#i fell back on my 'when in doubt draw a morgana' & i liked the sketch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charmergirl2468 · 5 years

Text

Akeshu (Selfshipping)- A Peaceful Sanctuary

HEADS UP: SPOILERS!!!!

This is just a small slice of this weird daydream where I’m in Akira’s body and go through the main game, except with my own persona being Atalanta! And mostly a fantasy of being able to talk Akechi down from the end game. Please enjoy this small sliver of insanity~

Walking into La Blanc was just like every other since I came here. The bell ringing from the front door, the smell of coffee swirling in the air, and Sakura’s greeting of “oh, you’re back”. There’s even that comfortable aura I’ve always headcanoned was permeating the place. It was a grounding place for me, seeing as most of this world is still a vast, confusing maze for me. Seriously, I bet none of the Lets players have tried to walk in the city without using the quick travel.

But the one thing that always disrupted the picture of Le Blanc that’s kept me sane is one Goro Akechi showing up randomly, just like today.

I have nothing against Akechi personally, despite my private nick name of him being Sketchy Akechi. But him showing up without a schedule, something I can keep track of and prepare for, makes it harder for me to be at ease with him. Especially considering what’s to come… I shouldn’t think about it now!

I was at least familiar with the time frame, where Akechi was getting scorn from the public eye for calling out the Phantom Theives. There’s at least that comfort in this crazy mess. But I’m not comfortable with how miserable Akechi is feeling, even if he doesn’t know I know. Something about Akechi finding solstice in Le Blanc felt like daja vu, but I couldn’t pin point what.

Still, just because I know what happens doesn’t mean I can’t be nice. I walk around the counter, putting the bag with Morgana by the stairs to slip into the attic, and pulled out a glazed chocolate chip scone from my secret stash. Akechi stared at me when I put it on a small plate and placed it in front of him. He made a move to grab his wallet, but I quickly stopped him.

“Woah woah woah!” I went, waving my hands side to side, “No need! It’s on the house. We can call it an active detectives discount”

“Oh…” he breathed, putting his wallet back and looking slightly shocked, “That’s very generous of you, but won’t Sakura-San get upset over you handing out product like that?”

“No need to worry, my dude. That delicious glazed scone with delectable chocolate chips is an Akira original from my own secret stash~”

So what if I’m showing off? He gets to be a detective from the cases he creates with the Metaverse, and is a conspirator with an attempted rapist. I’m allowed to let my old Anglophile phase shine through for a bit. ‘Sides, scones never hurt anyone.

“Amazing…” Akechi quietly gawked, taking the first bite. His eyes went wide open from the surprise deliciousness. At least, that’s what I’ll tell myself. “You made this yourself, Kurusu-San?”

“Not really, I mostly followed a recipe online and added chocolate chips and glaze. But I still loved playing with the dough and making this yum-tastic!”

I decided to sit next to him with a scone of my own, taking huge bites compared to his tiny ones. Seriously, who feeds this boy and is it enough? He looks normal but no human takes that tiny of bites. Than again, someone getting sucked into a game and becoming the protag, cis-gender and all, isn’t in the realm of normal either.

Akechi interrupted my train of thought with “Do you enjoy baking, Kurusu-San?”

“Oh, oh yeah!” I stuttered out, “Mostly stuff I hear about online or see on tv. There was one time I baked and frosted cookies at like 11 at night and made them look like different country flags!”

That story at least got a chuckle out of him, making me blush a little. Dammit, why does he have to be so evil and yet so hot!? I know I shouldn’t be attracted to him, all things considered, but something draws me to him. Like how flys will hang around any kind of sweet. Maybe I’m over thinking it.

Once his chuckle was over, his eyes returned to a saddened gaze at the counter. The whole world is ridiculing him, even though it’s part of his plan. No amount of mental fortitude or after school programs can prepare for all those angry, violent, hateful words. He reminds me of…

I put an arm near his, getting him to look at me. “Listen, from one dude to another, don’t worry about the people tweeting or whatever about hating you. They’re the kind of people who follow trends for the sake of trends and throw logic out the window. I’d bet my bottom dollar that they’ll find another sap to get pissy about once this blows over.”

His eyes looked glossy, like he was holding back tears. Maybe he was and I couldn’t tell.

“Honestly, if they’re going to judge you based on this incident alone and ignore the hard work you put in to being a damn detective at our age, they can fuck themselves with a cactus! Just because you were cautious of the Phantom Thieves doesn’t make you a monster. It means you were analytical and wanted to make a decision with all the facts! If they have an issue with that, they’re dumber than an anti-vaxxer!”

Akechi surprised me with something I’d never in a million years thought I’d get to see; he genuinely smiled at me. Not his fake polite smile, not his crazed hopped up smile, just a smile of relief and comfort.

“T-That was a surprising speech…” he muttered out, probably trying his damnest not to cry. “D-Do you speak from personal experience?”

I looked at the counter myself, thinking back to all the things people have said about me. I shake my head like it’s an etch-a-sketch and return my attention to Akechi.

“Maybe a little…” I answered quietly, stuffing my mouth with scone so he can’t ask me anymore questions.

Akechi returned to his fake smile and turned to Sojiro.

“I should be going” he said, moving out of his seat “Thank you for having me. The coffee was delicious! As was that scone~”

He walked out of the store without looking back.

Once I swallowed my scone I excused myself to the attic and sat on the futon with a sigh.

“Charm?” Morgana pipped up, “What the hell was all that? You sounded… experienced…”

I ran my fingers through my hair, the same stress tick I’ve had for years.

“Just stuff from the past back home. Nothing to worry about.” I excuse with a faint smile, “I’ve buried most of it anyways so it doesn’t bother me anymore”

“If you say so…”

I laid out on the makeshift bed and covered myself with a blanket, Morgana curling up near my feet. The attic wasn’t well insulated in the slightest but it’s livable with a fan and a space heater. Plus one cat warming my feet for free isn’t bad.

“Do you mind if I ask you something else?” Morgana questioned as we settled down.

“Go for it” I replied while glancing at my phone in case Yuki gives us a request.

“Why were you trying to comfort Akechi? People are being mean to him but he brought it on himself by trying to doubt us”

I stared at the ceiling for a second, phone hand resting on the mattress.

“Mostly because… he shouldn’t have this huge a back last to being cautious. He didn’t dance on graves or isn’t a racist asshole. He’s a teenager who didn’t know how we’re doing things and was very skeptical of that. He has every right to be wary of us, but people are treating him like he’s the devil incarnate. It’s not fair to him… he’s still a kid, like us…”

“I… I guess that makes sense” he admitted.

We really didn’t do much talking after that. I just stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep. I couldn’t remember much of my dream, but I do remember seeing a red crow chilling on the back of a grey wolf laying down.

#charm chatter #persona 5 spoilers #persona 5 #goro akechi #akira kusuru #self insert #selfshipping #akeshu #kinda?#charm art

7 notes · View notes

ask-yusukekitagawa-blog · 6 years

Text

shukita fic: “i wish i could just leave it all behind”

words: 3395

summary: "Yusuke was angry. No, so extremely maddened, possibly even insane with it. His mother had died at the hands of the person he still yearned to call father, even despite all that transpired. His tongue tasted bitterness, a strong bitterness brewed from black fury, but above all else, was disgust. Not with Madarame, but with himself."

It was still hard. Very, very hard. Madarame was gone, Yusuke knew that. But he didn't know how to really be free again, and he doubted he ever really even knew what it felt like. Akira, though, would never let him be so lost forever. (yusuke has many emotions and probably needs therapy, akira gets him to open up and its sad)

ao3 link

(i finally got around to postin this! it’s been in my files for months!! pls give me a read and tell me what u think!)

Yusuke wasn’t a big talker. To other people, that is.

He was his best conversation partner. He could hold countless arguments within his own head for as long as he wanted, and accompany himself in the solitude found in a large group. It was not like he particularly liked himself, but he didn’t mind being alone. Loneliness was not his issue, because he had himself, but also...only himself.

He saw Madarame on the TV screen, weeping like an abandoned child, curled up against the cold wood of the table. The crowd was in an uproar, and the shuttering cameras clicked obnoxiously, but his cries rose above it all. Flashes of light surrounded him like the strikes of angels, and was sent away into the sky, where Yusuke would never see him again. The twisted feeling he had in his chest was nearly indescribable in its pain. On the screen was his abuser, his prison guard, but somehow, still his father, and he hated it so, so much.

As the press conference quickly ended, Yusuke was left with so many emotions he could not capture and control. His mind focused only on how Madarame gave him his favorite meal for him on his birthdays, and how he purchased too many medicines for him when he fell ill, and Yusuke felt sick to his stomach. All he wanted was to curl up into a ball so small that no one would ever see him again.

He could bask in the delight that Ann, Ryuji, Morgana, and Akira gleamed with at Madarame’s downfall, and indeed a large part of him was full to the brim with joy and freedom. His heart ached with a new, raw sweetness. More than anything, he was drunk on delight at his life reborn. Yet, when he went to bed, he missed the same bed since he slept in as a child, and the house he grew up in. A large part of him still wanted to go back home (not that it ever really should’ve been a home). He could not act in this, this emotional way...

He slapped his white sketch pad open in front of him, and he held his pencil to the blank surface, waiting for the graphite to bloom at the tip, but there was nothing. A landscape—no, a blind contour—no, no, an observational drawing—no. No, his hand couldn’t even move. His brain was empty, and he drifted thoughtlessly into it, empty in consciousness. His vision blurred until he couldn’t see anything anymore.

Yusuke was angry. No, so extremely maddened, possibly even insane with it. His mother had died at the hands of the person he still yearned to call father, even despite all that transpired. His tongue tasted bitterness, a strong bitterness brewed from black fury, but above all else, was disgust. Not with Madarame, but with himself.

He remembered warm nights, but also frigid ones. Ones in which a bed was an off-limits privilege. Ones in which, at the peak of night, he wished that he was talentless, but have freedom. Ones in which he wanted to be anywhere but there, and somehow, he, he...

Sleep swallowed him up as he fell deeper into himself, and he drifted away, unfulfilled.

. . .

Yusuke didn’t bother texting back to most messages on the chat. They were mostly between Ryuji and Ann, including the occasional blip from Akira. His input was unnecessary, but he thankfully he didn’t forget to read the one regarding mementos.

“We shouldn’t let our guard down,” was what Akira said at the rooftop. He leaned against a desk, and he looked slim and tall. Yusuke fell in love with how fluid he appeared, even upon standing still. He wished he had brought his sketchbook with him. “Let’s go.”

Mementos was dark and pulsed with the breaths of shadows, wandering up the empty railways. It wasn’t Yusuke’s first time in it, and yet, he felt so swallowed up by the thick atmosphere. He felt like he was suffocating. It was probably the depth.

Yusuke’s body ached with lethargy on his strikes, and anxiety screamed at him to get it together. He felt eyes all over his back, and he didn’t know if it was from his friends or just the enemies. He wanted to shout when his last attack was almost enough to end the battle. He felt sapped of his usefulness.

Everything felt like it was eaten by white noise. No one was real, frankly. They all felt very, very far away, and they were gradually drifting farther into the tunnel. Maybe, they would leave, too, and Yusuke would no longer care.

“Fox!” Akira screamed. Another unexpected battle had jumped onto them. They were unfairly and foolishly surrounded, and they were getting beat into the ground. Akira reared back to withhold a fiercely placed attack, and dirt crawled up his heel. His entire body was trembling from the strenuous effort. Yusuke knew he had to do something, but his brain couldn’t think of anything, he couldn’t, his heart was crawling up into his throat until he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do it, he had—couldn’t—he, nothing— “Mabufula, Fox, now!”

Yusuke jolted, attention snapping back, and ice crystals shattered like fireworks against the shadows, and they exploded into cold dust. A knot in his chest tightened as he heard the thump of Akira hitting the floor. He whirled around, sprinting towards him, who laid limply.

“Joker!” Ann appeared by Akira’s side, and fretted as she gently cast diarama over his bruises. The magic shone a mild green over his wounds, and she cradled him gently as he caught his breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Joker said, voice tight, and sat up quickly. He didn’t seem severely damaged, just woozy. He met Yusuke’s eyes, and Yusuke froze. Ice pooled at the bottom of his feet and crawled into his veins. He had failed, and he was going to pay for it. He wanted to apologize, wanted to say something, but his nerves had closed up around his lungs. He could barely breathe.

“Fox.” Akira’s voice was much softer than he had imagined. It broke the tight string knotted in his chest, and Yusuke exhaled. He didn’t look upset, just slightly scuffed up. His eyes were kind. Even so, his stomach ached nervously, and he wanted to shut off all of his senses. He didn’t deserve such an apologetic smile. “Could you do support today? That will be easier.”

“Of course,” Yusuke said quickly, and then he sped to the back of the group, shame blooming like thorns of a rose in his chest. He drilled his eyes into the floor, and made sure not to say anything. He was being a burden on them. He had one job for them, and he couldn’t even get that right.

Akira was right, as usual. Battles processed much more smoothly, and there were no hiccups in their offense. He hated to say it, but there was a noticeable difference with him off the front lines. If it was just him and Akira, Akira may have died right there. It was a horrible thought.

Yusuke stayed quiet, and drifted away. He wasn’t of any use to them, and it wasn’t his place to declare it anyways.

. . .

“Excellent work today, everyone.” Everyone cheered tiredly as they materialized back into their own world, and Yusuke, too, had never been happier to see their starless night sky. Akira gave them all an affirmative nod, praising them for their hard work. “Get some rest. We won’t have to head in again for a while. You guys were tough today.”

The entire party had leaked out the door of Leblanc. They regrouped back at base to eat a quick dinner before departing, as a sort of reward for their efforts. It was also a Saturday night, leaving the night limitless without school the next day. Yusuke was slow in his walk out, head heavy with thoughts. He didn’t feel better than he did before. On the contrary, he still felt like garbage, or as he would prefer to put it, like an unfinished bowl of miso soup left cold. As he opened the door, a hand grasped his shoulder. He gasped and reversed, meeting Akira’s face head on. He jolted back, but not far.

“Yusuke.” Akira’s voice was still soft, but yet, Yusuke was still scared. Madarame had been so soft-spoken, but at the end of the day, he hit harder. “Can I talk with you for a quick second before you go? You’re fine, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he clarified, and Yusuke felt a twinge of embarrassment. Akira must have seen the tight coil of anxiety right on his face. “I just...want to ask you about something.”

“Y-Yes,” Yusuke complied.

They sat at an empty booth, and Yusuke would’ve been picking at the sides of his fingernails if he weren’t so numb. Akira was silent for a minute, as if he was trying to pick the right words. Yusuke knew he said he was fine, that he hadn’t messed up, but yet, he was still steeling himself for an onslaught of pain. It was just like how it was with Madarame, he would just have to breathe evenly, and he would be fine. Fine.

“Are you okay?” Akira finally said.

It felt like a winded up punch right against his chest.

He wasn’t expecting such that sort of sincerity, and that’s all it took for Akira to break his façade. Yusuke really was weak, after all. Hot shame melted inside of him. Under the table, he clasped his hands as tightly as he could. Akira’s expression remained unchanged, save for the bite on his lip.

“I’m sorry. Let me rephrase.” His eyes kept Yusuke’s attention in place, who felt rather fidgety all of a sudden. “You’re not okay, and, if you would...please talk to me about it.”

“...” Yusuke almost let his mouth hang open.

That really was not what he was expecting at all. How could Akira sound so okay with it? If anything, he felt angry at himself for being so transparent the whole day. It wasn’t good for morale, and clearly effective in battle. He was better than this. He could do better than this.

“I’m fine,” Yusuke said. He tried to sound convincing.

“Stop, please,” Akira argued. It didn’t work. “Yusuke, I’ll be plain. You were completely different today, and in battle, it was even more obvious.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Yusuke said quickly, shameful heat crawling up his neck. He couldn’t even look at Akira anymore.

“No, Yusuke.” Akira was gentle, and again, again, Yusuke was surprised. “I’m not here to berate you. And even if it happened again, we work through it, together.”

Yusuke couldn’t say anything to that. He felt stuck. Akira was a warm candle to his cold skin, and he didn’t know where it came from. No, that was a lie. He knew its origins. Akira was naturally and beautifully kind. It was just...why?

“I’m not trying to make you tell me anything, but next time, tell me if you don’t feel well, physically or mentally.” Akira leaned in across the table, elbows squeaking against the surface. It made Yusuke look up, and at that point, there was nowhere else for Yusuke to stare. “Especially since you don’t eat a lot, too. I don’t want you to get hurt when we fight. Just promise me you’ll tell me. Please.”

Unwillingly, Yusuke was silent for a while.

“You’re—You’re genuinely not mad at me?” he said after an aching pause. His voice was very small.

“Mad?” Akira’s whole demeanor loosened. “Of course not. I’m just concerned for you. You’re my friend.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“That’s not true. Injured a bit, maybe. But that would never happen, at the very least not in mementos.”

“You should be more mad at me,” Yusuke whispered, throat tight, but Akira did not yield. He settled back into his seat, surveying him with a puzzling stare.

“I’m your leader, sure, but I’m your friend, too.” Akira smiled softly. “It’s not my place to yell at you, and you didn’t even doing anything. You’re apart of us now. Not just The Phantom Thieves, but of our group. Our friendship,” he clarified. “None of this is easy. The metaverse is difficult, but we tackle a lot of painful things, too. Emotional things. Our first palace showed that really well, and..We don’t want to leave you behind in this. I don’t want to. I want to be there for you, Yusuke. Always.”

Yusuke blinked, and then stared into Akira’s face. He felt completely still, but not like before. His body had gone rigid in shock. A breath of fresh air scorched his swollen lungs, and he felt his chest swelling heavily. Hot tears filled up the edges of his eyes, and his eyes blurred out of focus, welling up. They trembled on the edge of his reddened eyelids, and clung desperately to the tips of his eyelashes. He finally blinked, and they dripped down his cheeks. Yusuke could not speak.

“Yusuke,” Akira murmured.

“I, I don’t,” Yusuke sucked in a breath, grinding his teeth together to shut himself up. “I’m—” He began coughing in his own attempt to stay quiet, and he felt like he was drowning. There was no saving this. “I’m sorry,” was all he was able to get out.

“Don’t apologize,” Akira soothed, and his voice came from right next to him. Yusuke looked up to his side and Akira was sitting right there, eyes empathetic and open. His eyes appeared a bit glossy, much like a wet streak of white paint. Yusuke blinked to make sure he wasn’t an illusion. Wet tears dripped out again, and he continued to stare in awe, until the emotions in his chest could no longer wait.

Yusuke wept.

He felt so ugly inside, so horrible. He hated the feelings that plagued him from sunrise to sundown, and all the dark hours between. Even sleep would not let him forget. His eyes stayed glued to his knees, and his chest heaved with enormous effort to stifle his cries. Then, he felt Akira’s arm over his shoulder, and he was tugged into his warm side. Almost immediately, the tears simply gushed out, like a shaken soda can. He cried, cried, and cried into Akira’s side until he felt it would be an impossible feat to produce to do more.

. . .

Wordlessly, Akira put a tissue box into Yusuke’s hands. The only sounds were Yusuke sniffling violently. Promptly, he blew his nose, and made a rude noise. He supposed, though, it was better than letting snot fall out of his nose.

“Better?” Akira asked. His arm was still tight around Yusuke’s back.

“Much so,” Yusuke said, and it was the truth. He gave a particularly ginormous blow from his nose, and the low rumble of Akira’s laugh reverberated into his side warmly. He left Yusuke collect himself and his hefty pile of used tissues. “...Tell me?” Akira prodded carefully.

“I don’t wish to burden you,” Yusuke said weakly. He was tired. It felt futile to argue, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You could never be a burden.”

Yusuke swallowed, and tried not to cry again.

“Alright.” He took in a slow breath, and he could feel Akira’s eyes firmly on him. “Ever since sensei—no, Madarame was put in jail, I’ve been constantly disturbed by thought after thought,” Yusuke started, words shaking. “I keep thinking about my past. About him. About my childhood.” He stared straight in front of him, eyes unfocused. “Everything was a lie. Truly, I detest him. A future with my mother was not his to take, and neither was my life or hers.” Yusuke’s fists clenched unbearably on wet tissue, and he felt it crumble in his hands. “I have the deepest of contempt for him, and yet, part of me has the audacity to call him my father.” He burst at the last note, and he swallowed thickly, grinding his teeth.

“...Do you miss him?” Akira was so quiet Yusuke wouldn’t have heard not for the silence.

“I suppose I do,” Yusuke said. He paused, and took in a deep breath. He could feel his chest shaking. “I hate that particular feeling the most. I don’t want to miss him. There’s scarcely anything to miss about him.”

“But that’s something, isn’t it?” Yusuke could only nod numbly in agreement. It hurt. “It has only been several weeks. Of course it’s difficult. He was your dad, to an extent, even if he was horrible to you.” Akira drew soft circles into his back, and Yusuke thought he very much didn’t mind it. “I think I can understand a little.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah,” Akira said. “I miss my parents a lot. The ones back home.”

“Are they...kind?” Judging by Akira’s forlorn face, Yusuke didn’t expect anything nice.

“I wouldn’t say that. They haven’t called me since I first came here. They don’t care much, and they didn’t really care much before, either. I still love them, though. It’s not right, and they haven’t given me a lot to work with, but they’re still my parents. It’s not all black and white.” Akira smiled, but it was very sad. “I’ve never said this to anyone, you know.”

“Neither have I,” Yusuke said. “Your words reflect my thoughts rather well.”

“Yeah?” Akira sighed, and Yusuke felt that he agreed wordlessly. Without thinking, he let his head fall on Akira’s shoulder, and he snapped back.

“S-Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Akira rushed. “...If you want, you can.” Yusuke sat still for a moment, and then, slowly, let his head rest back onto Akira’s shoulder. “Just remember how it was back then. Your past life, and how you’re free now. It’ll just take time to get used to.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I should’ve said something about this earlier. We made this big deal about how you didn’t have to go through life alone anymore, and yet, now...I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yusuke said, voice scratchy. “I didn’t say anything, how would you have known?”

“Like today. I hadn’t noticed and then there you were, in mementos, worked up and stressed. Only then, did I realize that something was seriously wrong. To be honest, I thought it was strange when you seemed okay the week after, but I was just stupid.”

“You’re not,” Yusuke countered, albeit without much heat. Akira didn’t really respond.

“You’re not alone in this. I can’t do much for you, but I’m here to lend a shoulder.” Yusuke felt the weight of Akira’s head on top his, and inside, he felt very warm. “Please talk to me if you don’t feel well. What happened to you is a big deal, no matter how you look at it.”

“You’ve already helped me a lot,” Yusuke assured him.

“I’m glad,” Akira said. His hand had slipped behind his back and placed itself on Yusuke’s waist, and brought him closer. His side leaned comfortably into Akira’s shape. “I care about you. Not just as a friend, but...” Akira paused. “I’m sorry. I worded that weird. What I’m trying to say is, is that even we weren’t part of the phantom thieves, I’d still care about you.” Akira had gotten really quiet, and Yusuke felt almost too emotional, all over again.

“And I you,” Yusuke replied, voice barely there. “My feelings towards you wouldn’t change, even if you didn’t help me physically pummel Madarame’s gaudy version of himself.” That got a laugh out of Akira, and there was a slight pink hue to his skin. Yusuke imagined he was the same, but he didn’t bother worrying. It felt nice being so see through.

“Thank goodness,” Akira chuckled. “Our friendship is stronger than the bonds formed from beating up adults.” Yusuke felt Akira’s hand grasp his, and he tried not to seem too delighted. Akira looked at him, and Yusuke felt warm and blurred. “...Stay here? Just for tonight?”

“I’d like that,” Yusuke said without a trace of hesitation.

Without another word, Akira held his hand as they walked up the stairs, and they slowly merged onto the same bed, breathing soundlessly into the night.

Yusuke thought that everything was quite alright with the world.

#persona 5 #p5 #shukita #yusuke kitagawa #akira kurusu #somethin different today folks!#kurusu akira #ren amamiya #amamiya ren #kitagawa yusuke #persona #kitashu #fic #persona 5 fic #personal

124 notes · View notes

terriblelifechoices · 6 years

Text

Tuesday comment fic! The fabulous MadImagination caught one of my nerdy easter eggs (that Matthew Bellamy of the Luminaria was inspired by Bellamy Blake, from the 100). They wanted to see future fic of Percival being a good dad who is still ridiculously in love with his husband.

The original thread can be found on AO3 here.

Graves Manor, April 1934

Credence woke up and found Percival’s side of the bed empty. He ran a hand across the mattress and found it cold. Percival had been up for awhile.

Yawning, he padded down the hall to the nursery. Percival was probably asleep in the rocking chair with Ellie, which he would probably regret tomorrow.

Elaine was asleep in her crib, as was Gawain. Percival was nowhere to be seen.

Puzzled, now, Credence went back out into the hall. There was a light on in one of the unused rooms in the family wing, past Galahad and Olwen’s rooms. They’d decided it would be Gawain’s, once he was big enough to leave the nursery. He wasn’t quite old enough yet, but Credence still felt a pang at the thought. His babies were growing up so fast.

“Percival?” Credence asked around a yawn. “What are you doing up? It’s three in the morning.”

“Merlin and Morgana!” Percival yelped, the pencil in his hand skittering wildly across the wall.

Credence blinked at him. He wasn’t awake enough for this.

“How much coffee have you had?” he asked, suspicious.

“Eh,” said Percival, clearly stalling for time. “A bit.” He glared at the line he’d accidentally drawn, then made it vanish with a careless flick of his fingers. “You startled me, love,” he said, tucking his pencil behind his ear and reaching for Credence.

He looked, Credence thought, like one of Queenie and Jacob’s artist friends. Percival was shirtless, as was his habit, his soft sleeping pants slung low on his hips. His hair stuck up in random tufts, free of its usual pomade until morning. Percival looked about as far from severe, serious Director Graves as it was possible to get.

He looked like Credence’s husband instead.

Credence loved Percival in the small hours of the night, and the evenings after work. The times just for him, or for the kids. No one else got to see Percival like this, all his hard edges tucked away.

“You should be sleeping,” Credence chided, leaning in to kiss him.

“So should you,” Percival countered.

“We could both go back to bed,” Credence suggested. He wrapped his arms around Percival’s neck, pressed close enough to Percival that there would be no doubt as to his intentions.

“Yes, dear,” Percival said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Everyone said that Percival took after his father, just like everyone said that Galahad took after Percival. Dindrane, everyone agreed, was the one who took after their mother.

Having finally met the portrait of Geraint Graves, Credence could see why everyone thought so. Percival had Geraint’s devotion to MACUSA; to duty. He had Geraint’s unyielding sense of honor, his determination to stand between their people and anything or anyone who might mean them harm. Being an Auror was who Geraint and Percival were. It was in their blood.

Vivian’s influence was harder to spot, but it was still there. Percival had inherited her love of stories as well as her knack for telling them, and he’d gotten her artistic talents as well. Little sketches littered his notes to Credence, his letters to his niece and nephews at Ilvermorny, and occasionally even during the margins of his paperwork during especially boring meetings.

“It’s just marginalia,” Percival had said dismissively, the first time Credence asked about it. He’d found a sketch of himself on the back of a memo about properly filling out requisitions forms when Galahad was about six months old. He hadn’t realized that Percival could draw before that.

“It’s beautiful,” Credence had insisted. “You never told me you could draw.”

Percival had shoved the sketch in his desk. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, but the little sketches started cropping up after that.

“So,” Credence said, sprawled over Percival’s chest and listening to Percival’s heartbeat gradually return to normal. His own heartbeat and his breathing weren’t quite back to normal yet either, for all that he felt boneless with satiation.

“Mm?” Percival asked, toying with Credence’s hair.

“What did you decide on?” Credence asked.

Percival had painted both Galahad and Olwen’s rooms, once they were old enough to leave the nursery. Galahad’s room was decorated with different kinds of dragons, their anatomy drawn with painstaking correctness after months of correspondence with Newt. Olwen’s room was a forest, and every now and again a wampus cat would peek through the trees.

“Thunderbirds, I think,” Percival said.

Credence hummed thoughtfully. “We can go to Tucson and visit Frank,” he said. Percival could get all the thunderbird sketches he wanted, and Credence could visit Penelope Ramirez and stock up on more stories from Marco and Seraphina and Percival’s Ilvermorny years. He wanted to know what to expect when Galahad was old enough.

Hopefully Galahad’s time at Ilvermorny would involve less nudity than his father’s. Credence had several utterly mortifying stories stockpiled just to make sure Galahad was too embarrassed to even think of trying half of the ridiculous stunts Percival had pulled.

“It’ll be a nice family vacation,” agreed Percival. “I can get the sky painted before we go.”

Credence cuddled a bit more aggressively into Percival’s side, just in case Percival was thinking of getting up again. “Stay,” he mumbled. “It’s not the same without you.”

“Anything for you,” Percival said fondly, not making any effort to get out of bed at all. Credence fell asleep to the gentle sweep of Percival’s hand down his back, a subtle reminder that he was here and that Percival would always keep him safe.

He woke up that way the next morning, safe and protected and loved.

#my fic #comment fic #percival graves #credence graves #MadImagination #Possible 'verse

16 notes · View notes