathie und Sorge, auch wenn er dies natürlich nicht zugeben wollte. Vorallem nicht vor Zeke und Klaus. Klaus würde ihn behätscheln bis zum geht nicht mehr, aber Zeke würde ihn regelrecht aufziehen damit, ihn peinigen und verspotten bis einer der anderen ihn aufhalten würde.

Rhun schüttelte nur den Kopf, absolut nicht in der Stimmung, jetzt eine Diskussion anzufangen, und fragte stattdessen, “Warum bist du überhaupt wach?” “Hab leise Geräusche gehört und als ich gesehen habe, dass du hier alleine sitzt, konnte ich nicht weiterschlafen,” gab Fips achselzuckend zu.

Danach verfielen beide erstmal in unangenehmes Schweigen, da keiner wirklich wusste, was sie sagen konnten oder sollten. Fips’ Hand blieb auf der Schulter seines Bruders liegen und begann beruhigende Kreisbewegungen zu machen. Rhun wusste, dass xiers jüngster Bruder noch nie sonderlich talentiert mit tröstenden Worten war, und wurde schnell, unabsichtlich schroff oder aggressiv. Deshalb vertraute Fips seinem Mund in solch ernsten Situationen nicht und schwieg.

Rhun hingegen fühlte sich nicht sonderlich nach dem Reden. Xier wäre lieber wieder alleine, aber solange Fips nicht versuchen würde, jegliche Informationen aus xier herauspressen, wäre es ertragbar.

Nach einer Weile legte Fips vorsichtig seinen Kopf auf die Schulter seines älteren Bruders, extrem langsam und zögerlich, als ob er erwartete, dass Rhun jede Sekunde zurückweichen und ihn anmotzen würde. Was xier allerdings nicht tat. Xier akzeptierte die Nähre xiers Bruder einfach, denn eigentlich war die Wärme die er ausstrahlte überraschend angenehm. So angenehm, Rhun's Gedanken verwandelten sich langsam von einem wirren und überwältigenden Durcheinander in etwas Ruhigeres.

Schon bald begann auch xiers Atem wieder zu entspannen, was auch Fips zu bemerken schien. “Weißt du… Du musst mir nicht sagen, was los ist, aber wenn du mal reden willst…,” fing er an, immer noch etwas unsicher. Jedoch merkte Rhun, dass das Angebot vollkommen ehrlich gemeint war. Rhun hatte ihm zuvor mehrfach geholfen, von Aggression und Reizungen herunterzukommen, also wollte Fips nun sich offenbar revanchieren.

“Werde ich mir merken, danke,” gab Rhun ihm als Antwort, und xier konnte schwören ein leichtes Lächeln im Gesicht des Anderen zu sehen. Fips nickte und hob seinen Kopf wieder hoch. “Nur so als Vorwarnung, ich hab keine Ahnung, wie sehr ich als Psychologe tauge. Ich kann zwar viel hören, aber ob Hasen gute Therapeuten sind, bin ich mir nicht ganz sicher.”

Rhun musste leise kichern, was auch xiers Bruder dazu animierte zu grinsen. Mal kein genervtes Augenrollen zu bekommen, war etwas, an das sich Fips gewöhnen könnte. “Ach, das ist schon okay.”

Wenige Momente später, als wieder Stille einkehrte, musste Rhun sich die Nase hochziehen, als Nachwirkung des Weinens. Dieses Geräusch weckte allerdings einen weiteren von xiers Brüdern. Die beiden sitzenden Brüder beobachteten wie Zeke sich langsam aufsetzte im Bett und eine Hand über die Augen rieb.

“Klaus, hast du schon wieder Albträume?” fragte Zeke, halb genuschelt, und schaute zu dem Ältesten der fünf, der jedoch friedlich am Schlafen war. Verdutzt schaute sich Zeke im Raum um, versuchte den Ursprung des Geräusches zu finden und schaute stutzig auf die zwei die vor dem Bett saßen und gerade zurückschauten.

Schnell fiel auf, dass Rhun derjenige mit leicht geröteten Augen und Nase war, und sogar xiers Wangen glänzten leicht mit dem Überbleibsel einzelner Tränenspuren.

“Rhun…?” fragte Zeke ungläubig. Der Fakt, dass es Rhun war und nicht Fips, welcher emotional geworden war, schien echt eine Überraschung zu sein. Naja, es war schließlich mal eine Abwechslung von anderen nächtlichen Szenarien. Immernoch etwas verblüfft wandte sich Zeke zu dem jüngsten, der sich nicht von seinem Platz neben Rhun bewegte und sich fast schon unter dem strengen Blick zusammenkauerte.

“Hase?” Auf einmal war Zekes Stimme fern von besorgt, stattdessen angespannt und wütend. “Ich schwöre dir bei allem was dir heilig ist, wenn du xier auch nur im entferntesten-”

“Zeke, stopp," unterbrach Rhun, bevor es eskalieren konnte. Zeke war immer schon beschützerisch xier gegenüber gewesen, und hasste es, Rhun traurig oder verletzt zu sehen, wodurch Zeke auch selten zurückwich davon, dem Verantwortlichen mal ordentlich die Meinung zu geigen. Vorallem wenn es sich auch nur im Entferntesten um Fips handelte.

Zeke saß bereits am Ende des Bettes, ließ die eigenen Finger knacken und war im Inbegriff aufzuspringen und auf Fips loszugehen, welcher unter Schock zurückwich.

“Lass ihn in Ruhe,” nahm Rhun den Jüngsten in Schutz, und glücklicherweise war xiers Stimme inzwischen wieder autoritär genug, um Zeke innehalten zu lassen.

“Aber wenn er-”

“Hat er nicht. Es ist alles okay.”

Zeke sackte in sich zusammen und verkreuzte die Arme, eine Augenbraue war zwar noch gehoben, jedoch kamen keine weiteren Gegenargumente mehr. Nach einigen Momenten der Stille in denen Zeke scheinbar einen inneren Konflikt mit sich selbst austrug, kletterte Zeke über das Fußende des Bettes und gesellte sich zu den anderen zwei. Instinktiv setzte sich Zeke auf Rhun's andere Seite und hielt xiers Arm fest, fast gewillt xier von Fips wegzuziehen, allerdings nicht interessiert an einem möglichen Streit. Zumindest nicht mit Rhun.

"Sicher, dass alles okay ist?” fragte Zeke, immer noch leicht besorgt.

“Mach dir keine Sorgen um mich.”

Zwar waren Rhun's Sorgen nicht vollkommen gelindert oder verpufft, allerdings war xier auch nicht mehr danach zu weinen und Trübsal zu blasen. Die Anwesenheit und zumindest der Versuch des Aufmunterns hatten deutliche Auswirkungen auf Rhun, aus welchem Grund auch immer. Gemeinsam Zeit zu verbringen wirkte beruhigend auf xier, und so gern Rhun auch Zeit allein verbrachte, desto verrückter konnten xiers Gedanken werden.

In der Stille konnte xier sich zwar am Besten konzentrieren und logischen Denken, aber zu lange ohne Ablenkung gab es viel zu viel zum Nachdenken was definitiv nicht logisch und ruhig war.

“Bist du sicher?” meldete sich Fips erneut, seine großen Augen, die sich inzwischen an die Dunkelheit gewöhnt hatten, trauten sich kaum in Zekes Richtung zu schauen, und fokussieren sich stattdessen auf die wenigen Dekorationen auf der Wand ihnen gegenüber.

“Ich bin mir sicher,” bestätigte Rhun und brachte eine von xiers Händen auf seinen Arm um Fips zu beschwichtigen.

Als Rhun wieder aufschaute, trafen xiers Augen direkt auf Klaus’. Keiner von ihnen hatte bemerkt, dass die schlafenden zwei inzwischen ebenfalls aufgewacht waren, und während Eos nur schweigend zusah musste Klaus gähnen, sichtlich träge von Müdigkeit. Als er jedoch realisierte was dort vor ihm vor sich ging, hielt er inne.

“Was geht denn bei euch drei ab? Alles klar bei euch?” fragte er, sichtlich verwundert, dass Zeke und Fips sich nicht in den Haaren hatten.

Zeke winkte schnell ab. “Jo, alles klar soweit.”

“Dann kommt wieder ins Bett. Es ist mitten in der Nacht,” forderte Klaus sie auf, rutschte sogar etwas zur Seite, um ihnen den benötigten Platz zu verschaffen. Nach kurzem Zögern stand Fips langsam vom kalten Boden auf und bot Rhun und sogar Zeke seine Hände an, um ebenfalls aufzustehen. Rhun nahm sie, Zeke starrte ihn zwar kurz ungläubig an, willigte aber kurzerhand ein und sprang rasch mit seiner Hilfe auf.

Auf dem Weg zurück zum Bett gähnte Zeke, streckte den Rücken und ließ sich schließlich rückwärts auf die Matratze neben Eos fallen. Rhun und Fips gesellten sich zu ihm, jedoch langsamer und vorsichtiger. Rhun endete in der Mitte der fünf, Zeke mit einem Arm um xiers und einen um Eos’ Schulter, Fips traute sich zwar nicht Rhun zu umarmen, lag aber extrem nah an xier, und Klaus legte selbst einen Arm um Fips, um nicht ausgeschlossen zu werden.

“Gruppenkuscheln!” verkündigt Klaus, was Fips überraschte, fast mehr als dass Klaus halb auf ihm lag. “Ey! Erdrück mich halt gleich,” beschwerte er sich, was wiederum Zeke zum Lachen brachte.

“Ach Hase, nicht immer gleich so abweisend,” kommentierte Zeke und verwuschelte ihm die Haare, bevor Fips die Hand wegschlug. “Das sagst du nur so lang, bis der alte Sack auch auf dir liegt!” Klaus umarmte ihn als Antwort nur noch enger und grinste.

“Ist ja schön dass ihr zwei Spaß habt, aber ich und Rhun würden gerne weiterschlafen,” warf Eos ein. Rhun nickte, “Ich stimme zu.” “Na schön…,” gab Klaus nach.

“Gut. Dann schlaf schön,” sagte Zeke und bevor Rhun irgendetwas antworten konnte, wurden xiers Augen zugehalten und xier konnte das eigene, leise Lachen nicht unterdrücken. Rhun kicherte und versuchte halbherzig, Zeke wegzudrücken, allerdings ohne Erfolg, weshalb xier nachgab und einfach versuchte sich zu entspannen.

“Mhm, dir auch gute Nacht.”

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itsjaywalkers · 1 year ago

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i will take the sun in my mouth

jegulus | explicit | 33k | for my beloved @imdamagecontrol <3

Regulus is nothing if not a liar. And a really damn good one at that. Or he tries to be, at least. You see, making mistake after mistake isn't as easy if you don't have a certain amount of delusion. How do you think he manages to stay on that stupid branch until it breaks each time? Of course, it doesn't really work with Sirius, because his brother has always been able to see right through him. And as luck would have it, James Potter also appears to be somewhat of an exception.

#hello again #back with this au yes #what can i say they have me in a chokehold #this was supposed to be done a while ago #but work became busy #and as u can see . this turned out to be a lot longer than planned #it's also filthier than last part #as always!! mind the tags!!#hope u enjoy mwah <333 #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #sirius black #remus lupin #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus smut #fic: i will take the sun in my mouth

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sickficideas · 3 months ago

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gotta hear me out || sick Akutagawa w/ caretaker Atsushi - chapter 3 of ??

ao3! 4.8/15k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 30: past prompt (2022, day 27: sleepless night)

Atsushi can't ignore the lump in his throat. He almost wonders if he's nauseous himself now, but he's pretty certain it's just some weird, anxious feeling that he can't push down.

Is it because he's worried about Akutagawa? Is it the lingering concerns over his lung illness, or a worry that he'll need to be hospitalized? He doesn't know. Maybe it's everything.

He manages to get Akutagawa back to bed after a half hour or so of him laying on the bathroom floor, almost half asleep. He didn't say a word, didn't complain of the taste or tell Atsushi to leave. Atsushi wonders if he's avoiding speaking to quell the nausea, although he's not sure that would work in this situation.

Atsushi finally manages to get a temperature on him, too. He doesn't make him move, he just slides the thermometer under his tongue with little to no reaction from Akutagawa, and it beeps after a few seconds. A hundred and one point one. Not as bad as he was thinking.

“Still nauseous?” Atsushi asks him as he sits down on the bed, the opposite side from where Akutagawa is laying. He's still staring at the ceiling, miraculously still awake despite how exhausted he appears to be.

“It's just - cramping, right now,” he groans quietly, shifting slightly in his discomfort, eyes screwing shut as the cramps roll through his stomach. He imagines that's because there's nothing left in there for him to throw up, and his stomach is finding other ways to retaliate, but he's hoping the medication will kick in sooner rather than later.

The thunder is getting worse.

Atsushi sees Akutagawa flinch at the sound of it again, and this time he's sure it's a result of the thunder. He's never seen him react at all to loud noises, so this seems out of character for him, but maybe it's just because he's too exhausted to fight it.

Atsushi lays down on the other side of Akutagawa’s bed, with no complaints from the latter. He doesn't want to leave him yet, not until he falls asleep, and he's sure that his nausea is better. At least he knows his fever isn't dangerously high, despite how warm his skin feels and how pink his cheeks are.

He's quiet for a while, trying to ignore the rain, the thunder. He's sure it's not nearly as loud for Akutagawa as it is for him, and Atsushi can usually tune it out, but the silence that he's faced with between the two of them forces him to face the noise.

“Are you scared of thunder?” Atsushi asks him. It slips out when he sees him shiver again. He's not really sure if that's something he should ask out loud, but he stands by it in the end. It's just an innocent question.

“Don't ridicule me,” Akutagawa mumbles quietly, not raising his voice above a whisper, even in the slightest.

“I'm not,” Atsushi tells him, “I am too.”

Akutagawa turns his head just a little to look at him, with an expression Atsushi can't quite place. It's almost like he wants to say something back. Something of understanding, something meaningful maybe, but he turns his head away too quickly for Atsushi to figure him out.

“Of course you are. You're a coward,” Akutagawa huffs out, almost under his breath.

“Always gotta find a way to put it back on me, huh?” Atsushi says to himself, very aware Akutagawa can certainly hear him. “You know you're calling yourself a coward too, then.”

He doesn't have anything to say about that. Atsushi doesn't know if he was aware of that already or not.

They're quiet again, and it's raining a little less, enough that Atsushi can hear Akutagawa’s breathing. It's never sounded good or normal to him, but now it's uneven, a sign he's still in pain. Every now and the he holds his breath, presumably to try to will away the pain from his stomach cramping, but he's not tensing up as much anymore. That's good.

“The cell they kept me in sometimes had this…gated window at the top,” Atsushi starts, sharing the memory with Akutagawa as it comes back to him. Akutagawa doesn't move his head. “I hated thunder, and…it was so clear there when it stormed. It echoed. And it rained in through the window. I had to post myself up in a corner so that I wouldn't get soaked, but…that never lasted long.”

Akutagawa doesn't say anything at first, but Atsushi can tell he's listening. He keeps his gaze forward and at the ceiling.

“That was a punishment,” Akutagawa says, realizing it without Atsushi saying it out loud.

“I think so. Looking back on it,” Atsushi says quietly.

“You're not afraid,” Akutagawa tells him. “It's just the association.”

“Yeah…yeah, maybe you're right,” Atsushi agrees with a quiet sigh. He hadn't thought about it that way before.

“Maybe we are the same, then.”

Atsushi's surprised to hear him say that.

Their conversation seems to end there. Atsushi was hoping he'd be able to get Akutagawa to open up some, but in the end, all he learned was that Akutagawa's fear is just a negative association too. He wonders from what, or where, when - Akutagawa surely wouldn't tell him, but maybe one day, one conversation, they'll get there.

Akutagawa turns over on his side after a while with a quiet, pained groan. He's been okay for the past half hour, at least. Atsushi doesn't think his nausea has gone away completely, but it's definitely not as bad right now.

“Do you think you feel okay?” Atsushi asks, sitting up from where he was in the bed as Akutagawa pulls to covers over his shoulder.

“I'll be fine,” Akutagawa insists. That's no answer to how he's feeling right now, and really, it means nothing at all - but at least his fever isn't terrible, and he's not actively in pain from his stomach. Atsushi hopes this is all a good sign. Maybe he's getting better, and he can actually feel good.

“I'll be in your living room, then,” Atsushi tells him, sliding off of the bed. Akutagawa doesn't reply or make any indication that he's heard him, but Atsushi decides he'll keep the bedroom door cracked open, just in case he gets sick again.

Atsushi lays down on the couch and stares at the ceiling.

There's a particularly loud crash of thunder then and there and he flinches so hard that he almost falls off. He groans to himself, taking a pillow and using it to cover his ears. He won't be able to sleep like this. He wonders if Akutagawa will be able to.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He realizes he hasn't checked in with Dazai yet, and that's probably him now. This is typically the time of night where he gets bored and starts bothering everyone who's still awake.

He's surprised to see that Dazai's followed up, really, but the wording of his question embarrasses him. His cheeks heat up, realizing he's stayed the night at Akutagawa’s place and not told anyone at the Agency. And of course, Dazai is the only one who knows.

Atsushi's holding his breath, sending those texts. He's always going to be too anxious about getting in trouble, even though Dazai's never been the type to reprimand him over things.

Atsushi sighs. Good on Dazai for taking care of that for him. Kyoka worries about him a lot, he would hate to have disappeared on her without a word. He's sure Dazai fed her some excuse for Atsushi's absence, but he's not sure Kyoka would believe it.

Atsushi sighs to himself. Where does he even begin?

Dazai's suspicions were confirmed, Akutagawa is in fact, not well - he's very sick, actually. He tries to line up everything in his head. Fever, but not horribly high. Headache. Sensitivity to light and sound. Vomiting, of course, and unbearable nausea that makes him gag and retch regardless of how little is left in his stomach. Pretty bad stomach pain. He's coughing, too, but it's hard to say if that's worse or the same he normally deals with from his illness, but it definitely doesn't sound good. He fainted, too, and Atsushi has no idea why exactly, but there's several factors contributing to that. He hasn't eaten in three days, so it's been at least that long since he got sick.

It's probably a stomach flu. He needs IV fluids for sure. Some sort of injectable medication for his nausea would help him be able to eat something. He needs a doctor. Atsushi has reached the end of the line for what he can do here, but Akutagawa is a wanted criminal. He can't take him anywhere without him being arrested.

And he wonders if he should even care about that. Akutagawa is a criminal. He’s killed people. Just because he hasn’t since he made his promise doesn’t mean he’s absolved from that.

But for some reason, Atsushi doesn’t even consider it an option.

He's sure Dazai would know what do to, but should he involve him?

He decides to sneak into a little coat closet right at the front door of Akutagawa’s place, so that his voice won’t wake him, and calls Dazai before waiting for a reply. He couches down in the curner of the tiny closet, not much bigger than the closet he sleeps in, the coats hanging above draping over him. He imagines Akutagawa would find this sight ridiculous.

It rings a few times, and for a moment he worries Dazai won’t pick up, but he seems to change his mind at the last second.

“Atsushiii. Bad time. I'm super busy,” Dazai tells him with a little sigh.

Atsushi considers apologizing, except, it’s three in the morning. “What would you even be busy with?”

“I'm watching American reality TV. It's very important,” Dazai insists. He’s either teasing him or lightening the mood, sure, but Atsushi is too stressed about this situation to bite.

“What should I do if it gets worse?” Atsushi asks him, deciding to ignore the comment altogether. Dazai knows the mafia better than anyone. He's sure he could point him in the right direction as far as treatment goes, or at least get someone else in the picture here. Atsushi can only do so much.

“You said he's got a stomach flu? Throwing up?” Dazai asks.

“Yeah, but…it's a lot of things. He’s in a lot of pain, I think. And he passed out earlier. And he's not just throwing up either, he can't keep anything down. He won't try any medicine. Or water,” Atsushi sighs to himself, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his voice quiet, “and he's got this deep wound on his shoulder too. Definitely infected.”

Dazai just sighs, pausing before he continues their conversion. “It's never just one thing with him. And his sister isn't home?”

“No, he said she's been gone for a while working,” Atsushi says. Atsushi has only met her one time. He doesn’t have any idea of how close they are, he just knows they live together.

“The Port Mafia has an infirmary he could go to,” Dazai says, sounding exasperated this time, “and he knows that. I'd say take him, but he won't let you do that and you can't enter the building anyway. You might be better off just dropping him at an extraction point.”

Atsushi bites his lip. “I don’t…I don’t think I can do that, Dazai.”

Dazai’s quiet for a second. “I’ll see what I can do. Just give me some time to figure it out, there’s not a lot of people I can call at three in the morning.”

“Okay…yeah, that makes sense,” Atsushi says, pulling his knees into his chest, hoping that something can get figured out sooner rather than later.

“I'm gonna get back to my very important thing now,” Dazai announces. “I'll let you know if anyone bites.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he says, and he hears Dazai start a goodbye, but Atsushi can't get Akutagawa’s earlier words out of his head. His claims that Dazai doesn't care about him, beyond his ability.

Is that true?

“Dazai?” he starts, just before Dazai hangs up, he thinks, blurting it out without thinking it through.

“Yes?�� Dazai replies curiously.

Atsushi isn't even sure how he would word the question. Even if he was, he couldn't guarantee any honesty on Dazai's part. Dazai is always so cryptic and mysterious with his wording, intentionally or not, it's doubtful Atsushi would get a straight answer out of him, even if he would tell the truth.

Why does he want to know? Is it just to dispel his own discomfort about the idea that Dazai only views Akutagawa as a tool?

Atsushi has never felt that Dazai feels that way towards himself, so it's jarring to hear that from another person, but Dazai has never given him any reason to believe the thinks any differently of Akutagawa than what he described.

He bites his lip.

“Nothing,” he says, deciding that in the end, it isn't worth it. He doesn't know a thing about their relationship, really, beyond their connection in the Port Mafia.

He doesn't want it to stay a mystery, but it's not his place to pry.

“Night night, Atsushi,” he tells him.

“Good night,” Atsushi says back, defeated, and the line goes dead.

So now, he's sitting by himself in Akutagawa’s coat closet, stuck with his own over-complicated thoughts about all of this. He’s not sure how to feel, what to think, but he realizes in the end, this is between Dazai and Akutagawa. Atsushi has barely known either of them for a few months, whereas the two of them have much more history, things Atsushi doesn’t even know the first thing about.

He isn’t sure how much time passes at first. He’s just sat in the corner of the closet, knees at his chest for a while, trying to sort through all the information in his head, before he decides it’s giving him a headache to keep thinking about it, especially with the minimal sleep he’s had.

All of the thoughts quickly dissolve when he hears sounds he doesn’t recognize coming from Akutagawa’s room.

He scrambles to get out of the closet and run towards the bedroom, because whatever it is, it’s not good. It sounds like an altercation, which he feels like is nearly impossible. He would have heard if someone got inside.

There’s stab marks in the door, Atsushi realizes, because he reaches forward to turn the doorhandle. His heart drops into his stomach, but the answer comes quickly to him when he finds himself dodging shards of fabric slicing through the door.

He’s using Rashomon, but Atsushi doesn’t have any idea why he would be doing that. Maybe he realizes that Atsushi is at the door and he’s trying to get him to stay out, but Atsushi noticed the stab marks before he got there.

Atsushi manages to open the door without getting stabbed, thankfully.

Akutagawa is barely propped up over the side of the bed, retching into the bin on the floor, choking up thin stream of vomit that his stomach seems to be forcing up regardless of whether or not there's anything left. Atsushi feels horrible. He didn't seem to be this nauseous before he forced him to eat, and now he must feel a hundred times worse than before. The medication he took only helped him long enough to fall asleep, which is better than nothing, but now he’s cearly worse.

Atsushi just crawls into his bed next to him and rubs his back, because it's all he can do other than feel guilty. He doesn’t see any sign that he’ll attack him, at least not right now. Akutagawa gags a few times over the bin, not able to bring up much more than spit, but his stomach seems to be trying so hard to make him sick that he gags anyway. A little burp he manages brings a wad of spit and bile with it.

He groans quietly through his stomach rolling through one painful cramp after another. He imagines it hurts a lot more now with his stomach being so empty.

Atsushi wonders if he's not completely conscious right now, because he hasn’t reacted to his presence at all.

“Akutagawa, are you -”

Atsushi feels the fabric of Akutagawa’s sweater wrap around his throat, and another pierce through his shoulder.

It happens too quickly for him to react properly. He screams out from the pain and all he can do is slow down how quickly he's choking him by attempting to pull back the fabric with his transformed tiger arms.

“Akutagawa, it's - let…go - !” he manages to choke out. He doesn't understand at all where this is coming from. He's well aware Akutagawa doesn't want him here, but he's literally trying to kill him right now. Atsushi can't breathe.

In a last-ditch effort, Atsushi throws himself forward, arms stretched out either the intention of throwing Akutagawa off of the bed, and it works. He loses his balance and his focus, the fabric coming loose, and Atsushi nearly chokes when he can finally breathe again.

It's a really strange use of his ability. He thinks if he wanted to knock Atsushi out, he would throw him against the wall, stab him somewhere vital, and not slowly choke him out like he was just doing. It makes him think it wasn’t intentional, or even, that it was amature.

“You can't do that,” Atsushi tells him desperately, scrambling to get off the the bed at his side, his tiger appearance still maintained. His shoulder screams from the pain of being stabbed. Atsushi’s never had a good pain tolerance, and he’s thankful to be able to heal himself with some time, but it’s still unbelievably painful.

Akuatagwa’s on his side, trying to get himself off of the ground, breathing heavy and coughing over the floor. His eyes are wild, he’s covered in sweat and he looks a thousand times worse than before.

“Are you - are you hurt?” Atsushi asks, concerned that he’s pulled a muscle of dislocated something because he’s stiff and can’t sit himself up properly, but the sound of Atsushi’s voice sets something off in him and the fabric from his sweater shoots over at Atsushi, followed by a look of terror on Akuatgawa’s face that he’s never, ever seen before. His wide, fearful eyes against his ghostly pale face are almost painful to look at.

This time, Atsushi was prepared to be attacked, and he pins Akutagawa back down to the ground, his tiger arms against both of Akuatgawa’s upper arms. Akutagawa barely tries to struggle against him, but he doesn’t need to, Rashomon simply starts to wrap itself around Atsushi’s neck again, his chest, and drilling another hole into the arm on the same side of his injured shoulder.

“Akutagawa - stop! It’s me, dammit - !” he cries out, trying desperately to ignore the pain he’s causing him through grit teeth, but he doesn’t loose the gaze he has locked with Akutagawa. He doesn’t know what’s going on with him, but something’s not right with his eyes. Atsushi doesn’t think he’s all there right now.

“Let go,” Atsushi begs, trying not to choke with how his throat is being squeezed, “please, I’m just - I just want to help you.”

“Where…” he breathes out, sounding like he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to speak properly but still trying to sound angry “where is she?”

“What?” Atsushi starts, feeling the grip around his neck loosen up just enough for him to be able to breathe and speak, but he stays fully aware that Akutagawa can simply decapitate him at any time. “Where is who?”

“My sister,” he manages, and any sign of anger had completely melted into fear. “She’s - she’s gone.”

What is he talking about?

Atsushi hasn't seen him with a cell phone this entire time, there's no way he suddenly received information that way. And what does he mean gone? She's not dead, is she? There’s no way.

“Hey - Akutagawa, hey,” Atsushi says, his tiger paws melting away and leaving just his hands gripping Akutagawa’s shoulders and keeping him pinned against the ground. He tries to steer clear of where he knows that injury is. He's shaking. Atsushi can't tell if it's because he feels cold or he's afraid, but his skin is burning, he can feel that much easier now with just his hands.. His fever's up. “What do you mean?”

“I can't…I don't know where she is,” he tells her, his voice quiet. “It's been days.”

“You said she was out working, remember?” Atsushi tells him, but that only leaves Akutagawa looking more confused. That doesn't make sense. Akutagawa is the one who told him that she was working. He didn't seem bothered at all by the fact that he hasn't heard from her, so Atsushi assumed it was a regular thing. Why is he so worried all of a sudden?

Akutagawa's eyes are wild. Atsushi can't process everything he's seeing. He's worried, confused, scared, Atsushi's never once seen him act like this, he's almost mirroring his emotions. But he can't when Akutagawa feels this way.

He looks like a child, almost.

“You know she can fend for herself, don't you? I've seen her hold her own. She's pretty good,” Atsushi tries to convince him. He’s only ever seen Gin a handful of times, but he knows she’s a very skilled assassin. He’s not sure where all of this worry suddenly came from. He doesn’t know much abou their relationship at all, but Akutagawa doesn’t seem like the type to worry this much about anyone.

The eyes he's staring into don't look like Akutagawa's eyes. They're brighter, but full of fear, confusion.

He thinks he might be reliving an old memory through a nightmare. Atsushi's done it before. Poor Kyoka is always subjected to it, but he never imagined that Akutagawa suffers from this sort of thing, too. He always sounds so put together when he's talking about his past, like he has it all figured out.

Atsushi realizes that he doesn't really know the first thing about what Akutagawa went through.

“Come on, I’m gonna help you back to your bed,” Atsushi tells him quietly.

The blood from the open wounds drips onto the floor and Akutagawa’s arm. He watches his eyes follow the drip up to where he’s currently causing the injury, and as soon as he notices it, he releases his ability completely. Atsushi doesn’t waste any time, he shifts himself to be able to scoop Akutagawa up off of the floor without much incident, to lay him back on his bed, but he sits himself up and scoots away from Atsushi, still not entirely convinced he’s safe, it seems.

Atsushi doesn’t know what to do. Kyoka usually comes out of her episodes of this fairly quickly, but she also isn’t prone to attempting to kill Atsushi. Akutagawa is.

“I think you had a bad dream,” Atsushi says to him, sitting at the edge of the bed, only a foot or so away from Akutagawa. He isn’t very happy about that, his eyes darting around at each muscle of Atsushi’s the moves like he’s fully expecting him to launch forward and attack him. He’s holding his breath.

Atsushi scoots himself onto the bed so that he’s sitting across from him, and the movement makes the injuries of his shoulder sting, healing slower than usual because of how little sleep he’s had. He hisses through his teeth, trying to not make it too obvious, but Akutagawa catches on.

Akutagawa’s eyes are fixed on the blood staining Atsushi’s shirt, and the red is slowing down as the wound slowly starts to close.

“It’s fine,” Atsushi tells him, laying a hand over the spot on his shoulder, which definitely feels worse, “I can heal myself, remember? I’m more worried about you.”

Akutagawa drops his gaze a little, his attention turning away from him, anything other than Atsushi. Atsushi doesn’t think he can leave him alone again. He’s worried about his safety. He doesn’t know if he thinks someone’s after him or what’s going on there, but he can’t be by himself right now.

He moves closer, trying to test the waters and make sure Akutagawa trusts him enough right now to be near him. He doesn’t know if he doesn’t recognize him, but he know he wouldn’t hurt Atsushi if he’s okay enough to trust him.

He’s only inches away from him, and Akutagawa’s eyes are wide with confusion, but he doesn’t back up, and doesn’t try attacking him again. It’s a good sign, and Atsushi can’t afford to lose that progress.

“Hey,” Atsushi murmurs, without thinking, laying his forehead against Akutagawa’s and gently placing a hand on his cheek.

To his shock, Akutagawa does not immediately decapitate him.

“You're safe, okay? And, I don't know where your sister is, but I know she's safe too.”

His eyes are shining with tears, hardly able to breathe properly with how he's worked himself up, confused but comforted by Atsushi's words. Atsushi’s really worried about how hot his skin is, and he’s fairly certain his fever going up had played a huge role in what’s just happened with him.

But they’re making progress, at least.

“You think you can lay back down?” Atsushi asks. He needs him to calm down, rest, not feel so worked up.

Akutagawa just nods, letting Atsushi guide him back down. He’s curled tight in on himself, still not a hundred percent trusting but better than nothing. Atsushi rests a hand against his cheek, hoping maybe it was just the angle that made his skin feel so hot, but it really is that way. He moves it to his forehead to double check, but it doesn’t change.

Atsushi needs to get something to help his fever go down. A washcloth or something, at least for some relief. He must feel miserable like this.

So he slides himself off of the bed, but he feels something pull on his sleeve before he manages to stand up. He thinks he’s caught it on something, but when he turns his head, he realizes it’s Akutagawa.

“Don't leave,” he begs, his grip on Atsushi's sleeve so weak it hardly holds. His eyes are bright from his fever against his red cheeks, and he doesn’t look so afraid anymore, but it’s still there. That look.

Atsushi feels like his heart is being squeezed. He's never, ever seen him like this before. He almost seems like a completely different person.

“I just wanna get you something cold for your forehead,” he tells him. “You're really hot.”

“Please…come back,” he breathes out quietly, his eyes falling shut, and his grip loosening completely.

“I will. Promise, okay?” Atsushi tells him, biting the inside of his lip.

He’s fast. He takes a bowl from his kitchen and fills it with cold water, with a washcloth or two to rotate on his forehead and keep him cool. He’s faced with the dozen stab marks in the door and decides he’ll need to address that later.

Atsushi leaves the washcloths and water on the nightstand, because Akutagawa is curled onto his side and shaking, not close enough for Atsushi to reach him.

Atsushi climbs into the bed beside him, a hand on his shoulder, not sure if he’s cold or if this is something else, but he doesn’t attack him, not even attempt. He's still breathing really hard, almost panicking but not quite.

“Hey,” Atsushi tells him, worried he’s about to be faced with a similar situation, but Akutagawa doesn’t move to hurt him, his arms just tighten around the pillow in his arms.

He coughs and dry heaves a few times, unproductively. Nothing comes up but the saliva that pools in his mouth. Atsushi moves to pick up the trash bin from the floor, expecting him to vomit again, but that seems to be the last of it right now, at least as far as productively vomiting goes.

Atsushi takes one of the cooled washcloths and wrings out the majority of the water. He lays a hand on his shoulder to try to get him to lay on his back, and surprisingly, he obeys. Atsushi’s gentle, careful, laying the washcloth over his forehead.

Akuatagwa shivers at first, but a few seconds in, he relaxes enough to close his eyes.

Atsushi thinks he’s got it under control, for now. Despite his blood soaked shirt, the splatters of blood on the corners of the bed sheets and the floor, the stab marks in Akutagawa’s door - those are things he can revisit.

He watches Akutagawa closely until he falls asleep. He won’t leave him this time.

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grimst4rs · 25 days ago

Note

Prompt if you want to do:

Sirius first tattoo, who will accompany him? Will go to a wiz artist or muggle?

Up to you dear

"Hey, mate." The bloke who was standing in front of him had bleached blonde hair and tanned skin. He wore ripped jeans, a loose shirt and a tie loosely hung around his neck. "Sit."

Sirius obliged, stretching his neck as he did. "Do I know you?"

The man looked at him for a few moments, then realisation seemed to dawn upon him. "Hell, yeah. Benjy Fenwick. You're that Black kid, aren't you? You were friends with that little rascal, Potter, weren't you?"

Sirius snorted. "Still am. You used to be in Ravenclaw."

"And the bloody Team Captain, while we're on it. Can't believe what a good player that kid was. Still on the team, then?" He asked, indicating Sirius to strip. Sirius pulled his shirt over his head. "What're we doing?"

"He's the Captain now," Sirius replied, rolling his shoulders and humming at the pleasant feeling. "I was thinking antlers, right under my neck."

"You know, usually, you come and check in for a design and, you know, usually, you don't get tattooed in a dingy shop on Knockturn Alley."

"I'd rather not have snuck out of my house in the middle of the night and taken the tube to here just for you to send me back home, thanks."

"It's better when you don't know what's coming, trust me. Speaking from experience. So, how old are you now?" He asked, working his way across Sirius' back.

"Turned sixteen about a month ago."

"How time has passed," Benjy said, clicking his tongue. "How's Hogwarts now that my mates and Thave graduated?"

"Essentially the same."

"You're so chatty," He tsked. He searched through his pocket, then gently grabbed a hold of Sirius hair. "If you want me to tattoo on your back, I'll have to put your hair up."

With a nod, Benjy rolled his hair into a loose knot, fingers brushing against Sirius’s neck as he secured it. He shivered slightly, but not from the chill in the shop—more from the unfamiliar sensation of someone else handling him so gently.

“Right, antlers, you said?” Benjy murmured, reaching for a thin stick of charcoal to sketch out the design first.

“Yeah, like…you know, a stag.”

“Is this some sort of inside joke?” He asked, (“Pretty much.”) as worked quickly, his fingers steady as he sketched the outline just below the nape of Sirius’s neck. The charcoal smudged slightly as he worked, tracing bold, branching antlers. Sirius shifted, wanting to take a glance, but Benjy steadied him.

“Hold still.”

“You’re quite pretentious for someone who works down Knockturn.”

Benjy snorted. “You’d be surprised how much easier it is to mess this up when someone’s moving. Besides, you’re lucky I’m even doing this tonight. This is not exactly where you want to get permanent ink, you know.”

“Well, not a lot of places are opened at this time of day, right?”

“What can I say, three in the morning’s not very popular.”

The sound of the needle starting up was louder, sharper, making his skin prickle.

“You sure about this?” Benjy asked one last time, the needle hovering just above his skin.

“Yeah. Do it.”

The needle piercing his skin brought, as a first reaction, a sucked in breath. He could feel Benjy’s hand pressing lightly against his back, steadying him as he worked, the hum of the needle filling the space that would have, otherwise, been quiet.

“You’re doing well. Breathe through it.”

Sirius closed his eyes, focusing on the grounding pressure of Benjy’s hand against him, the lines taking shape on his skin, although he could not see them just yet—something raw and real and entirely his. Something he’d chosen.

When Benjy finally shut off the needle and leaned back, looking pleased with himself. Sirius exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His skin felt raw, but there was a sense of satisfaction beneath it.

Benjy wiped down the tattoo. “Go on, take a look,” He said, his voice soft.

Sirius turned to the mirror. The antlers spread from the base of his neck, the black ink contrasting against his pale skin—slightly red and swollen, but perfect. The lines were sharp, the branching of the antlers carefully crafted, almost wild in the way they curved outward.

This was his. Chosen. A symbol of loyalty, of brotherhood. Of defiance.

“D’you like it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius answered, his voice a hum. “I do.”

“No regrets?”

“Not one. Thank you.”

“‘S what I do. Leave me a good review to your friends,” Benjy winked. “Right, so, aftercare. No soaking it in water for a few days. Keep it clean, no scratching, although it might itch. Might scab a bit—means it’s healing. And don’t let your mates hex you until it’s sorted, yeah?”

“I’m not the one getting hexed,” Sirius chuckled, shrugging on his shirt, the sensation of the fabric rubbing against the raw skin unusual. “Thanks, mate.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

As he met Benjy’s eyes in the mirror one last time, Sirius had the feeling that, in a sense, this moment had marked more than just his skin.

#this turned out longer than i originally planned but here you go! i hope you enjoy it!#(i made benjy the tattoo artist because in my modern au he does that too and basically introduced sirius to tattooing and is the reason he’#<- a tattoo artist it’s a whole story but whatevs)#anyways!#sirius black #benjy fenwick #my writing

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retro-stars · 3 months ago

Text

Honestly can someone please explain how New Rome functions to me like I'm five Because this is a demigod settlement with an economy that has all the standard commodities and financial systems of a city, a university, a school system, and if their general hesitation towards outsiders says anything, most likely an in-built program to welcome, settle, and accommodate the extended families of any new demigods or legacies, plus the literal vault of gold they have, so realistically the population is pretty big, no?? It's likely possible for them go unnoticed even with a big population considering how spread out most of the USA is and while we do know that New Rome almost definitely doesn't continue past the horizon when we hear descriptions of it from characters looking down from the Argo II as they land (so it's probably less than 36 km across in all) that's still a pretty fucking big area capable of housing upwards of 1.5 million people. Or hell, look up the actual Ancient Rome (the city that is) which is estimated to have had somewhere around ~500k residents at only about 16 square kilometres, by modern estimations And what makes this even harder is that the hand-wavy descriptions of what the architecture actually looks like beyond "classical" means that for all we know the entire city's living in 19th century apartment buildings (or hell, if the mist is strong enough, high-rises, though that's unlikely as one of the characters probably would've taken note of that), which creates a wildly different population estimate as opposed to, say, if New Rome was primarily made up of the average American suburbs. And mind you, both of those are entirely valid options for how New Rome could look like seeing as we have little to no way of knowing what the standard living situation and/or family unit might look like It gets more confusing when you consider that the 10-years-serving-the-legion rule likely functions like economic immigrants, with the serving of one person allowing for their family to come with and/or them getting rich enough to sponsor people getting in without heading through the army first We also know that they do not have a public transport system and don't use cars so New Rome would've been built with the idea that any necessities (medical, housing, etc.) are within a 15-30 minute walk of you and the city is constructed around the political centre, with any shopping/trading areas, shrines, or entertainment areas such as a theatre also being in the centre So all things considered they could totally have a population in the hundred thousands, though realistically since the city has to be at least 90% Roman legacies and demigods if we account for the mortals brought in through familial relation (spouses, parents/guardians of demigods, etc.) puts a cap of about 50,000 on the population and the actual number at around 20,000, give or take a few thousand

And then fucking Rick jumps in and goes "Oh the population is only like a 1000 people :D" and refuses to elaborate on how or why

#Sorry this turned out longer than planned #I'm just really upset about the inconsistency #Also do not get me started on the absolute bullshit that is the Roman Camp and it's lore/characterization as a whole I will start biting #Rant #Pjo #hoo #new rome #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #camp jupiter

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actual-changeling · 2 years ago

Text

ellie learns how to draw, and, if she might say so herself, gets pretty damn good at it, especially faces. it helps her ground herself to see happy memories physically stare back at her from her sketch book, her walls, the fridge, and wherever else joel puts up her drawings. he loves all of them, even the very first ones that aren't much more than vaguely human scribbles.

the first year in jackson is a pain, and she spends most of it holed up in their house, drawing, painting (she has no idea where joel gets all the paint from and he refuses to tell her), and once they make it through their first winter together, she feels comfortable enough to show them to other people, too. mostly tommy and maria, and in a weak moment she even gifts them a drawing she made of them and their baby.

she's over at their house a lot, it's a lot more lived in and settled than theirs but they're working on it, and notices some actual pictures, the kind you take with a camera, decorating the living room. it's obvious that they're prized possessions, framed and front and center on the walls. a handful of them show maria and what must have been her family before the outbreak, others are newer. jackson does have some cameras saved for special events, and there are two pictures of them on their wedding day, and even one from a few days after the baby was born.

she doesn't think much of it until their second summer in jackson when she notices the way joel stares at the baby pictures and realizes that all he has to remember sarah by is the broken watch on his wrist. the only tangible memory and it's one of pain and death.

ellie mulls over it a lot, it keeps her up at night and while joel picks up on it, he doesn't press the issue when she refuses to talk about it, though she assures him she's fine.

it takes her another two weeks after her realization to catch tommy alone one afternoon with joel safely away on patrol, oddly nervous and unsure how to phrase what she wants to ask. eventually she manages to explain her idea and the positively soft, distantly heartbroken look he gives her makes her breath catch in her throat.

do you think he would be okay with it?

i think he would love it, sweetheart.

they sit together for hours in his kitchen, ellie is determined to make it look exactly right and urges tommy to not hold back his criticism if something isn't accurate, and by the end, they have missed dinner and her wrist hurts like hell, fingers stained with pencil lead and color, but her chest is brimming with a warm sense of accomplishment.

tommy gives her a frame and she wraps it as well as she knows how to. he insists that she gives it to him alone, but ellie draws him into an uncharacteristically tight hug before she leaves and hides her smile in his chest when he presses a hesitant kiss to her hair. family, she realizes, is pretty damn great.

the waiting is the hardest part. she puts her gift on the coffee table and paces the living room for at least half an hour while she waits for joel to return from his patrol, switching between chewing her lips and biting her nails. by the time he finally walks through the door, she has almost convinced herself to abandon the whole thing and just pretend it never happened, but then joel's there, gaze immediately softening when he sees her, and suddenly she can't wait to give it to him. it's a pretty big frame and the best paper she owns, rivaling some of her larger paintings on actual canvas, and joel has to sit down to open it without running the risk of accidentally dropping it.

i hope you like it.

the quiet tremor in her voice makes him stop halfway through unwrapping it, but she just gestures for him to continue, rocking on her feet.

tommy helped.

when the last of the paper falls away and joel sees her work for the very first time, they both hold their breath at once, even the summer breeze stilling, air brimming with something neither of them have the words for.

joel is looking at a vibrant water color painting of sarah, face at a soft angle as she wonders at a small purple butterfly resting on her finger, hand raised in front of her, eyes and smile shining brighter than the sun, hair a shimmering cloud of brown and gold. a frozen moment in time, sarah forever fourteen, capturing the love ellie feels pouring out of joel whenever he talks about her, a wave of affection and distilled joy that makes her miss a person she has never known.

i thought you might want a happy memory of her to look at, too.

ellie points at his watch, broken glass fracturing the light falling in, hand shaking.

i hope it's okay that i- if you don't want it-

joel's arms are around her before she can finish, cutting off her stuttered attempts, frame safe on the table as he hugs her so tightly her feet lift off the floor and she clings to his neck, relief bringing air back to her lungs. he holds her with his face buried in her hair, and ellie only notices he is crying when she can feel a few stray tears run down her neck. when he sets her down again, eyes glassy even after he dries his cheeks, her knees buckle under his gaze. they're both bad with feelings, bad with words, love shown through touch and gestures, through don't forget to eat, i'll stay with you until you fall asleep, fresh cups of coffee left on his nightstand before she leaves for school, hands searching for each other in the crowd again and again and again, never letting go.

love brought to life by a painting of the daughter that taught him how to be a father, made by the one that helped him find his way back to the light.

thank you, ellie.

they both know it means i love you, too, sarah immortalized on their living room wall where the morning sun illuminates her face with every sunrise.

more rambles in the tags

#alex writes tlou #the last of us #tlou #joel and ellie #joel and sarah #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fluff #sarah miller #tommy miller #ellie and tommy #this got so much longer than i planned help this is like half a fic synopsis #this started out as ellie draws sarah for joel #and turned into whatever this is #so so so tempted to turn this into a full fic #but also listen listen i cannot draw i wish i could because i want to capture the image of that painting so desperately #blanket permission to everyone who wants to do that i will literally give you my first born #gonna sleep on the highway tonight this is killing me #this is an apology for the tommy's baby looks like sarah post #and a peace offering for all the angst to come in my fic #fr though im almost tempted to literally pay someone to draw this i am mentally ill #also ellie and tommy bonding as a bonus because i am still obsessed with that too #ellie is sarahs sister and while neither of them will every say it like that they both know its true #theyre just emotionally repressed its ok they communicate in their own way #anyway gonna try and not die now and actually get stuff done but also pls talk to me about them i am vibrating hard enough to shatter glass

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