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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

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Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #(in a queerplatonic capacity)#my writing #my fic

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

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Kokichi, Ryoma, Kaito, and Kiibo get Reader’s motive video, revealing no one in the outside world cares about them

Kokichi Oma:

· Well this was certainly an interesting turn of events, he received two motive videos, and it seems no one else received multiple. But who’s in the world did he receive and more importantly, which should he watch first?

· …

· He slid the first pad under his pillow after seeing it.

· Now what about this other one? Who’s loved one or ones would he see, a person who would be twisted into making a person to want to kill.

· No one. He just saw a lone picture of Monokuma, apologizing that even after searching and searching there was not a soul to be in the outside world who cared for you.

· Huh…

· Kokichi watched the video once more absent mindedly.

· Even if there was no one in the outside world, that didn’t mean there was no one, after all, he cared, and surely your new friends here did too.

· Wait, No, no he didn’t! He didn’t care at all! He had to keep repeating that lie to himself so he wouldn’t do anything rash. He needs to be the antagonist, it’s the only way to protect the others without Monokuma getting in the way. It seems his plan to get everyone to watch all the motive videos was all the more important now. In Kokichi’s it stated D.I.C.E. was in danger, people he knew, but if the video said you had no one, surely you… you’d already know you had no one, right? Perhaps there was more of a story behind your becoming the Super High School Level Survivalist than what you had lead others to believe. You lived in the wild because there was no one in human society for you to return to… Was that it?

· The others were kind folks, surely upon seeing this, they’d all clamor around you, saying they cared about you, Kokichi could even remind them of that promise they made with Kaede, make them think he was antagonizing you in the process, so they’d be extra protective of you, and hopefully making you feel cared for with them all the while saying you WERE friends. You’d have a reason to survive for others and not only yourself. As much as Kokich wished he could be a part of that reason, he could not. But… perhaps he could be a part of the reason you keep surviving for others and not only because it’s all you know how to do after you have escaped… All the more reason to get the others to cooperate discreetly and end this killing as soon as possible.

Ryoma Hoshi:

· Ryoma found you to be a rather interesting individual the moment you had met, the Super High School Level Survivalist. You were not fearful of death, yet still did all you could to avoid it. You’d say just waiting to die is an insult to life itself. Once Ryoma had asked you if you had no reason to live. “Why do I need a reason? Isn’t being born enough of a reason? If you’re dead you can’t find this so called ‘reason’ so… you just have to keep living till you find one I guess. Most all creatures do ANYTHING to live, the only exception to that are humans, we humans are arrogant enough to think we’re above life, so we take advantage of our apathy and die for the sake of being too scared to face ourselves, our inner voices and pains. Humans who have the gaul to just give up and die are the worst scum of the world. Their life would have been better off given to a virus, at least that would appreciate the gift and do whatever it could to keep it.” Living for the sake of life and nothing more… an interesting concept Ryoma could simply not wrap his mind around. “Heh, I suppose I still got a ways to go.”

· Then seeing your motive video… Ryoma knew if he had received a video like this… he’d maybe… Ryoma thought you were much stronger than him, to want to and be able to keep going for your own sake, not needing to cling to anyone or anything else. Still though, he was glad he had gotten this instead of you. Even if you truly fine completely on your own… surely this would still hurt. After all, “Survival is not just about the individual. Sometimes survival means to sacrifice your own life so others may live. This killing game is testing that. The majority surviving is one of the main goals of life, so life can keep creating itself in an endless cycle for the sake of itself and nothing more.” Survival is not just about living, it’s protecting so many, so knowing no one cared, no one to protect…

· What was Ryoma thinking? Everyone here is those who you were trying to protect, even if you had someone on the outside world you cared for, you’d likely say something like ‘if they are hurt or dead they are already hurt or dead the only thing that would change is my knowledge of it.’ Your first priority right now is saving as many as you could from this killing game.

· The next time Ryoma saw you he told you, you were an admirable individual, and that Ryoma wanted to protect as many people as he could, like you, no matter what it took, that would be survival according to you, right?

Kaito Momota:

· Kaito didn’t bother looking at the video he had gotten at first, just heading straight for the dining hall for breakfast. There he had learned it was a motive to kill! He was not going to play along in this killing game! That’s just stupid! As they say great minds think alike for you didn’t watch the video you got either. “Seeing the motive would only be useful if A. we all watched each other’s videos so we could all keep each other calm and all mourn our loved ones together, or B. since they all seem to be mixed up, learn more about the others around us so we may help them through this. You can learn a lot about a person through their loved ones.” Now… that was in interesting thought to Kaito. Maybe by watching all your videos together it’d build comradery between you all and strengthen your resolve to defeat Monokuma and his cubs. Or if not, he could get to know one individual so he could help them through this madness better. Teamwork and communication were the most important things needed to get out of here. That was what he thought about as he sat on his bed, holding the pad in his lap.

· Then Kaito abruptly stood up, tossing the pad aside, thinking this was stupid and to just leave the thing be. Though in the process, the video began to play and before he could stop it, he had learned of it’s owner and how supposedly, no one on the outside cared about you… Whatever, that wouldn’t be the case for long. You’d all be on the outside soon enough so soon you would have people out there who cared about you!

· After that Kaito changed a little. He became more attentive and spent more time with you. He’d occasionally join you in your training or just chat with you about whatever on your breaks. He soon started insisting on joining you during your meal breaks, rather enjoying seeing you gush over Kirumi’s cooking, explaining how it was so much better tasting than what you had often scavenged for yourself. You even ended up starting to teach Kaito some survival techniques, this was rather fun since Kaito was already somewhat educated on the subject, being introduced to it through astronaut training, he was able to easily understand some of your more complicated techniques.

· You were not sure why Kaito had started this, but when he invited you to join him, Shuichi, and Maki for more training in the evenings… it warmed your heart. If only one good thing came of this mess, you at least got the chance to connect with others again. This… was rather rarer and special for you.

Kiibo:

· The motive video. Kiibo was rather hesitant to look at it, but in the end, he decided to watch it. Knowledge is power, so knowing what was on it would surely be better than not, right? Perhaps this could help him in some way to escape or help the others. All he knew for sure was that he would never know unless he tried. And so he watched.

· What he saw… it broke his metaphorical heart. You had no one. You were just completely alone… That was a sentiment Kiibo was rather familiar with, though there was a difference. Kiibo, even if he felt lonely so much of the time especially so here, like the others reject him and don’t see him as a person, he at least had Dr. Idabashi and memories of him to hold close, but you… He wondered if you ever felt lonely out in the wild or if it was the only place where you could feel at home because there was no one in society for you.

· “Hey, Y/N, want to do something together?” That was a phrase you had become so familiar with. At first Kiibo would approach you once in a while which quickly turned to him seemingly spending all his free time with you and no one else. Since he was a robot and training held no purpose for him Kiibo kept count for you. Soon though you felt guilty for him just counting all day so you offered to do other things. “After all, you never know what knowledge will come in handy. Who knows, maybe knowing how to do underwater basket weaving could save our lives one day!” “… Y/N, I can see no scenario where that could ever be a possibility.” “Oh, Kiibo, my friend, you’re too closed minded. Skills can be applied to many situations, knowing how to underwater basket weave can have applications in other places, like knowing how to hold one’s breath for a long time, how to see or at least get a feel for the area around you while underwater, or the obvious, just weaving baskets.” Though your example was silly Kiibo found your argument logical and went along with it.

· Sometimes you’d go read in the library, sometimes you’d cook together, others you’d search through the storage room and see whatever for the sake of seeing if Monokuma had hidden anything dangerous there, other times… you just go for a walk around the grounds, talk like you were some place else, perhaps a school and you were just two teens at break time, pretend you were in a better world and forget about your reality for a moment. Those were both your and Kiibo’s favorite moments. There was no fear, there was no suspicion, there was no just trying to survive, you could just live peacefully. Kiibo hoped he could have years worth of moments like this with you, were this ‘game’ was but a long-forgotten memory.

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iheartbookbran · 3 years

Text

Anthony, Penelope, Marina and Colin deserved better...

Beware, rant ahead

Ok I wish I didn’t feel such strong need to continue beating this dead horse but oopsie, I will very much be beating it some more.

Like, my fave books of the Bridgerton series are Anthony’s and Colin’s books, so I’m seething about what they did with their characterizations, Anthony and Penelope in particular, because Colin’s only real sin was being boring, and if you remember how funny he’s in the books it makes me wanna fall on my knees and ask Chris Van Dusen whyyyy omg why would you do something like that to such a dynamic character. So yeah, Colin is boring af and a moron but at least he isn’t an asshole the way show Anthony and Penelope are, and I’ve seen people say that they can always be redeemed in future seasons, if we get them, but that’s exactly my problem, because they never had to be redeemed in the books, to begin with. Penelope more so than Anthony but let me begin by defending my boy.

Is he a jerk sometimes? Sure. Is he actively awful and uncaring towards those close to him, especially his family? Hell no, quite the opposite, in fact. Not to be controversial on main but in the books... he was right in not wanting Daphne to be courted by a man who he knew damn right had no intention of marrying her and as far as he was aware was only making her waste her time, and he was right in demanding Simon pay for compromising her honor. Could he have been more mindful of what Daphne had to say and listened to her wishes? Of course, but considering Simon and Daphne (both in the show and in the books) aren’t exactly masters in communication themselves, Anthony doesn’t come off as the biggest offender in that situation.

What he never did was force Daphne, or any of his sisters really, to do anything; if they didn’t like a guy then that guy was out of their lives no question asked, and he loved them enough to always have their best interests at heart, for his sisters and his brothers, to the point that even though he’s traumatized and thinks he’s gonna die young he’s still willing to get past that to do his duty and marry, because he doesn’t want to pass that burden on to his little brothers (so him deciding to leave all his responsibilities to Benedict so he can fck off with his mistress is... like, a choice lmao). In fact all the subplot with Siena felt like a choice on the writers part, like they truly liked Benedict and Sophie’s story so they just slapped it on Anthony so he could act all sad and sexy while they gave us foreshadowing with the subtlety of a warharmer that he’s ending up with Kate anyways (and that Benedict is ending with Sophie anyways too, so they would be using that storyline twice, unless they do make him bi and fall in love with a man, but maybe that’s too much of ask for this show), so what was Siena’s purpose in the story? Who tf knows not me.

Now Penelope, my god. Yes I know I joke Penny has never done anything wrong in her life, and I still love her, but she was wrong. Very much so. What she did was significantly worse than what Marina did, which I still don’t condone at all. Like yes, I still maintain that Marina tricking Colin into marriage was wrong (and I’ll go later on why that whole subplot was racist af), but what Penelope did could have not only ruined Marina and herself and her sisters reputations, but it was basically condemning an innocent unborn child to a life in the streets, that’s messed up. Even if Marina was rose-coloring her potential life with Colin and he might have grown to resent her, at least the baby would’ve been alright. And my problem with that whole subplot is that all of it was resolved so neatly, with Sir Phillip sweeping in to save the day so we don’t have to actually see what Penelope’s actions could have caused, but the implications are still very much there.

And I’m cracking my mind trying to figure out whether the showrunners just... really hate Colin’s book and Penelope as a character so they’re trying to inflict some kind of character assassination on her so they can get away with writing him off with another person without causing much outrage, or if they just thought there wasn’t enough ~drama~ or stakes on their book so they have to add them, and give him some kind of bullshit tragic romantic past to explain why he doesn’t want to marry, whereas in the books, the reason he doesn’t marry anyone is because he doesn’t feel like it, and that’s ok, there’s no need for every character to have a tragic backstory and to be riddled with angst; Colin is that character, he’s an easy going guy who’s just not interested in marriage until he falls in love with Penny AND THAT’S VALID, just because he doesn’t have the most complex motivations out there doesn’t mean he isn’t a compelling character. The stakes in his story after he discovers Penny is Whistledown are, as he points out, that she has insulted so many people there’s no way some of them wouldn’t want to retaliate if word came out, and he cares for her and doesn’t want her to get hurt (there’s also a dumb part about him being secretly jealous of her accomplishments as Whistledown, but thankfully he gets over that pretty quickly).

But while I am on that, it is true that Penelope wrote some uncharitable things about the mean people around her, but she never ever ruined someone’s reputation, let alone endanger the future of a child. Was she a bitch sometimes? Yeah, but she was also kind to a lot of people and her criticism was never unwarranted and never did more damage than maybe annoy a couple of girls like Cressida. I just hate the idea of this needing to turn into some sort of ~redemption arc~ for Penelope because, again, in the books she really didn’t have to make up for anything, definitely not to Colin, who was actually the one who had to do much of the heavy lifting in their relationship when he realized that he literally slept on her for years.

And now regarding Marina, like yes, she was wrong and I stand by that statement (but not as wrong as Penelope), but tbh I find it hard to be mad at her when they gave her such a racist storyline, as the scheming woc who gets pregnant out of wedlock and then tries to seduce the innocent white man, until the virtuous white girl needs to step up to save him. At least that’s what I thought initially as the writers intention, but honestly I’m not so sure anymore, I doubt they will continue to write her and Colin as a couple otherwise they would’ve bothered to show them interacting outside of her manipulating him and him acting like a bumbling idiot, the most sincere moment they had together was when he comforted her about the lie, but by that time this bitch (me) was empty and didn’t give a shit anymore. Literally all their other interactions where shown through Penelope’s POV to let us know she was sad, and Colin’s most significant scenes where again... with Penelope (because it isn’t as if he has a family and his own moments in the books outside of being an object for Penelope to pine after).

And as I said before, Marina had a—relatively—happy ending: married to a man she doesn’t love (just as she didn’t love Colin) but who will treat her right and care for her and her child in comfort. Is arguably a better ending than if she’d married Colin because now she doesn’t have to go through the trouble of explaining things to her new husband and run the risk of him resenting her forever. Phillip may not love her but he knows who he’s marrying and why he’s marrying her. That’s literally the same fate Marina had in the books, and it makes me wonder why, oh why would the writers do that.

Why create such a contrived plot to give a character who appears in one(1) chapter of an 8 books series then promptly dies, all at the expense of the characterization of one of the most beloved heroines of said books series? Why would you write this racist storyline for a character whose fate is dying? And now I’m horrified at the repercussions that can come with Marina committing su*cide like in canon, because the implications would be that Penelope would be responsible for it (and I hate the idea of blaming one person for the su*cide of another, fictional or otherwise, is harmful and we need to be careful with making such implications), which would make her even less redeemable or like, likable in general. Not to mention that would be like putting the final racist nail in Marina’s coffin by giving her that ending.

It makes me wonder, seriously, if Chris Van Dusen hated Romancing Mister Bridgerton that much, if he loathed the idea of writing a fat character finding love and getting sex that much. I just wanna know why lmfao.

#rant over #if i sound salty is because i am #like there actually were a lot of aspects i did enjoy but i just cannot get past this #though this rant helped me a lot to feel better so there’s that #tellmewhy.gif #anthony bridgerton #penelope featherington #marina thompson #colin bridgerton #polin #tagging them bc i rant quite a lot about how they ruined their relationship #enjoy the salt uwu #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton spoilers #meta #my meta

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dabi-drift · 3 years

Note

Could we have a shy s/o who asks geten out on a date + relationship headcanons please, sorry if this is too much you can pick one or the other if you want✨ btw I love your work, always looking forward to your posts!

Ahh, this was such a cute concept to me! It’s a little longer than usual, and I spent virtually all day on it, so I hope it’s good! And thank youuuu!! That’s awesome, and so appreciated! ^^

Geten’s Shy S/O Asking Him Out:

❈ Your timidity was all-consuming, and really impacted on your social relations. When in a conversation, you'd find yourself unable to look the person in the eyes. Your gaze would drift to the ground, like you didn’t feel worthy enough to even give the illusion of being on their level. A raised head would've sent out the wrong signals. You didn’t want anyone thinking you over-confident, or a narcissist.

❈ Instead, you were seen as a quiet, obedient MLA member, who preferred lone training, but worried incessantly about fighting. After all, that meant interacting with people - something you absolutely did not support.

❈ As such, you'd only spoken with Geten two or three times, in passing. Yet, he was always on your mind. You wanted to extinguish your feelings so, so badly! He was a million times better than you - way out of your league! It was a wonder why you'd ever fallen in the first place. What was the point, when all you'd get was heartbreak?

❈ You were convinced that's all you'd ever get.

❈ But your heart just couldn’t let go.

❈ 3/4 of your word count were probably apologies, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he found you strange.

❈ Surely he wouldn’t want such a shy, soft-spoken partner?

❈ …But you just couldn’t let him go. If you never even tried to court him, he'd find someone else, and it'd destroy you! He was always on your mind, even when he shouldn’t be - you fawned over him, like a desperate fan. He was so strong, so pretty…a violent little cutie. From your rose-tinted perspective, he had no faults.

❈ That fiery attitude might disenchant the average admirer, but at this point, you were a veteran, in way too deep. What you felt…it was infinitely stronger than a crush. It never wavered…never faded.

❈ You had journals full of phrases like "I wish, with the might of all the stars, that you would look at me the way I look at you.", and short pieces proclaiming your love for him. And to really cement this point, you had his name written in hearts. Many hearts. Spanning like,, an entire journal.

❈ You almost worshipped him, as though he were a god, or an entire religion.

❈ …It wasn’t easy, being in love. You were resolved to tell him, but you couldn’t do that in a public area. You'd have to drag him somewhere more private. The thought made you flush. What if he grew suspicious? Or assumed you wanted to hurt him?? Nothing could've been further from the truth. But since you had trouble speaking, and your face would definitely be on fire…he'd be cautious, maybe even angry?

❈ Oh god, you did not want him to be angry! If that happened, you'd chicken out immediately. He'd have you running for the hills, getting the hell out of Deika City and never, ever showing your face there again. And in the worst case, the embarrassment and fear might force you out of Japan. You'd have to change your name, get a new social security number, find a new job and apartment…

❈ Why was it so difficult to confess?? You wanted to be so naturally eloquent with your words, so confident and clever, that he'd be compelled to swoon. You commanded greater mastery over the written word, but you needed to tell him in person. You needed him to hear, to feel the emotion behind them. You had to be taken seriously. You had to try.

❈ So try you did. You managed to catch him as he walked toward one of Deika's many training grounds. You were alone, save for the birds that chirped overhead. The frosty weather bit at your cheeks, but you couldn’t be deterred. Not anymore. It was now or never.

❈ You had the stage, and his full attention. It was so nerve-wracking!

❈ "Geten…! Um, I-I've really admired - uh, liked!...Loved! Yeah…um, I've…for a while now, a-and…I wanted to tell you…! So, uh…if it i-isn't too much trouble, um…p-please go out with me!"

❈ You stood with a lowered head, uncomfortably basking in the silence that followed. You couldn’t meet his eyes, for fear of seeing an emotion you knew you wouldn’t be able to bear.

❈ "…Go out? Where would we go?"

❈ You looked up, mouth hanging open in shock. A light blush sat atop his cheeks…so he'd understood your feelings, at least.

❈ "U-Uh…it means…um…" Your voice got progressively quieter, as you realised that you had to teach him what a relationship actually was.

❈ "Speak up. You're hard to hear." He huffed, though he didn’t seem angry.

❈ Okay, so I don't have to move countries.

❈ "It's, um…d-d-dating…? It's m-more than friends, like uh…r-romantic…holding hands and k-k-kissing and stuff…!"

❈ He blushed harder, and despite his efforts to hide it under the fur of his Parka, you saw it. There was another round of silence, like he was considering the pros and cons of 'dating' you.

❈ Finally, he reached a decision.

❈ "I guess…I'll 'go out' with you."

& Relationship Headcanons:

❈ This boy doesn't know a ton about love, so you're gonna have to teach him what it means to: 1) have a partner, and 2) show affection toward said partner. He's never been in a position quite like this before, so he's definitely a slow-starter.

❈ Make no mistake, though - he does love you. And due to both his ideology and strength, he's fiercely loyal and protective. If you have a 'weak' Meta Ability, he'll be a little disappointed (for the future generation, y'know?), but it just means he has to shield you from any and all dangers. It's a responsibility he cherishes. He's never really had to look out for anyone but himself, so it's a nice change of pace.

❈ Initially, he isn't sure about the whole 'dating' and 'lovers' thing. You're still incredibly shy, and whenever he tries to hold your hand, you go bright red and shuffle your feet awkwardly. He'll take that the wrong way.

❈ It takes many, many weeks for you to gather up the courage to ask for a kiss. Geten obliges almost instantly, but hesitates when he sees you shaking.

❈ It's more from excitement than embarrassment, but he doesn't know that.

❈ Of course you're excited! You're finally, finally gonna kiss the boy you love. But you're also nervous. It's your first kiss, after all. You want it to be perfect, but you're scared you're gonna mess up. And if you do, you're worried he'll hate you. If you mess up, you ruin the experience for two people.

❈ So you make 10000% sure he's okay with it, and you make him swear on his life that he won't be mad at you.

❈ He's of the opinion that you can always try again, but in your mind, it's a life or death scenario.

❈ If you take too long, over-think (no doubt you will) or start to falter, he'll just crash your lips together, albeit sloppily. He doesn't care about gentle or rough, messy or clean…as long as you're connected. He'll place one hand on your waist, and pin you to the wall. For someone so inexperienced, his movements gradually get more professional.

❈ In reality, he's researching this for you

❈ You'll snuggle up to Geten during the summer months, because despite his inability to create ice, his body temperature is still quite low.

❈ You get to see him without the Parka. No-one gets to see him without the Parka. Consider yourself a lucky, lucky bastard.

❈ Your shyness won't disappear, but around Geten, you definitely become more composed. After a few months, or even a year, that is. In the beginning, you're nothing but a nervous, stuttering wreck, who can't stand beside him for more than ten seconds without melting.

❈ Oh, you might want those plane tickets after all, because he's gonna find your journals eventually (when he's absolutely head-over-heals in love with you). Don't worry though, he'll think they're cute, and a testament to how amazing you are as a partner.

❈ Honestly, your heart holds so much value to him. He'll never, ever let you give it to someone else. He's whipped - completely, totally…and he isn't afraid to admit it!

❈ Once the PLF is formed, he'll seek you out to join the Violet Regiment (but be in the same room as Dabi, and blood will be shed).

❈ Everyone headcanons him as Geten's biggest romantic rival, and I'm not here to argue with that

❈ He's bad with words, so he'll rely on actions! Just don't expect any PDA (unless he's jealous)!! <3

#bnha #geten #geten x reader #bnha geten #meta liberation army #dabi #is this good enough??#god i'm so insecure #i wanna scream lmao #my hero academia

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winxwrites · 4 years

Text

What You Want

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Warnings: Smut, oral, D/S themes, workplace sex

Word count: 2k

Description: You never expected the racy texts exchanged between you and a coworker to get you in this position...

A/N: Thank you guys for all of the love you showed my first Henry fic! I hope you all enjoy this one! As always, feedback is appreciated ❀

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, you looked up at the brooding man walking towards you. His presence immediately sent a shiver up your spine. You were so taken back by his entrance that you failed to close the tab on your screen. All traces of laughter were suddenly removed from your demeanor.

“Mr. Walker, I was just... I-”

“Oh save it,” he cut you off as he reached your desk. “I’ve been waiting nearly an hour for your response to my email and then I come down here to find you playing around on your laptop. You’re the last one here, what was stopping you from responding?”

You stuttered over your words attempting to string together a coherent answer that would be pleasing to your boss.

“I just had some other things to wrap up. Today’s been pretty busy I guess I got beside myself. I’ll be sure to check my emails more frequently.”

He raised an eyebrow at your flustered state. You were grateful that the screen of your MacBook had gone dark as your superior planted himself by your workspace. Your comfort was broken when he tilted his head toward the computer.

“Turn on your laptop.” That you weren’t expecting.

“I’m sorry?”

Walker laughed. “You heard me, let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

Before you could protest the intimidating man hovered over your desk, his finger gracing across the trackpad to illuminate the screen. All you could do was sit there and pray your on shift doings wouldn’t result in the loss of your job.

Your heart leapt as he took in the sight of the tabs on the screen. Your resolve nearly crumbled when his eyes fell onto the opened messages app.

A shit eating grin was on his face as he mockingly recited the conversation you were engaging in with your coworker Harper.

August is so sexy - He made sure to draw out his words in a teasing manner.

You’re so lucky he’s your boss. If I was the one under him we wouldn’t be getting much work done.

Believe me it took everything in me not to drop to my knees the last time he called me into his office.

I bet his dick is fucking massive. God I can’t believe you haven’t fucked him.

The smirk Walker wore was the biggest you’d ever seen. He looked down at you clearly enjoying your uncomfortable state.

“Want me to read more?”

You hated that you’d been caught. You hated even more the arousal you felt as he spoke to you.

He removed his dark suit jacket and tossed it aside. He called you by your last name to address you as he rolled up his sleeves.

“Stand up.”

You quickly stood from your seated position not wanting to be in even more trouble. You were going to apologize for your indiscretion but your boss waived a dismissive hand to silence you.

He made himself comfortable in your work chair and laced his hands behind his head.

“Never been much of a people pleaser but I guess I can give you what you want.” Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I don’t think you’re going to be productive unless you get something to satiate that slutty little mind of yours.”

You bit into your lower lip as you realized what he was asking of you.

“Get on your knees.”

The timber of his voice left no room for discussion. You mindlessly lowered yourself to the floor. The cool feel of the tiled pattern the only thing able to settle the heat that rang through your body.

Your eyes widened looking up at August as you waited for his next command. He chuckled darkly at your submission.

“Go on, be a good girl for me.”

Your unsteady hands reached for the zipper of his trousers, pulling them down enough to expose his black briefs. Your nimble fingers worked to release his hardening member from the tight confines.

Confidence sprang into you as you sat back on your legs. A lewd moan slipped off your tongue as you tasted the salty precum leaking from his tip.

You wrapped your lips around the engorged tip giving a generous suck. You removed his cock from your mouth and stared up at him as you licked a long, wet stripe from his balls to the head of his dick.

His eyes glossed over as you continued to work your mouth over his generous size. Your wrists worked around his shaft as you flattened your tongue around the bulbous head.

August eagerly slid himself down your waiting throat as you gasped for air. You barely had time to adjust before he pushed you onto his thickness. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as he quickly pushed you to your limit.

Your blurred vision caught sight of the smug look he wore as he watched you swallow him. You knew he was close when your nose touched the patch of hair that spread across his pelvis.

His cock twitched at the sight of seeing you take whatever he gave you. He reached down and stroked your hair out of your face as his orgasm reached its dawn. His gaze was unwavering as he drank in the image of you swallowing his cum. You tried to hide your struggle as you slurped down the liquid. A relieved sigh left his lips once he’d come down from his high. His dick was still surprisingly hard as the heavy girth weighed against your tongue.

An aggressive hand wrapped around your throat pulling you off his slick cock. A trail of drool dribbled down your chin as you disconnected with his thick member. He used the firm grip on your neck to guide you back onto your feet. You gasped a breath you didn’t realize you were holding once his thumb was removed from the column of your throat.

He shifted his grip to your waist and pressed your backside against your desk.

“August I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again. I’ll be more professional in the future, I promise!”

He released an ironic laugh. “I think you and I can both agree that we’ve clearly passed any professional boundaries that were formerly in place.”

You nodded at his reference to the events that had just occurred.

“You’re right. But August can we just-“

You were cut off. Walker ran his thumb over your chin and collected some of the spit that still resided there. He playfully rubbed the saliva over your bottom lip before popping his thumb into your waiting mouth. You felt like a whore as you sucked on the digit without objection.

“You address me as sir or Mr. Walker, are we clear?” You shook your head in agreement as he removed his thumb from your mouth. “Call me August again and you won’t be speaking at all for a while.”

He gingerly sat back in the chair. “Take off your panties.”

Your hands worked to hitch up the hem of your dress and tug the material down your parted thighs. Walker looped his finger through the flimsy lace and took in the sight of the soaked crotch.

He pressed his palms flat against your knees to part your legs even more. His middle and index finger made their way into your waiting hole. You yelped at the thick intrusions. Walker stroked his fingers back and forth inside your exposed hole. You were reduced to a moaning mess. No man had ever been able to locate your most sensitive spot so quickly.

He withdrew his fingers and wiped your glistening cum on the indigo material of your dress.

His hand reached for your wrist as he impatiently tugged you toward him. Your parted knees were on either side of the chair as you found yourself in his lap. His erection pointed callously at your waiting cunt. You gulped as you worked your hand over his cock realizing -once again- just how big he was. This didn’t go unnoticed by your boss.

“What’s the matter kitten? Are you scared?” Your breathing became uneven as he spoke the taunting words into your ear. “Don’t try and act shy now. You said you wanted this.”

Your right hand squeezed his shoulder as your left guided his thickness into your pussy. You let out an exasperated sigh as you looked down and realized he wasn’t even half way in.

Walker’s hand came up and gripped the back of your neck. He tilted your head in a way that made it impossible to look away from what he was doing to you.

“Oh no kitten, I don’t want you to miss this.” His other hand gripped your thigh and roughly pulled you onto his dick.

His pleasure came first, he made that more than clear. A cocky grin shone on his face once he bottomed out. Your body writhed from the shock of the tight fit.

Reaching between your thighs you tried to rub your clit but August quickly wrapped his hand around your wrist to stop you. A frustrated groan slipped through your lips. He was definitely going to make you work for your release.

His calloused hands dug into your sides as he pulled you deeper onto his dick. You struggled to keep up with the swift pace he’d created.

“Sir please...” you whispered in desperation.

To your surprise he moved his hand between your legs providing you some stimulation. He leaned forward and pressed sloppy kisses to your covered chest. Your eyes rolled back as you noticed the wet patches he’d left over either breast.

A relieved groan left your throat as you slumped against his toned chest. Your fingernails dug shallow crescents into his broad shoulders as you indulged in your impending orgasm.

“Walker let me cum. Oh God! Sir please!” The only sounds in the office space were your desperate moans. August took a second to look away from the place where your bodies connected.

The pattern he drew on your clit became sloppy and you knew the end was in sight for both of you. You graced his neck with kisses as you reached your peak.

A rough hand smacked your ass as you rode out your orgasm. “Look at you being a dirty little slut cumming in my lap.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks and onto his shoulder as you came down from your high.

August latched onto your collarbone and sucked brazenly as his own orgasm rang through him. You fidgeted against his thighs from the overstimulation. You knew there would be a blotchy mark left behind but you didn’t care. You were just happy you’d have something to remind you this wasn’t just some dream.

August stood up and placed you back on your desk. You felt vulnerable when you noticed his darkened eyes watching thick globs of cum drip onto the wooden surface.

Neither of you had said a word since you’d finished. You weren’t sure your brain could even fathom a coherent sentence after how hard you’d just cum.

The weight of your encounter suddenly hit you as you leaned down to retrieve your discarded panties. August lifted a heavy foot and trapped the underwear underneath his polished shoes.

“Oh no kitten. You’re gonna keep my cum in that tight little cunt of yours for the rest of the night.” You looked up at him is disbelief. “And tomorrow morning when you come in I’m gonna check and see how good you take direction.”

Lost for words you nodded in compliance.

“Yes sir.”

You slowly stood up, your legs still unsteady. Suddenly you were thankful you’d worn flats. Walker adjusted himself back into his pants and straightened his tie. You were both unsettled when your MacBook rang signifying a new text.

The illuminated screen captured both of your attentions. Of course it was from your friend Harper sending yet another raunchy message about your boss. If she only knew...

August began heading back to his own office. You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the glass windows and thanked the heavens you were the only one working in the office this late.

The heavy footsteps came to a halt as your boss stopped before the elevator. He called your name in an even voice.

You looked back at him in a daze. “Hmmm?”

“Tell your friend she can be next if she’d like.”

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker smut #henry cavill x reader #august walker x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill imagine

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championofdnd · 3 years

Text

Gonna rant for a bit. Normally I wouldn't put anything about work online but I am so freaking frustrated. I came into this job (Sys Admin) with 0 experience. My boss and team lead knew this. In my interview (with both of them, not with hr) I was very honest about how much I actually knew.

So they hire me for my enthusiasm. I spend the first week getting my work station set up, doing the mandatory trainings, and learning people's names. The standard. And then I ask for work... The team lead is swamped with an emergency fix, use this website to start working on this cert that we want you to get. Okay cool I get it, I'll ask again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next week... And oh I got access to the servers, I need to go test my log in to ALL of them k. Anything else I can do to break the tedium? Documentation. Documentation of what? Oh right of stuff I haven't been shown how to do... Okay...

Like I can go google how to create a user on the system or how to install an operating system, but that doesn't tell me how your system is set up. Even if i had experience I'd still be asking, hey whats this server for? How do we move code between the environments? What software suites do we use for this task? Do we have a license for this product and what does the license allow? How do we normally access the systems, as root, as an individual user, as a group user?

And since I have 0 experience, I don't always have the right words to ask the question. So I end up with a lot of just show me. But I wouldn't get shown unless I ask 100 times. And I take notes but they aren't perfect so I have to come back later for clarification. But I'm expected to have finished this document on how to do this process I've seen done once so the doc can be used in an AUDIT??? So it has got to be right! And yeah my team lead is to busy to review it...

So I talk to my boss every week or so, how are things going. Well I've been working on the cert training and I've learned this and that recently. Does team lead answer your questions? Yeah sometimes he takes a while to get back cause he's always swamped but he's super friendly about it when I do get ahold of him. (Did I mention I started this job during quarantine, so guess who wasn't physically in the office the first 4months, team lead, so I'm relying on him answering my calls or calling back or responding to email/im). I mention it'll be easier when he can come back into the office but I of course understand why he can't at the moment. So boss asks if I have enough work. Well, I have a hard time getting work from team lead cause he's always swamped so finding time to delegate work is hard especially since he's so used to working alone but I'll keep asking and also since I don't have a lot of experience it can be hard cause he has to set aside to show some basic stuff. But again once he's in the office I'm sure it'll be better. Until then im keeping busy, after all itsy IT there's always plenty to do and it all needed to be done yesterday! So I'll keep working on that cert for now.

I pick up a few new small tasks every week, and report what I'm learning to boss. He double checks I'm busy enough cause he doesn't want me getting bored and leaving, they really want to keep me on. At some point I ask the receptionist if I can help her out with anything since team lead is swamped and my work load is light. I get chewed out by boss a few hours later and team lead calls and says he can give me some work tomorrow (which he does).

So I finally get to start ramping up it seems, boss wants everything I'm learning documented yesterday but I shrug that off cause that's normal IT proceedure. But team lead is still swamped so it takes a day to get answers to anything especially since he's still working from home.

This whole time I'm hearing about all the mistakes my predecessor (actually the last three) made, and how it's left team lead gun shy of trusting people with certain environments. And I'm like you know that's fair, I'm really process driven and quite cautious so I think it will work out. And so I'm like hey why don't I watch you do it a few times and then I'll do it a few times with you watching over my shoulder to point mistakes before I make them and then I can give it a shot on my own. And that's a great approach for me, makes me more comfortable with the work, and it's supposed make my team lead more comfortable.

So we're about 4mos in. Team lead comes back into office. There's some adjustments to be made. My workload is a rollercoaster of several things due yesterday to just doing cert training cause team lead is swamped and I know better by now than to bother asking. I'm still pretty well giving the same update to boss. There's been a few hiccups, missed a meeting here, messed up something small here. I learned how to fix the mistakes, documented everything for future reference. Boss says what matters is we don't make the same mistake twice. And I show where I documented it and I dont make the same mistake twice.

And so month five I ask boss if they're gonna hire me full time (i was on a 6mo trial) and how to start that process. And he says send him my updated resume so they can create a position and he has to double check with team lead just to make sure but that everything should be good to go.

Everything was not good to go. He comes back the next week and says team lead isn't sure I can do the job so I need to work extra hard these next two weeks to prove I can.

And well I deflated. How was I going to prove I could do the job? I'd done the tasks given me. I'd gotten good reviews. Was I asking too many questions? Team lead had commented several times that I didn't ask enough. But I'd only had a month to be able to corner him to ask things. And by this point I knew the answers to the tasks I was given, I'd done them all before. Was it because I'd missed/been late to some meetings? That was on me but it hadn't happened as of late and that mostly seemed to bug my boss not my team lead who brushed it off or missed/was late himself. And I'd fixed that problem. Was it because I wasn't surgically attached to my phone? Seriously get over it. If that's the issue I'm out, and you also need to be more clear on that expectation from the get go. So i spinu wheels and flounder for two weeks the work I'm assigned clearly isn't proving I can do this job amd my motivation flies out the window. It was a bad two weeks and I didn't know how to fix it (honestly I still don't entirely).

Team lead pulls me aside to say boss is very unimpressed (no duh, I've done nothing for two weeks) and wants to know if I still want the job since I've seemed very unenthusiastic as of late. Yes I still want the job. I do actually like the work I've been given. I'll try and fix my attitude (this was on a Thursday, a lot of people don't work Fridays at this office).

Monday the contracting company that's handling this trial period sets up a meeting, with their hr. I'm not meeting snuff. Why. I need to fix this. I need to attend meetings. I need to meet deadlines. Im legit like no duh, if I knew what the issue was I'd of already fixed it. Im as frysty as anyone but sure if it makes you happy I'll say I'll do those things.

Then Tuesday I have the epiphany. This is stupid. Of course I'm not doing the work. The work is pointless from my perspective. It's not gonna prove I deserve the job. It's the same I've been doing for months that I was told was good enough only to find out at the last minute that actually no it wasn't? If course I'm going to struggle. There has been a massive miscommunication here!

So after talking it over with the SO to make sure I'm not crazy and to hash out what I want to say I set up a meeting with my boss. This was last week. Team lead is gone for fourth of july already. I explain my epiphany that if team leads wants me to prove I can do something he needs to give me work that will prove it. I accept I've had a bad few weeks, the trial has been extended a month and I'm ready to bounce back.

Except team lead is gone so I've got the same old work to do that Thursday friy. And I don't do it, I'm still not convinced it matters. We came back in the office on Tuesday. I own up to not having done that work yet but knock it out quickly that morning and start asking questions about my next task. Oh it's the same thing you've done before but on a new server, you need to select one different option when you do it... Oh..kay... Whelp it's gotta be done its a new server I convince myslef this will prove something to team lead and go knock it out. End of the day I swing by to ask a question and team lead had to leave early (it was a legit reason, had to take dog to the vet, but it's annoying at this point). But he didn't bother telling me this, boss has to tell me.

So Wednesday (yesterday) I come in and flounder, I still have the same old tasks. After luch i worj up the resolve to tey asking team lead what else I can do. I can knock out the tasks I have pretty quick. He'll have to find something for me. I don't hear back that day.

So here I am this morning, I'm fed up. SO thinks I should call team lead out to boss. I'm having a hard time with it though. Is it really his fault? Maybe I'm not pushing hard enough for more work? I mean haven't explicitly gone to his office and said give me more challenging work or else. Like how do I say that. At this point I'm struggling to complete the easy tasks I have, why would he give me something harder? But they themselves have said the receptionist could do what I do. I just. I don't want to even bother at this point...

#rant #soap box #IT #work #work sucks #difficult conversations

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lidiacervos · 3 years

Note

Had I never read the ACOTAR series (or any of Sarah's other books) and only browsed thru the theories and fanart online, I probably would have been more convinced that E/riel could be endgame. That is, if I trusted what others said to be true about these two....that from the moment Elain stepped out wearing cobalt blue to Azriel giving TT to her, Sarah knew what story she wanted to tell and dropped little hints here and there that would lead up to their very own beautiful forbidden love story. Sounds promising, right? It'd definitely get me on board to read the series.

Until I do and find that I've been short changed because I was not promised the beautiful love story I've been convinced to believe. The girl remains a mystery to me and not in a good, intrigued way but in the kind of way that shows the author's neglect. The boy....just a boy. One I've read too many times before. Where is the undeniable chemistry I was promised? The friendship? The longing? The on-page interactions?

The barely there exchanges between these two and the silence is deafening. I'd feel gypped.

Sometimes I wonder if the people who ship these two actually care for the characters outside the ship. Because if they did, why would they settle for something like this?

Elain, despite her appearance, is not healed. She has not moved on from Graysen, no matter what small interest she has shown in Azriel. She has not accepted her life as a Fae.

Azriel has not moved on from Mor. He has not fallen in love with Elain despite what so many people wish to believe. He has scars outside his hands. Scars so deep even his brothers have barely begun to scratch the surface of.

I cringe every time I hear people comment how beautiful these two are....because that's just what they are, isn't it? Beautiful. And they should be so much more than that. Some much more outside their appearance. They are flawed and they have their own issues that don't revolve around each other.

Anyways, thanks for listening. Not really sure where I was going with this.

Hi friend, I’m always happy to listen!

E/riels are very good at convincing themselves and others of things that just aren’t there. Things that could never be confirmed unless it comes from SJM’s mouth. I feel bad for all the people they’ve convinced.

A lot of the things they talk about they’ve been able to create with a fantasy of what the e/riel relationship could be. Which is easy to do because, like you said, they’ve had barely any interaction and we don’t know Elain well. We also don’t even really know Azriel well either. We definitely have gotten more from him, but he’s still pretty mysterious. I think that’s why his bonus chapter shocked so many people, we had no clue he was that big of a mess.

Aesthetics are also very important to their ship, which is fine, they can ship for whatever reason they want. Just don’t try to theorize away the fact that aesthetic is important to your fandom when you chant “death and his lovely fawn” over and over.

I agree, Elain still has a lot she needs to come to terms with. She needs to figure out what she wants to do with her life. I doubt living with her sister, being a gardener in Velaris and ignoring her problems is what she truly wants.

Azriel getting closure with Mor is massively important to his story. Thinking you’re in love with someone for 500 years is not something that can be glossed over or resolved by switching his affinity from one woman to another.

So what would make more sense? Azriel working out his 500 years of confusing feelings towards Mor with Mor, or working out his transfer of said “feelings” to Elain that happened only in the last year?

#asks #anti e/riel #antielriel

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ajokeformur-ray · 3 years

Note

I was thinking maybe if (J x Pat x Reader) made/had dinner together?

Katieeee ~ 🥰💛🥰 hiiiii, darling!!!!😊 I had so much fun writing this! I hope that you enjoy it. It’s been a while since I wrote for the Ledger!OT3 so you’ll have to forgive anything rusty.

Please send @loveletterstoledger some love, she was so kind to read this over for me while it was being written and to tell me if these men were in character. I love you so much, angel!💙

Word count: 1, 714.

When you had somewhat jokingly said to J several days ago that you liked to live dangerously and that you wished you could do it more often...

... This hadn’t been what you had had in mind.

In fact, if you had known that this was what J had been planning, you would have backpedalled so fast out of that conversation that you would have slipped off the proverbial cliff.

You had been exhausted lately; everything was just too much and so overwrought were you that you barely had the energy to even think about making dinner for the three of you, let alone to actually do it.

You opened the freezer, sifted the contents around, and tried to concentrate on making a list of what you needed more of.

You liked to do multiple things at once to at least give yourself the feeling of being put together,

But control is an illusion, this you knew, as did J.

So when you dropped the bag of frozen peas because the grip in your fingers suddenly went slack and you didn’t respond to Pat’s gentle calling of your name, J knew that you needed to give up the illusion for one night.

Enough was enough and if there was one thing J didn’t tolerate, it was you suffering in any kind of way.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Pat tried to get your attention once more and you seemed to finally register him as you nodded.

“What? Yeah, just - tired, is all. M’fine.”

You relinquished your grip on the bag of peas and Pat scoffed, his dark brows furrowed.

He, too, couldn’t abide even the idea of you suffering. Keeping you safe and healthy and happy was the one thing which held he and J together, most especially because you knew how to break through Pat’s tendency to jump to the defense quickly, and you could see through J’s attempts to put those very walls up in the younger man.

And love... Oh, there was so much of it between the three of you that sometimes did it feel like a fourth presence in the room, watching over the three human inhabitants and giving them a safe and homely feel when they three were all together at the end of a long day.

Pat shook his head in disbelief. He shot J a look over your shoulder and the elder man shrugged.

Despite his casual attitude, however, J’s chocolate gaze was pinned on you. He didn’t like this. not one bit.

“You’re not fine. Come here, love.” With one hand on your elbow, Pat reached across the room and somehow grabbed a chair. He pulled it towards you and looked at you expectantly.

When you didn’t immediately react, Pat huffed again and pointedly - but with care - pushed down on your shoulder with the hand that had been wrapped around your elbow. “Sit down before you fall down, Y/N. You’re exhausted. When was the last time you went to sleep?”

“Last night. Haven’t been sleeping well, but I have been sleeping. I’m fine, Pat.”

J had been watching this exchange quietly. He said nothing, but he took in Pat’s tender frustration, your exhaustion and your obvious want for a night for your two loves by your side, where they belonged.

“You, ah - ya’ still want a taste of danger, doll?”

You eyed J warily but he remained undeterred.

“Why don’t, ah - why don’t the kid and I make dinner, hm? Ya’ can sit and - “ J waved a hand around like he was trying to conjure the words up out of nowhere, “look pretty.” You sat there staring at J in disbelief and he nodded in approval. “Ya’ a natural!”

You felt your face heat up in a blush at the easy compliment and J’s eyes seemed to deepen as he stood there looking at you, exhausted but still trying to function at your usual level.

You were a strong one; he had taught you that, and he was proud of you.

If J got his way, then dinner would be some paper takeaway menus and a phone call.

But Pat was a natural caregiver and you were worried enough as it was.

The last thing the younger of the two men wanted you to worry about was where the money for the takeaway was going to come from, and so he resolved to make you something.

It had been J’s idea and so the clown was going to help, whether he wanted to or not.

There was nothing Pat wouldn’t do for you and in truth was J much the same.

Though the two men were quite different, you were their common interest and the glue which held them together.

This night was your comfort paramount, so exhausted were you and so desperately did you not even want to have to worry about even the small things.

With the decision made, J began to open cupboards, his eyes scanning the contents before he moved onto the next cupboard, not shutting anything, and Pat swore under his breath and began to move up behind J.

Pat pulled bits and pieces from the cupboards as he went, “J, will you stop? We’re meant to be helping, not create more mess!”

J grunted in acknowledgement that Pat had spoken and the younger man correctly translated the noise to be one of agreement, though J went no further.

He did, however, pointedly slam a cupboard door shut, making Pat clench his jaw against saying something as he began to put a meal together for the three of you.

The peas you had grabbed earlier, some pasta (catered to any dietary restrictions or choices you had), some spices... a few more things from the freezer...

It had meant to be a group effort to make dinner but what ended up happening was that J leaned against the counter beside the oven top and made sassy comments with his arms folded over his eccentrically covered chest, and you approached Pat once steam began to curl up from the various saucepans and frying pans to wrap your arms around his waist.

You curled into Pat and he hummed, tipping his head back distractedly to awkwardly press a kiss to the nearest parts of you he could reach.

Pat was fully focused on making dinner and his dark brows were furrowed as he taste tested and then chucked the used teaspoons into the sink. A double dipper he was not.

“Dinner’s ready. J, can you - “

Before Pat had finished speaking, you pulled away from him and J had, already in his hands, three plates.

And so it continued that at the point where Pat would ask for something, J had already done it, and you realised that J hadn’t just been tormenting Pat.

He had been keeping the younger man company, observing how he cooked and how he preferred his food, and making sure that Pat didn’t hurt himself as he prepared dinner.

J cared and it made your heart swell in your chest at how subtle J’s affections were unless one knew how to look for them.

Pat noticed, too, and as he grabbed two plates to take them over to the table, he casually kissed J’s cheek. “Getting soft in your old age, J?”

“Care-ful, kid-do,” J’s words were soaked in amusement - he enjoyed the banter as much as Pat did. “This old man’s not slow.”

You three sat at the table and Pat kept an eye on you as you both ate; J, for his part, was more preoccupied with keeping an eye on his younger partners.

He wasn’t all that hungry, anyway, and he had seen some poptarts in the cupboard...

To J’s relief, his younger partners had eaten, and he felt a part of himself, a part he liked to hide and otherwise deny even to his own self, become relieved to know that the people he chose to spend his precious time with were taking care of themselves - even if your own hand had been forced.

“Thank you for dinner, Pat,” Instead of simply getting up and starting with the dishes, you sat further forward and wrapped your arms around Pat’s neck.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Pat kissed the side of your head and then you turned to the side, slowly unfurling your arms from around Pat and throwing yourself at J, who let you clamber onto his lap before his arms slinked around your waist like a sleepy boa constrictor; ensnared were you by all that the clown was, all that he had ever been and all that he would ever be.

“Someone’s sleepy, hm?”

You nodded, wanting to just... sink into royal purple and charcoal grey and to never again resurface.

The heartbeat which pounded strongly in your ear was the lullaby which was sending you closer to a threshold consciousness, and you jolted upwards.

You had gotten so good at catching your own fall over the years.

J’s large, hot hand smoothed over the expanse of your back. He didn’t want to let you go, but he knew that you were close to giving in to your exhaustion and the dinner table was not the place for it.

“Here, Pat - let me do the dishes because you cooked.”

You made your way over to the sink with the dishes in your hands and once again did it seem as though Pat and J had a conversation over your shoulder, for the decision was not yours to make.

“A-ta-ta, no.” J seized the plates from you and dumped them in the sink. “Leave ‘em.”

You knew what J was trying to say: the dishes could wait. You, J’s greatest priority alongside Pat, couldn’t.

“Don’t be shocked, but - “ Pat wrapped an arm around you and tugged you into his side, “I’m with J on this one. Dishes can wait.”

Your eyes turned from one chocolate gaze to the other as exhaustion truly swept you up into its current.

Only Pat’s hold on you prevented you from being carried away by it and all you could say was, “cuddle pile?”

Pat’s grin made your heart drop to your stomach and J’s smirk made it melt.

HL OT3: @tsukiakarinobara @1-800-dead-inside @antonija89 @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn @devilshyenaaa

#heavymetalnarwhal #ledger joker #ledger!joker #patrick verona #ledger!joker x patrick verona x reader #patrick x J x reader #J x patrick x reader #heath ledger

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blu-joons · 5 years

Text

DATING BTS HEADCANON A⇴ Z⇴ Jeon Jungkook

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Jungkook is very affectionate, when you’re in private. PDA isn’t his favourite thing, but when he’s in the comfort of his own home, he always like to have at least one hand resting on your body, making sure you stay nice and close to him.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you had been quite close for a while before he finally confessed to you. Over time the two of you spent more time together and tended to cuddle and mess around with each other a little more. The rest of the boys were quick to notice too and loved to tease him for it when you weren’t around, pushing him to build up the confidence to eventually tell you how he felt.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

He didn’t want to rush into anything, he wouldn’t confess unless he knew there something between the two of you. Little things you did, he’d pick up on, giving him the right signs that you liked him too. One night, when you jokingly told him how much you liked him, he confessed. There was a lot of nerves, on both parts, but you knew that you liked him too, and when you told him, the smile on his face couldn’t have been any bigger.

D ⇴ DATES

Your dates were based on impulse, wherever the two of you felt like going. Sometimes you’d stay at home and play a board game or watch a movie, other times he’d like to take you out and treat you like a princess. When he felt like he’d spent too much time away from you, he’d create big dates, either to the fair, or a nice restaurant, anywhere that could reconfirm how much he liked you. All night long, regardless, his eyes would be focused on you, lost on whatever it was you were saying, reminding himself how lucky he was.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

You were Jungkook’s first ever experience of a proper relationship. There had been a couple of flings, but nothing that ever made him consider settling down. His life was crazy, but for you, things were different, there was always time to be made for you. There was a lot of expectation on your relationship to work, and whilst before that would make him run away, with you, he knew he could live up to and surpass people’s expectations. For the first time, he had found a genuine human being who he knew he wanted to be around forever.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Any argument the two of you had, Jungkook would run away from. When things got too serious, he would hate it, and do anything to make it stop. He’s a sweetheart, and he never wants to raise his voice at you, so when he felt it nearing, he’d take a step back. When things had cooled down, then he would reappear so that the two of you could talk like adults rather than children. The only time he would ever stick an argument out, was if he was fearful that it could end up breaking the two of you, he couldn’t bare it, but he knew that it needed to be resolved straight away before things potentially went too far.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

Even at his age, Jungkook is still the family baby, and they wanted the girl he bought home to be perfect. Jungkook knew that his family would like you, you had nothing to be scared about. His parents instantly made you feel at ease telling you funny stories about him, whilst his brother messed with Jungkook, knowing how to get under his skin.

H ⇴ HOME

When the time came to move out of the dorm, he knew he wanted to live with you. He couldn’t bare the thought of living alone, and whilst you basically lived at the dorm anyway, he thought it would be nice for the two of you to get your own place so you could spend more time with each other and take the next step together.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

He was the first to say, ‘I love you,’ because he was always open about the way he felt. One night, after a long day at the studio, he found you waiting up for him on the sofa, carrying you to bed. As you both drifted to sleep, he held you close, muttering those three words, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, and ever since then, every night he would make sure to tell you that he loved you.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

Most of the time, he can keep his jealousy at bay, he knows he’s better than most people at most things. If he was jealous, he was subtle, an arm would be wrapped around your waist to make it clear that you were his. If someone would get a bit too close, he’d definitely step in, but he trusted you, always. At times, he could feel insecure, if he was experiencing low moods, he’d often compare himself to others, but you’d always be on hand to make him feel better and more relaxed in your relationship.

K ⇴ KIDS

Little secret was made of the fact he wanted kids, especially with you. As he watched you interact with his family, and yours, he knew that you were the one he wanted to mother his children. He wanted more than one, easily, a boy and a girl, a little him, and a little you. He’d spend countless nights imagining your future together, your house, your family, he couldn’t wait for it all to come together into something beautiful.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Anything Jungkook did would make you laugh. The two of you had a close connection, he knew exactly how to make you giggle, whether it be tickling you, or pulling a funny face, especially when he scrunched his face up. It was him who got you through some of the toughest times by putting a smile on your face. Not a day went by when he didn’t put that smile on your face, giggling away to himself as he made you chuckle. It was his laughter too; his infectious laugh would always put you in hysterics as you listened to him.

M ⇴ MISSING

Jungkook struggled with being away from you, especially when he was on tour. He’d stay in contact with you every single day, texting you good morning and goodnight, and everything in between. Whenever there was distance between you both, he’d worry, he wasn’t good on his phone, but when it came to you, he’d text constantly, and reply instantly. Every day you’d assure him that you were fine, but in the back of his mind he’d worry. Everything about you, he’d miss, nights were the worst, when he slept in an empty bed, without you by his side was when he missed you both, not receiving your cuddles to comfort him.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

You didn’t tend to have many for Jungkook, you’d usually shorten his name, whereas he loved to give you adorable pet names that would make you smile, random names where no one else would understand the meaning behind it.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Jungkook loved your tummy and your bum. He loved the size, and resting his hands on them when he slept, or around the day when no one else noticed, giving it a little squeeze when he felt playful.

P ⇴ PDA

He didn’t like to be over the top with affection in public, people knew that the two of you were close and he relied heavily upon you, he’d show you just how much you meant to him in your own privacy. In interviews, and onstage, he’d happily gush about you, telling everyone all about you and how incredible you were.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

From the moment he met you, Jungkook loved to ask questions about you and get to know you. In life, he often asked questions because it was your advice and support that often helped him to figure things out.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

When he had time on his hands, Jungkook loved to scrapbook moments the two of you shared. His camera would often be by his side, so using the photos that he took, and his own creative mind, he’d put them altogether into little snippets of memories that the two of you could look over in the future. Hours would be spent doing it, but he’d never show them to anyone, they were only ever to be seen by the two of you.

S ⇴ SEX

It can definitely be dominant sometimes, but Jungkook much prefers slow and sensual. If he’s feeling confident, he’ll be rough, and take control, flexing his body, but other times he uses his big, strong arms, to make you feel protected and loved. He’d always take the best care of you, and never do anything you didn’t want to do, some nights, if all you wanted to do was cuddle, that was cool too, he just liked spending evenings with you.

T ⇴ TEXTS

Every day Jungkook would text you, letting you know about his day, and seeing how yours was going. On tour, he would text you every morning and night, forgetting about time zones when he got upset that you didn’t respond.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

You were Jungkook’s world, and vice versa. He couldn’t remember life before you, it was having you in his life that helped him find a true purpose. Having his warm, kind personality in your life, gave you a much greater and happier perspective on life.

V ⇴ VACATION

Anywhere he went in the world, he wanted you there with him. On tour, he’d fly you out often, and if you had a few days free together, you’d go on mini breaks, often around Asia. When he travels, he always makes notes of places to take you to whenever the two of you next had the time to go and explore the world.

W ⇴ WHINING

If Jungkook didn’t have your full attention, he would certainly get whiny. He’d make noise and touch you continuously until he knew he had your focus back on him.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Kisses were sneaked from Jungkook all the time. Whenever he could, he’d press sweet kisses against your skin, letting you know he was around. But, when he wanted something, he wasn’t afraid to get messy. His hands would run through your hair, he’d love to take control, often trailing kisses along your neck and jaw. Any time he kissed you, he’d feel you smile, warming his heart, reminding him just how in love he was with you.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his best friend, the absolute love of his life.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He can sleep anywhere, at any time, he’s a nightmare to wake up. When he is sleepy though, he loves to cuddle into you and nuzzle against you, using the long strands of hair to tickle against your skin.

---

Masterlist

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searching-for-dam-snacks · 4 years

Text

Percabeth Falling in Love

ok, I may have gotten carried away and written ~1000 words of Percabeth falling in love, but when inspiration strikes, you just gotta go for it!

- - - - - >

It’s dangerous to love, she knows. It’s the one area in life she doesn’t have a good track record in. Her mother doesn’t seem to trust her with anything. Her father is slightly afraid of her. The first boy she fell in love turned out to be a lot more sinister than she’d bargained for. And now? She’s not going to fall for this one. She’s not going to notice the twitch of his lips before he says something sarcastic. She’s not going to search for his mess of black hair in the crowd before dinner. And she sure as hell is not going to find his idiotic cluelessness endearing.

He’s not even thinking about falling in love. But she’s the most incredible girl he’s ever met. A lot of the girls he has had the pleasure of encountering are either extremely horrifying and trying to kill him or just plain trying to kill him. But she’s beautiful without even trying. And she’s smarter and braver than anyone else. When she smiles at him, he thinks his heart might pound out of his chest. When she whips her head up to look at him after he’s said something smart, he feels better than he ever did getting good grade. But then she goes and gets all pushy and angry. And he can’t even remember why he likes hanging out with her. Yet for some reason, he still wants to be around her. But he’s not falling in love. He’s not even thinking about it.

She’s falling for him. Hard. He’s nice to everyone, unless they’re bullies (like the gods). He’s brave and not quite as stupid as she originally thought. The way he comes alive near the water invigorates her as well. She thinks his eyes might be the most gorgeous shade of green she’s ever seen. She tells herself it’s just the quest making her feel attached to him.

She’s tough, and he can’t imagine the quest without her. She pretends not to care about what people think, but he knows she’s desperate to prove herself. The thing is, she doesn’t need to. She’s the most capable girl he knows. At some point, they’ve become friends. He realizes he can tell when she’s upset by something. But girls are so complicated that he usually doesn’t know what she’s upset about. He feels like he could spend all day staring into her eyes. He’s not quite sure why.

She kisses him. She probably shouldn’t have. But she’s worried she’ll never get another chance to. And it happens so fast that she almost wonders if she even did it at all. But his eyes are as wide as saucers when she pulls back, and he looks like he might be frozen. So she did do it. She runs away, hoping that she’ll see him standing when the battle’s over.

He stares at the spot she was just in, his mind whirling like a hurricane. She just kissed him. She kissed him and then ran away. He wishes he had time to think about it, but there’s a battle he needs to win first.

She’s crying. Everyone can see her, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. She can’t bear to look at the funeral shroud. She says he was probably the bravest person she knew. He is. Was. She knows it’s dangerous to care. But she does. She blinks back more tears, focusing her gaze past the gathered campers. She sees—wait!

He doesn’t expect to see a funeral for him when he arrives at camp. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it when he sees her stalking towards him. He’s never seen her so angry. But they way she had been talking about him a moment earlier…Her gray eyes are as stormy as a raging sea, but she hugs him tightly. He’s too stunned to do anything other than hug her back.

She’s scared of the coming monsters. The campers done their best, but…a few dozen children against an army of monsters? The odds aren’t good. She looks at him every chance she gets, doing her best to memorize his features. His movements. His heart. If she dies, she wants her last thoughts to be of him. If…if he doesn’t make it, she never wants to forget the feel of his gaze upon hers. The look of determination in his eyes when he readies himself for a fight. The gentle touch of his hand against a pegasus and the strong swing of his sword against an enemy. And she’s hit with a realization. Maybe it was when he saved her from the sirens. Maybe it was when he came back from the labyrinth. Maybe it was a million little moments. Whenever it was, it doesn’t matter. She’s fallen in love.

He pictures her in the back of his mind all the time. Her wild mess of curly blonde hair. Her eyes gleaming with a new discovery. Her hand poised on the hilt of her sword, ready for battle. Her pulling him from the River Styx…He can’t shake the image. Deep down, he knows why it was her. It will always be her. She can be stubborn and brash and a know-it-all. But her resolve helps keep him on track. And her actions give him courage. And her wits have kept them from getting killed more than once. He’d really like to survive this war, and he knows why. It began the first day he met her. And grew with each adventure, each hug, and each beat of their hearts. He thinks he may have fallen in love.

He makes it to sixteen. It’s a miracle, really. She bakes him a blue cake and resolves to tell him how she feels if the stupid idiot doesn’t finally admit his feelings. She’s nervous, the butterflies in her stomach twisting and turning. She’s faced down some of the scariest creatures on earth. She can handle this.

He forgot that it’s his birthday. He knows he made the right decision, turning down immortality when his heart skips a beat as she sits down next to him. He tries telling her how he feels, but the words won’t sort themselves out and she won’t stop teasing him. And then she kisses him. For real this time, and he thinks he might just melt into a pile of goo.

When they’re thrown into the lake, the world becomes quiet. It’s nothing but bubbles and water and the muted sounds of their friends up on the pier. She grabs onto him, and he creates an air bubble around them. She’s never seen him look so happy and relaxed. She thinks she could stay with him underwater forever. And in that moment she accepts it. She’s in love with Percy Jackson.

Underwater, in their own private world, there’s no monsters or prophecies or quests. It’s just her. She marvels at the sea around them, and then her eyes lock onto his. Suddenly, he’s home. And in that moment, he can’t think of anything better. He kisses her again, knowing that he’s in love with Annabeth Chase.

#i love these two!#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjoverse #pjo #pjo spoilers #fanfic #the lightning thief #the sea of monsters #the titans curse #the battle of the labyrinth #the last olympian #love #soulmate #story #writing

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thejosh1980 · 3 years

Text

Don't you know that you're toxic?

I was in a toxic relationship...

In fact I have been in a few... But the last one is the one I can still remember in some detail...

The first few, well they were immature drunk and disorderly scenarios. They are not important in this story, other than you should be aware I was pretty repetitive towards my approach to relationships back then.

The story I would like tell is about the 7 year old relationship that ended in March 2019.

This particular relationship had the biggest effect on me, my well being, and my happiness. And even though I married an amazing woman earlier this year, that last relationship is still a reminder of the baggage I have held onto since my first relationship.

It's time I unloaded that baggage and shed my skin.... Even if it's just a little bit... You know, small steps...

So, lets call my ex “Grumpy”...

In fact that's a name an American girlfriend of a drummer of a band we were watching called her once in Germany, literally minutes after meeting her. I should have seen that red flag even back then...

Look, Grumpy isn't a bad person, deep down I think she means well... But she just hasn't been able to get past her past... She wont let go of any stubborn insecurities, learn new coping mechanisms, and she wont forgive herself, or you for that matter... At least that's what I've experienced with her.

It's like whenever things don't go her way, whenever she's frustrated or doesn't know how to cope, she'd revert back to a 14 year old girl, which is when she had troubles with her Mum.

I mean honestly, who didn't have troubled teenage years??

I'm not saying she doesn't have a right to feel pain about some significant event or trauma, but she surely can't hold it over my head and expect me to hang around, forever...

During our relationship, I explained to her, that when I went into therapy (which at the beginning she thankfully helped me do) I had no idea what to expect. But I knew I couldn't continue the way I was and expect a happy outcome.

It took a long time, but I processed many of the issues and events of my past, which in turn helped my current situation and had a positive effect on my future. I learned new ways on how to cope with current problems, insecurities and learn to take responsibility for my actions and choices in life...

I forgave my Dad for not being a good father. I understand, he just didn't know better and chose not to learn how later in life... It's no excuse but I find some comfort in knowing I wasn't the problem. These days, I can be comfortable in his presence, no longer hoping for the Dad I've always needed, but enjoy his company for what it is...

I forgave my sister for her misgivings. She's a tough cookie, and very jealous of me. I think she's very jealous of my relationship with Mum, but my sister hasn't taken responsibility for her actions, and therefore it will be a long road before I can trust her, but I'm totally OK with that. She has her problems, and they are not mine to take responsibility for, anymore.

My grandparents on both sides were hard work over the years. I thought it was my fault too! But really it was their lack of empathy and understanding that created an atmosphere of negativity. They had every opportunity to be a good example to an impressionable young me. Luckily I learned to forgive them, even if I didn't actually say that to them while they were still alive. I forgave them and myself for contributing to the escalation, rather than finding resolution.

Grumpy knew I did this (and more) in therapy, and refused to consider it.

Now in all fairness, I originally refused to entertain the idea of counseling too, as I had a negative experience in my younger days (just like Grumpy), but when I reached my first breakdown around 2014 in a foreign country, I knew I needed help and I asked...

You know, I know she's still hurting over her past...

How can I tell?

Because it's been 18 months since I broke up with her, and she continues to create drama, instead of “adulting” and talking to me about it.

She's had every opportunity to deal with these post break up problems we all have had to go through like an adult (you know, splitting up the household belongings etc), without fail each time she has deflected, ignored, created more drama, lied or done something else that shows me, she has not recognized her part in our story.

Let's face it, it takes 2 to tango...

I've come to realize she treated me the way she did during our relationship, because she took me for granted. She thought I'd never have the courage or strength to actually leave her. I sure proved her wrong, didn't I!!!

We started our relationship drunk, and continued like that for 2 or so years. Grumpy and I could drink a lot, and did... We both were a bit rounder then too! We were never fully honest with each other or ourselves. I would say, we probably should have just been a short term fling, because we both weren't ready for long term, but we dived in anyhow...

That journey got me here, and that's totally fine. I have no regrets...

In case you didn't know, I wasn't a very strong person back then. I had little self esteem, and little self worth. So it was easy for both of us to “beat on” each other verbally and not resolve any issues. That's easy to do when someone just can't listen without demeaning you, without taking your feelings and smashing them against the wall... I was always ALWAYS in trouble. She was too sometimes back then... We both were in trouble...

As time went on with my therapy I processed a lot of things, and became ready for long term... I also knew I wanted to move back home, down under, eventually. That would be a hard decision, with or without Grumpy. I just couldn't imagine piling on more stress on top of stress with that relationship. I came to realize there was no future there unless something changed. We had to listen to each other, we had to trust each other, we had to respect each other.

I know I am not perfect, but surely if I can forgive her for things, she could step my way a little... Couldn't she? Didn't she have the power to learn to forgive? I mean really forgive someone and love them for all their faults? Didn't she have the power to grow? Unfortunately she didn't... I knew she didn't process anything because she was bringing up stuff from 2 or 3 or 6 years ago...

When I sobered up and seriously got into therapy, I had no idea what road it would take me down... But after talking about all my family issues, social anxiety issues and depression, the last thing was Grumpy. It took almost 5 years to get to the point where I acknowledged I was unhappy, I realized I didn't trust her and I couldn't see a future with her...

I just couldn't talk to her anymore. We just didn't trust each other anymore... That's the point...

The day we broke up, I had written her a letter, and I read her this letter. I read out a letter I had spent weeks writing making sure my adult words were being used (because without the letter I knew I'd revert to something less mature and less communicative). I clearly stated after trying many times, trying for years to correct our problems, I had come to realize we couldn't go forward. I decided we would break up to save each other from unnecessary pain. I couldn't see any steps going in the right direction in our relationship anymore...

I loved her, but it just wasn't working out, and didn't show any signs of improving.

Her first words were “I knew it” with tears rolling down her face...

I didn't want to do it, but I made a choice... Based on the past, for the present, to better my future.

Honestly I don't know if she wanted to recognize any of those times I tried to talk to her. She didn't want to see the signs. When she got frustrated and yelled at me, and I sat quietly listened and did my best not to raise my voice back. When I tried to talk sense to her she'd react like I was talking crazy.

Maybe she was scared? After all, change is a scary thing.

I changed a lot in those years since I started therapy and stopped drinking, always hoping Grumpy would come my way a little... For several years I was a huge contributing factor to our fights, but as time went on and I learned and grew, I started to de-escalate those fights. (Which generally made things worse!).

Apparently she didn't get the memo...

And she continues to blame me for that mistrust, because that's the way it goes when you don't take responsibility for your actions... It's always someone else's fault... The world owes me...

Even though she's been in a committed relationship since the beginning of 2020, she still hasn't let go of any anger, hurt, or resentment towards me. Her actions clearly show she hasn't processed our relationship, start, middle, or end, and would prefer to block me or stop all communication with me, before dealing with herself. She'd prefer to tell everyone else how bad I was, what I owed her, what I did to her, than think about her actions and how they affected our relationship.

It's like history repeating itself... And I am finding freedom in the fact I am no longer a character in her story.

I'm quite sure she'll keep the narrative within her circle of friends to make her look good, and me bad. But I like my narrative more (who wouldn't?), I feel we both were a mess... We were having a negative affect on each other. How or why, isn't as important as learning that communication, trust, forgiveness and respect are the things that were missing...

In fact, I think she dislikes anyone who has shown personal growth... It scares her... I think she's comfortable in her denial... She blames her Mum or her grandma... She blames me... Not once had I ever heard in all her years of coming home from work, “Oh it was me...”, “I did something wrong...” or “I messed up, I better say sorry...”

So how could I stay with someone who didn't take any responsibility?? How can I love someone who doesn't say “sorry”?

I was heart broken during the time leading up to reading Grumpy that letter...

I went back and forth in my head, could I see a future??? But in the end I couldn't... The one thing I realize, that is so important in my relationships, is good ol' communication. We lost that, when we lost the trust... It all turned toxic... Manipulative.... Twisted...

I wish her all the happiness the world throws at her.

We all deserve happiness... But Grumpy, sometimes you gotta work at it...

I could spend my time blaming her for so much of it but in the end, it was down to me. I am the one master of my fate... Just as she is... Then and now...

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#toxic relationship #break up #ex girlfriend #moving on

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unluckyadept · 3 years

Text

Flare of the Morning Star

<<—Previous——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

PART III: LIVING NIGHTMARE

Somehow… he always knew it would come to this.

Always.

He had dared to believe that the darkness could be pushed back, and he could finally move on in his life as the sun finally began to rise at last.

Instead, he was tormented mercilessly as time pressed on, making it clear there would not be a sunrise. Not for him.

This is why we can’t have nice things.

Be aware that the following themes are present in the text below.

Locked In The Dungeon

Denied Food As Punishment

A Taste of the Lash

To The Pain

Fed to the Beast (Threatened)

Rape, Pillage, and Burn (Threatened)

Forced to Watch (Threatened)

Public Execution (Intended/Attempted)

Make An Example of Them (Intended)

[He was surprised when he woke up in chains.

Not so much because of the chains themselves; more over the fact he had woken up at all.]

“…”

[He remembered the blaze of glory, the sheer power of triumph. He was destroying them, and then suddenly, after shattering their might—

Nothing.]

“…”

[Was it enough to save them from the terrors of a life under tyranny? They had spent so long preparing for that very day, and they had driven back the attack—and he had put in the strongest of measures to prevent the Tolbi Empire from just overrunning them and brutalizing the populace into submission.

Had it been enough?

He had no doubts at all that it had been worth it. Of course it was worth it. But had it been enough? That was the real question.]

“…”

[If he didn’t break free, then they would try and break him. Knowing this, however, only left him with a cold feeling of unmoved resolve.

They certainly couldn’t coerce him with threats on his life; he knew very well that—unless he escaped—there were no scenarios that ended with him surviving the ordeal. With that in mind, anything else was ultimately redundant.

They would try, but they would not succeed. They had no real power over him. What could they blackmail him with? Not his family. Not his hometown. Not Lalivero. Not Sheba. Certainly not the Grand Master Tamer, who would be unmoved if the face of torture.

He wondered what his friend would say now. He had tried to ask about this very moment, this nightmare that wasn’t breaking—but the Proxan had refused to entertain the notion.

And he supposed, upon reflection, that the answer was the same.

His duties did not change just because he was now captive to tyranny, and soon to be punished for standing up against it. No… if anything, it was all the more serious of a task, since the reward would not be of any benefit to him, and may not come to others for a long time.

He was grateful that the Teleport Lapis was with Sheba and the rest of the Alchemy artifacts were in Prox. The Sol Blade, too, was in Lalivero—he had taken the Rune Blade, as this had been meant as a scouting mission.

He was mildly surprised that he was still in his armor, but perhaps they liked the visual of an opposing general in chains. It would make sense, given how much they relied on propaganda and drama, all smoke and mirrors.]

“…”

[He found that he had no energy to use the brooch. No real energy at all, really.

Not too surprising. After what he had been put through, it really was a marvel that he was alive at all. It was to be expected that he was absolutely burned out.

Ah well. It couldn’t be said he didn’t think of it, didn’t try.

There just hadn’t been enough time.]

“…”

[Tired.

He was too tired to be angry, upset, or afraid at this point.

He had a long fight ahead of him. A battle against abject despair. He needed to fight for the will to live. Without it, he would fall.

Undoubtedly, Darzul would have a fiery motivational speech right now. Certainly, it wasn’t the end yet. He wasn’t going to put up with this for long—he would die free before surrender to tyranny, ultimately.

So this wasn’t a surrender. No.]

“…”

[He squinted against the light of the morning as sun filtered through the cell and hit his face.

Whether for good or ill, the day was only just beginning. It had started off terribly, and he knew he had a long fight ahead of him.

But this wasn’t over.

Not even close.]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“{So. It really IS you, after all these years.}”

“…”

[Felix kept an unmoved expression, despite the utterly humiliating circumstances.

Chains held him tightly in place against the wall, preventing him from folding his arms in.

His gloves and his cape had been taken away, leaving old scars plain to see.

Old scars that were on record. And he had to be somewhat impressed that they’d managed to figure it out so quickly, that they were able to identify him and pull his records.]

“{You’re just a real thorn in our side, aren’t you? Determined to be a criminal agitator that creates chaos in his wake. Never satisfied, are you? Well, now you’ve outlasted your luck, names aside.}”

[He gave a very unamused expression at this.]

“{Do you know what happens to murderers and agitators in Tolbi?}”

“{Vaguely.}”

“{Oh, so you CAN speak. AND in our language.}”

“…”

[The officer tapped something against his hand, giving a displeased stare.]

“{Good. It wouldn’t be nearly as meaningful if you didn’t understand what was going on.}”

[Felix gave a bitter, exhausted, and scornful grin at this.]

“{You won’t be smiling for long. You think you have some sort of victory here?}”

“{Do you really want to know?}”

“{You are incredibly impertinent.}”

“{Why waste our time if you will try and silence me at every turn?}”

“{At least you have some degree of insight.}”

[Tap. Tap.]

“…”

[There was a harsh noise as his captor suddenly lashed out—literally—and streaks of pain sliced across the left side of his face. He had unwittingly cringed and recoiled against the pain, so his shoulders and wrists were also left sore, and his sense of dignity damaged as blood ran down his face.]

“{Learn your place. You have crimes to answer for, and you will answer for them.}”

[Felix managed to give a glower to match the other man’s cold glare, the two of them growing increasingly tense in alpha domination and defiance.]

“{If you think that you do yourself any favor or flattery by continuing to defy us, you are vastly mistaken. Do not think for a moment that it will earn you any admiration or glory.}”

[He could taste the overpowering taste of iron, now, but he remained silent.

Oh, he had much to say. So much to say.

But he would wait. He would wait until he were dealing with someone worth his time.

On some level, the other man recognized this unspoken message, and it left him fuming.

This time, the lashes hit across his right forearm, and it truly burned. He gritted his teeth in the aftermath—equally out of pain as out of scorn. He glared at the other man, who was turning to leave the room.

The temptation to exert his own dominance and authority was strong. Very strong. He was not afraid to do so, not at all—

But he did want it to be worth the effort, and this man was not honorable enough for that.

He had to give a rueful laugh at this. How absolutely absurd that he hoped that he’d get a chance to deal with someone who treated him as an equal. An enemy, but an equal. How absurd, that his primary thought was injured Pride, over outrage at the very situation.

Sheba, for her part, would not be amused at this. And Ray would be “disappointed”, in a very angry way.]

({I stand by my decisions. And frankly, I’m tired of it.})

[He looked up with a sudden glare, brooding in alpha dominance.]

({It’s about TIME someone stood up to these dictatorial tyrants. I’m SICK AND TIRED of ALWAYS living in fear of them! They have been RUINING my life with fear for DECADES!})

[He drew himself up to his full height, clenching his fists and teeth tightly.]

({I’m not just going to let them take away EVERYTHING that matters! I will fight. I will fight with everything I have. I WILL FIGHT TO THE END!})

[For the first time he could remember, he was _brimming_ with anger, but not crushed with the pressure of power. He’d burned himself out, and his rage no longer drew forth energy from the world, unleashing it in raw form. Truly, he was as weak as a normal man now, if much more sturdy.

And yet, that didn’t burden him in the slightest. He didn’t feel helpless, and certainly not given to despair.

He let out a small laugh.]

({Dirty tricks in the middle of the night by a pack of brutal COWARDS who hack and BURN everything that they don’t like… that’s the EPITOME of weakness.})

[He was filled with an inner fire.]

({I expected better than such a spineless ruse. Not sure why… they don’t see us as real people, only as slaves they are entitled to work to death, to dispose of at any moment, utterly reliant on them to survive. I should have expected something so appalling and dirty.})

[He closed his eyes, wiping what he could of his face against his shoulder.]

({Well, they’ve underestimated me. Vastly underestimated me. And that will be their downfall, that they can’t even come CLOSE to matching me when I’m awake.})

[Oh yes, they were going to find out. They would find out the hard way.

For he was no whipped hound to be abused into a cowering mess—he was an wild wolf, an Alpha with the fire of dragons boiling in his core.]

({This. Isn’t. Over.})

[Felix was daydreaming in contentment about working at the forges when the sound of the door opening interrupted his peace. He opened his eyes, looking on with mild disinterest as several people walked into the room.]

“{Is it true that you understand our speech?}”

[Felix gave an unamused frown, saying nothing at first.

The conversation was starting off better than the last one had gone, but it was evident that his behavior had reached the ears of someone with more authority and power. He would have liked to think that would make them more reasonable, but he could not imagine that he would be treated any differently than he had been up to that point.]

“{I suggest you answer before your refusal to do so costs you the ability to speak at all.}”

[He gave a brief look of unmoved gravity before speaking up in a flat tone.]

“{Why?}”

[A pause at that.]

“{How do you know our speech?}”

[Felix grinned at this, smirking in amusement.]

“{I learned it from your best scholar, decades ago.}”

[This clearly came as some sort of surprise. Felix shifted his weight, leaning more casually against the wall.

It was true. Kraden had taught him how to read and write in the language of the Tolbi scholars, as Kraden himself had been. It was Garet’s mother that taught them how to read in the language of Vale—but he hadn’t paid much attention to either until after several years into his exile.]

“{This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you.}”

“{Name the man.}”

[He closes his eyes and shook his head at this.]

“{I will not warn you a third time.}”

“{I have no interest in facilitating the injury of my former teacher. He’s a good man… and does not deserve to be hunted down.}”

“{If you cannot name him, then I reject your claim as a lie.}”

[Felix remained unmoved.]

“{I will not repeat myself, either. It would waste our time.}”

“{I begin to see why you were reported as a particularly haughty agitator.}”

[Felix gestured as best as he could.]

“{There isn’t much point to responding one way or another, if one won’t be permitted to finish their response to others. It wasn’t worth my time or effort to interact with someone who didn’t have the prudence to listen.}”

“{You presume much about your situation.}”

“{Do I? Just because I realize others see me as beneath them doesn’t mean I am unworthy of respect.}”

“{Respect?}”

“{Come now. When one faces their equal or superior in battle, respect is necessary in order to take them seriously as a worthy opponent. If you do not see or treat me that way, then it’s not worth your time to bother, and not worth mine to interact. Surely, as someone with many responsibilities, you can see the value of not wasting time, and the implications of devoting time from what limited amount there is.}”

“{You have done nothing worthy of respect, but you are right about one thing: my time is not to be wasted.}”

“{Pity. I should have liked the opportunity to speak with an equal.}”

“{I am superior to you.}”

“{On what grounds?}”

“{You are a prisoner, and I am a commanding officer of the greatest army in Weyard.}”

“{Hmm. So then, why are you wasting your time with a ‘mere’ prisoner?}”

“{I am not answerable to you.}”

“{Then there is nothing for us to discuss.}”

[The soldier lowered his eyelids.]

“{You act above your station, and with far too much disrespect for someone in your position.}”

“{I am willing to be respectful, but I shall not be deferential. There is a difference.}”

“{Again with the impertinence. You owe us both.}”

[Felix just shook his head in silence.]

“{Still defiant? There will be consequences for that.}”

“{Is that meant to intimidate me?}”

“{I would question your sanity, let alone intelligence, if you are truly unafraid.}”

“…”

“{We know what you are capable of. Kidnapping, blackmail, assault, arson, murder of armed and unarmed men—assassinations, even—this only adds to your list of crimes. Creatures like you aren’t even worth being called ‘men’. Such lawless barbarity is beyond that.}”

“{I am not going to waste our time responding to your accusations.}”

[A pair of spears were leveled at his throat, but he only laughed.]

“{This man is mad as well as barbaric…}”

“{You think this is the first time someone has leveled a blade to my throat? Hardly. How utterly absurd.}”

“{We’ll see how you fare when subjected to the punishment you have earned. Something tells me you won’t be full of bravado then.}”

“{Always looking for a show, aren’t you?}”

“{You really ought to take the matter more seriously.}”

“{I respect you enough to say this: if you have something to say or ask, do so. If you have something to do, please get on with it. And if not… I’d rather we not waste any more of each other’s time.}”

[The soldier seemed to think this over. As best Felix could tell, he was tempted to act on his own… but prohibited from acting freely due to not being high enough of a rank to do whatever he pleased.

Ultimately, he commanded the other soldiers to stand guard outside the cell, and left Felix in silence.

After they finally let him be, he let out a slow sigh and closed his eyes.

Maybe now wasn’t the time for daydreaming, but he was going to have to wait for a better opportunity or greater necessity. And he needed to remember why he was doing this, anyway. Why it was worth it.

Why he absolutely had to put up with whatever happened by fighting against it.]

[He wasn’t about to give up what he had. What he had earned, after so long in exile.

He had been happy, before all of this. He had been at peace, and lived in peace. His life was his own; he was his own man, and he wasn’t about to let all of that fall away.]

({If they think this is the end of it, they’ve got another thing coming.})

[Even if he were overpowered, it wouldn’t be over.

And they were in for a massive wake-up call if they thought that they could coerce him into submission.]

({This still isn’t over.})

[Daydreams turned to real dreams as the time went by.

At first, his dreams were pleasant. And perhaps that was the main reason he slept as soundly as he did.

He slept away valuable hours, only waking to the loud clatter of someone opening the cell door and—more importantly—lashing him across the face again. He didn’t really have time to react before he was hit a second time—and he only just managed to shut his eyes in time.]

“{I’ve heard a fair bit about you.}”

[He made an effort to try and return his breathing to normal as the new voice continued.]

“{Why do you think so highly of yourself? Do you not understand your situation?}”

[He raised his head, squinting through the bloody bangs that were plastered to his face.

One of the Tolbi soldiers was standing at the doorway, his hands behind his back. At his side, he carried none other than the Rune Blade—Felix’s own sword.

And he was struck with weary emptiness, thinking back on how confident he had been that _he_ would have been the one presenting his friends with the spoils of victory.]

({I’m sorry, Brandish…})

[Instead, it was his gear that would be flaunted as a prize.]

({To the victor goes the sword of the fallen.})

[Well.

He wasn’t quite fallen yet.]

“{I understand your intentions perfectly well.}”

[He raised his head, looking at the other man with an unmoved expression.]

“{I always have.}”

[He gave an empty smile.]

“{It doesn’t change the truth of what happened.}”

[The other man stepped forward.]

“{I will say this but once: surrender, or suffer the consequences.}”

“{Why would I surrender? You have no intention of letting me live either way. It’s no benefit to anyone else for me to surrender. And even if there were, I don’t trust that you’d keep your word.}”

“{For whatever reason, you chose to defend Lalivero. If you wish to have them spared, you will surrender.}”

[Felix glared.]

“{You are never going to take Venus Lighthouse.}”

“{Do you think mere mountains will stop us? It is only a matter of time before the city falls.}”

“{Your empire has been falling apart all year long. Don’t think we haven’t noticed—}”

[He was interrupted by the end of the Rune Blade being put right to his throat.]

“{I’ve heard enough. You have chosen a bitter end. Not only for yourself, but for that miserable city of cowards.}”

[Felix gave a very unimpressed expression.]

“{You’re the ones who were so desperate to terrorize a peaceful people without having to face them. Tell me, who’s the real coward? The one who stood up against a professional army to protect his family from a life of slavery, or the heavily armed soldier who ran as soon as their target started fighting back?}”

[He saw it coming, and he was faster.

Gripping the chains to hoist himself up higher, he delivered a sound kick to his captor, striking the man back with considerable force and knocking him off balance.

This only served to anger him, however—]

“{Pin him down!}”

[But Felix wasn’t at all concerned when the others held him in place, because he wasn’t done yet.]

[Felix used ECHO!]

[Before the soldier could strike, he was slammed back much more forcefully than the first time, much to the surprise and alarm of all the others present… given he hadn’t moved.]

“{I’d stop now, if I were you.}”

“{You will not live to regret that—!}”

[And Felix could sense it in the soldier, plain as day; the Life in his heart and the Death in his hands.

And feeling the chilling brutality leveled at him with complete disregard for his humanity filled him with a cold fury.

He had lived far too long playing the part of the deferential peacemaker, hiding from conflict and avoiding confrontation. Nearly two thirds of his whole life, chained to an unwillingness to stand up for himself to others who mistreated him.

And he was fed up with it.

He had been pushed around and punished for what he valued for the last time.]

[He had no hesitation at all in what he did next.]

[Felix used BANE!]

[The aggressive Djinn plowed directly into the soldier before he could strike. A dark aura of deep red consumed him, and a crippling toxicity spiked in his blood.

The blow itself had almost knocked him out entirely, but the venom that came along with it sapped his strength completely, causing him to collapse.

Of the two men restraining him further, one of them rushed over to his superior, and the other just backed away in horror.

Felix glared at them both.

Seeing one of the strongest men in Tolbi taken down so quickly did not inspire great confidence in the subordinates, and they cleared out as hastily as they could, leaving one unfortunate soul to fearfully stand guard at the door.]

“{I think I rest my case.}”

[The days passed.

He had lost all true sense of a value of time. His sense of thirst and hunger compounded, leaving a hollow void as he continued to draw energy from the earth. It was a confirmation that he was “only” unable to safely use Psynergy, but all else remained the same.

A small comfort, given how little it seemed to matter.

Time alone gave him time for thought. Too much time, really. He didn’t particularly care to stay awake; it always took less energy to stay asleep without food than awake without food.

He supposed that they had forgotten about giving him food and water when it seemed to not affect him at all; perhaps they had meant to withhold it as a means of making him weak enough to keep in hand, and realized that he could survive well enough without it.

He was certainly the least of their worries, that was for certain.]

[With all the damage he had caused, and the inability to make up for it due to a lack of sufficient resources, they would have to change their plans. They, too, had expected an easy victory; they never planned for being routed. They never thought they’d need to use so much power, let alone that it wouldn’t work. Now, they were stuck in Northern Gondowan.

They could go through the desert, perhaps, but that would be resource-intensive. (Clearly, the scouts had never returned, which told them that advancing from the south was something that would be met with resistance.) Even more so now, he had to imagine; it was said that the spirits of the desert always retaliated against those who earned their wrath, which Tolbi had done already at least once before. Going through the desert was hardly ideal.

Not impossible, but not ideal. Certainly not realistic without proper preparations, first. They may be able to hold what was left of Suhalla, but the supply chain was not fully integrated.]

[It also appeared that things were not well in the Empire; he could only assume that there were issues in the highest echelons of power. Possibly as a result of how terribly their attempted invasion had gone; he could only imagine that the failure reflected very poorly on those in charge of the affair and those who proposed it in the first place.

He really would have liked the opportunity to speak to someone who would take him seriously, but he was never given that option.

That was the worst of it all, really.

Well. That, and the crippling sense of abject despair.]

[He hadn’t felt so destitute in years. He felt utterly worthless and void of purpose; it was no small thing to be imprisoned by force by those who hated him on principle… and were eager to subject everyone else around them to suffering.

As the days went by and nothing happened, nothing changed, he began to see that even if there were any forces that would try to oppose the force stationed in the Suhalla ruins specifically, they were not successful at even coming close. It was no surprise, really; crossing the desert would surely be all but impossible, and crossing the mountains was no easy task, either. Sure, there were those who could get around those problems…

…but the fact he had actively chosen (for weeks, at the very least) to cut off Weyard from the Wilderness would prevent most of said people from trying.

And so, he could do nothing but wait.]

[He HAD considered how he might escape, but it was quite clear that he wasn’t strong enough to break free of the chains. They—along with the rest of the prison—were fairly new. (This suggested they might have been made in response to the destabilization of the region over the last few years, but that was a thought for another time.) He could call upon the power of the Djinn… but such a strategy was very risky. Using Djinn would leave him weaker, and he would need their true power to get out of a situation like his. The fraction they permitted in use of Summons was connected to the power of the Adept in question, as a means of withholding power that the Adept could not physically or respectably wield. It also had traditionally been restricted to something beyond the purely physical plane… as far as his experiences had shown, at any rate.

Granted, he had never actually tried to call upon the power of the spirits with the purpose of unleashing pure destruction. He had to suspect that it would be unwise to do so, for the spirits cared little for the conflicts of Man.]

[This left only one option he could see: taking advantage of an opportunity that finally resulted in him being freed from the shackles.

The main problem was that he couldn’t see any reason for them to do this as long as he appeared to be stronger than they could handle.

The second problem was that their possible reasons for doing so all spelled a grim picture for him. If he were to fail, he would be left in a much more vulnerable state, and possibly unable to defend himself at all.

But then again, what else could he expect? There really was no ending to this that would be a happy one.]

[Upon reflection, he considered that to be his greatest error. He’d grown overly optimistic after the last few years of happiness.

It hadn’t been a perfect happiness, to be sure, but it had been his. He had worked very hard and finally started to heal… to heal and to grow.

And he had therefore started to truly believe that it was indeed possible for him to be at peace—to be at peace, to be happy, to succeed, to be worth anything at all.

He’d had a role, once. An important role. A role that demanded sacrifice, that held people together in a time of great distress. He had protected others, he had served them.

But now?

Now he was nothing. It hadn’t been enough.

He hadn’t been wrong about his own power.

He’d just failed to foresee the depths to which tyrants would sink to obtain power.

And he would pay the price for that.]

There was one exchange, however, that stood out above all the rest, and continues even now to echo in his mind and heart.

“{So that’s it, huh? You fancy yourself to bed with the jewel of Gondowan?}”

[Felix pressed his mouth into a thin line.]

“{When we march through the city, she’ll be taken captive like all the rest. She’ll be made into the whore of the Karagol, imprisoned until her beauty has faded and she no longer satisfies for pleasurable deeds. She’ll be fed naked to beasts for all the empire to see. And who knows. A young, fit man such as yourself… perhaps we’ll do the same to you.}”

[Some of the others laughed at this, but Felix could not hide the burning rage in his eyes.

He hadn’t wanted to kill someone this badly in a long, long time. He’d wanted to instill the fear of death as soon as several years ago, but this? No. He wanted to kill the man, then and there.

He could best any one of them in open combat. And they knew it. The only way they could win was by trying to keep him chained down.

But even that would not be enough to stop him, really.]

“{Nothing to say?}”

“{Plenty.}”

“{Really now? Go on, entertain us with your laughable denial.}”

“{Denial?}”

“{Still think you have a way out of this, don’t you? You just can’t see that your time in power is over. Now, we will make sure that all those who knew you—all those who looked to you and followed your commands—are brought to swift justice and punished for sowing chaos in word and deed.}”

“{You’re taking a terribly arrogant position for someone who had to resort to cowardly ploys in order to stand a chance against a singular pair of people.}”

[That earned him a stinging lash to the face.]

“{We won, you worthless filth! You will pay the consequences for daring to attempt to obstruct our peaceful path to the Eastern Sea!}”

”Tch! {Peaceful? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that ‘arson’ and ‘murder’ had such a strange translation in your imperial speech.}”

[Another strike.]

“{You will never walk free again. All this show you put on of having won somehow is an absolute disgrace. Not that one could expect anything else from the likes of you…}”

“{You know, repeatedly sneering a mantra of insults and threats isn’t going to change what actually happened.}”

“{By the gods, you really are that stupid, aren’t you? How did you ever end up in charge of those pathetic drones?}”

[Felix snorted at this.]

“{As if I’d tell you that story.}”

“{Well, it won’t matter. You’ll go down as the worst agitator to ever pervert the affairs of our people, the most scandalously terrible and corrupt creature to ever disgrace Weyard’s soil.}”

“{You say that as if you haven’t been slandering my name for decades.}”

“{You are responsible for terrible crimes, and you will face justice for them! Accept your defeat!}”

“{Perhaps if you had legitimately overpowered me and enslaved those I protected—in open combat—then I would be forced to admit I was not strong enough to defend them from the likes of you.}”

“{We HAVE overpowered you. Even YOU should know THAT.}”

[Felix laughed briefly at that.]

“{Are you seriously telling your men such lies for ego? Pathetic.}”

[Another strike, but it didn’t strip the grin off Felix’s face.]

“{Your so-called ‘victory’ was to prey upon a man exhausted of energy spent turning back some of the worst tyrants the modern world has ever seen—you failed to take the Lighthouse, and you failed to take the city! You have failed miserably, and your only way to counter your ruination was to seize power in the dark of night with sufficient speed as to confound those who had deterred you!}”

“{Your deranged claims are blatantly a sign of your brutish madness. Such flailings amount to nothing! You cannot stop us now; you just deluded yourself into refusing to accept the truth!}”

“{What did I just say? Repeating your lies will not change what actually happened.}”

“{And denying what happened will not change the truth! You lost. Stop wasting everyone’s time and stirring up discontent by falsely claiming you have won! You’re the one who was captured!}”

“{Temporarily.}”

“{Oh, you think you’re getting out of this? That’s rich.}”

“{I do know that you can’t hold me here forever, and you won’t be able to force me to leave.}”

“{We’ll drag you out of the city in chains if you insist on being dramatic.}”

“{And he’ll probably still be raving about his alleged ‘victory’, too…}”

“{Tell me. You set out to overtake the city and force the people into submission, correct?}”

“{Stop playing the martyr. That land belongs to the Tolbi Empire; we arranged to build the roads, to build the lighthouse—}”

“{The blasphemy that was Babi Lighthouse was torn asunder YEARS ago. Just answer the question.}”

“{We are aware of what you and that scheming woman have done to unravel the work we put into bringing the ungrateful populace into the civilized world. And that’s the first thing we’ll fix, once we get there.}”

“{Answer the question.}”

[Another strike.]

“{We set out to take back what belonged to us and bring justice to those who have acted to undermine the unity of the empire!}”

“{Right then. Your delusions aside, your goals as outlined failed miserably. Each and every one of them. You didn’t seize control, let alone with the ease and glory you had the hubris to convince yourselves would grant you absolute power. I defeated all of you AND shredded what power you were counting on using to oppress the rest of the continent into submission. Even with all your cowardly attempts to undermine, you still failed to conquer—}”

[The last thing he saw was the crazed rage in the other man’s eyes.]

Even though he managed to escape by overpowering the soldiers when they freed him from the wall as part of the process of taking him to a place of execution—further turning the ruins of Suhalla into rubble in the process of bringing down his Judgment—

The next, cold chapter of his terrible fate still awaited him.

<<—Previous——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

#cje #unluckyadept

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years

Note

so um, why would he revert back after dying? i get that you said you were messing around with different rules for true polymorph, but can I ask why would you make that decision to make it break upon death, when normally it’s permanent unless you have dispel magic? I don’t mean to be like accusatory or anything i’m just curious about the rule change

Ahahahaha. Oh, the end conditions for True Polymorph, that age-old debate.

First of all: anyone who says that it’s universally agreed, or even “normally” agreed, that True Polymorph is maintained even into death is highly mistaken. The truth is that there is no universal agreement on how to interpret the rules here. Jeremy Crawford, a leading WotC game designer and more or less the dude in charge of the PHB, has suggested on twitter that the spell ends at 0 HP. Mike Mearls, who co-created 5e, says that it doesn’t. So what does that mean?

The truth is that sometimes, in D&D as in life, there isn’t a universal answer. As a DM it’s largely my responsibility to decide on specific, consistent interpretations of the rules for the world of the game we’re playing. This isn’t so much about changing the rules as deciding which version of the rules is true for this campaign, in this universe. Sometimes that’s about the players and striking mechanical balance. Sometimes it’s about the worldbuilding, lore, or crafting a cool story. (Sometimes I literally roll a die and go, “okay, cool, that’s how Awakened Squirrels work now.”)

RAW isn’t holy. Any game should have a set of rules that everybody involved knows and can use, because that’s how a game works, but it’s not always that important what those rules are. In my game, cats have darkvision and True Polymorph is ended at 0 HP. Also heavy smoke does AOE damage to swarms of wasps, the party’s donkey can use a bite attack for minimal damage if he’s particularly annoyed, and the bard’s fox doesn’t have to roll saving throws. Any DM is going to use their own judgment on how the written rules fit into their own game.

I ended up going with ‘true polymorph ends at 0 HP’ because it made certain pieces of lore more interesting, basically. I could write like ten essays on it, and the whole conflict of magic vs non-magical reality in this campaign setting, and how this particular setup let me do things I wanted to do with both the Hero Resolve lore and this bard’s backstory. I’m pretty sure I’m homebrewing a 9th level spell that can make any spell with a duration permanent and undispellable. Going this direction has actually led to a lot of cool worldbuilding stuff for this campaign, for me, and I’m excited about it!

And I’m glad I got a chance to head down this way, that I went looking for different peoples’ interpretations of an ambiguous rule, and then realized it was up to me to decide on my own conclusions. I had to really think about what choice would make my game work the way I want it to, and the way I think will be most interesting for my players, rather than just assuming I already knew what the game designers thought was best.

#C the DM #asked and answered #True Polymorph #that is not even getting into the hour I spent trying to decide how I wanted to play #what happens if a level 20 adventurer true polymorphs into another sentient humanoid #that is ALSO apparently a massive debate #about stat blocks and how much control a caster has #yikes #Anonymous

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msbluebell · 5 years

Note

When you get the time could you please please please write more thoughts on the change the past AU? I am so in love with that one I adore AUs that have characters travel back much further than expected and so have the ability to affect events that would cause major stuff later on but also have to deal with more uncertainty as to what might happen in the future because of those events that were changed, even slightly.

The fun part about sending someone so far into the distant past is that the events you mostly want to prevents are a long way off. It’s too late for Duscur, but there’s still a chance to change everything else.

But, in doing so, new problems are always created and they all have unforeseen consequences, just like decisions where you didn’t time travel.

In this reality, Dimitri was able to save Glenn from his original fate. In doing so he not only prevented Ingrid’s loss of her original fiancee, but also prevented the conversation that would stain Felix’s relationship with his father. Not only that, but he has a steadfast ally that is his proud bodyguard, and a loving brother figure.

A drawback, though, is that now Glenn is one of the people living with the unresolved trauma of Duscur. Dimitri worked mostly through his during the first lifetime (though a lot of those wounds are reopened now that he’s lived through it twice, still, he knows how to handle it better than the first life). Glenn would probably have frequent nightmares like Dimitri had, definitely some unresolved anger and a short fuse, and deep resentment of the people that caused this, which he knows to be Patricia and Cornelia. It’s like blending Dimitri and Felix during the first half of the game into one huge mess. His only consolation is that he and Gustav were able to save Dimitri. Still, he has nightmares, and can often be seen beating a training dummy to death.

Glenn’s reaction could also affect Felix in a new way. Felix could still grow up with his hatred for the concept of Martyrs and Knighthood through seeing what it has done to his beloved brother. Still becoming the Felix as we see him in the game, but with a wee bit of a softer edge and an obvious protectiveness of his brother. Whenever someone mentions what a great knight his brother is he gets defensive, which makes some people think he’s jealous. He’s not. He just wants people to stop bothering Glenn. He also is fiercely protective of Dimitri, as he was in the game, but more open about it because the incident where they had to put down that rebellion and he saw Dimitri’s blood-lust for the first time didn’t happen the same way.

Felix has seen what Duscur has done to the both of them and he’s not tolerating bullshit.

Ingrid also changes a bit. She no longer has the fear and anxiety of trying to find a new husband to save her family. Now she can focus fully on being a knight and marrying Glenn when the time comes. She’s happier for it, and while her views on knighthood are a wee bit more sour, she’s still valiant and determined to be the best knight she can be.

Sylvain isn’t really in a position to change much, so he doesn’t. Dimitri tries to do something about Miklan, but it’s ultimately fruitless as the deep issues there were much too late to resolve.

Another thing that changed with consequences was naming Cornelia as a suspect. Now she’s under heavy investigation and house arrest. However, Cornelia is also a local hero and very popular. While Dimitri does have support, Cornelia is not without allies, and she strives to ruin Dimitri as a result of her disgrace. She can’t exactly pin the tragedy on him, but she can make him seem like he was delusional with grief when he accused her, saying that she was rather cold to him as a consequence of their positions, and she just so happened to be there when he needed to blame someone.

(”Bullshit.” Glenn hisses, white-knuckled, “He knew well before any of it. She’s a lying witch, and she will face justice.”

“Be patient, Glenn.” Gustav squeezes his shoulder, “She will not win.”)

Dedue is a mild change. He’s happier now. His sister and mother work in the palace kitchens, under the personal protection of Prince Dimitri. Dedue, himself, has sworn to work as Dimitri’s personal vassal. Dimitri says he would rather have a friend, though, because they’re hard to come by in this castle. Dedue’s mother is wary, at first, and hates the castle. She does warm up to Dimitri, though, after a few months. It’s hard not to like Dimitri when he is so eager and respectful, calling her Ma’am like she’s someone important, and treating her like she has the wisest word in the room. She doesn’t care for Faerghus, but Dimitri melts her iced heart. Dedue’s sister is quite, rarely speaking. She just wants to work the kitchen and go back to her room, like Bernadetta, but a selective mute.

Dimitri is glad for Dedue’s family, because he’s happier, and they’re good people, and they keep him focused on something other than just Dimitri’s health. Dedue still puts a lot of focus, but Dimitri can remind his friend that he needs to go home and see his mother and sister now, get him to rest.

Another change that Dimitri will forever argue that he couldn’t have foreseen was his Uncle Rufus suddenly taking a personal interest in teaching Dimitri finances personally. It came out of nowhere to Dimitri, because his uncle was hands off and...well...indifferent to him, preferring to count sums and estimate taxes and investments to knowing his nephew. However, now his uncle is taking an interest and personally making sure Dimitri is a first rate financial genius and Dimitri cannot for the life of him figure out why.

Gustav doesn’t leave. Dimitri knows he keeps meaning to, but the prince always finds one excuse or another to keep him too busy to leave. This goes on until Gustav forgets to leave at all, too worried by the potential enemies Dimitri may have and the stress that is left behind.

Dimitri also makes sure to finance Annette’s tuition at the School of Sorcery, of which Annette was enrolled thanks to personal recommendation. Gustav didn’t know until the letter arrived. Annette squealed for days, gushing about how Dimitri was the best, and oh father did you tell him I want to go to school? You’re the greatest! I’ll never be able to repay him! I should make cookies! Thank you!

Jeralt buys a house just outside the city, a cabin of sorts, and sets it up as the headquarters for his Mercenary group. Instead of traveling around, they take letters and walk-in hires for work. Jeralt distributes troops as need be for every job, and some of his mercs can talk smaller, more medial jobs such as being a bodyguard for a week or escorting someone to the next town safely. The headquarters isn’t far off from the hunter’s cabin, and they make decent money pretty fast. And with the roads so unsafe these days, and people nervous, they’re making a lot of money with the new setup. Jeralt sets up a room for Byleth with a window that, while it can’t see the castle, face’s it’s direction. It’s a bit of comfort for his kid.

He’s taken to decorating his own room a bit. It’s actually pretty nice. Feels homey, like he didn’t mess his kid up. He takes Byleth shopping a bit sometimes, when they’re gathering info and making connections in the city. They get things to decorate the kid’s bedroom. Some pots for plants, a picture for the wall, a fur carpet. It makes his kid seem more human, more alive. Maybe having a home base is a good thing after all.

Jeralt and Gustav often meet in a pub in the city. They keep their conversations purposely vague, but in actuality they’re covertly sharing their information under the guise of two old friends having a drink.

Byleth makes sure to meet and befriend Annette early on, careful to be encouraging of her studies and interests. Annette takes to the friendship quickly, beaming every time she meets up with Byleth. Byleth quickly becomes her best friend in the city, and she’s constantly dragging them around to shop and buy sweets. She helps decorate their room, and choose clothes that will fit. And Annette is super proud of their friendship, even if Byleth doesn’t really smile or anything.

Annette confesses, one day, over shared sweets from that shop she likes, that her new goal is to go to Garreg Mach so she can meet Dimitri officially and thank him for getting her into school. Byleth assures her it will happen.

Dimitri isn’t allowed to leave the castle unless Gustav and Glenn are with him anymore, and even when he does get to leave the places his uncle lets him visit are heavily restricted, so Dimitri and Byleth have to covertly see each other. A festival thrown by the Bard’s College, just so happening to be in the same shop, a visit to the schools or church. The moments are fleeting, like mist in the wind, but precious to them both. A glimpse of one another fills them with conviction, makes them remember they’re real, that they’re not alone.

They sneak chances to hold hands, during the festival for a dance, during church for a hymn, any chance.

It’s enough to keep them going.

#fe3h #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Change The Past AU #Dimileth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #Faerghus #byleth eisner #jeralt eisner #gustave dominic #glenn fraldarius #felix hugo fraldarius #ingrid brandl galatea #annette dominic #sylvain jose gautier #asks

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

Text

Signs of Confection

AO3 Link Here

Pairing: Thranto (Eli Vanto/Thrawn)

Warnings: None. This one’s just literally and figuratively sweet.

Words: 5,683

About: A story in 5 segments about the sweeter things that Thrawn seems to enjoy.

It’s almost funny, Eli Vanto thought to himself as he caught the slightest discomfort across his new bunk-mate and unspoken charge’s face. A serious, composed, ultrapolite man like Thrawn balking at something as necessary as caf. The same altercation had been happening each morning and afternoon for about a week now. The stimulating beverage appeared to be necessary, considering the way Thrawn sipped at it while reading at lightning-quick speeds during their every free moment, trying to bridge the gaps in his education. Also, Eli didn’t have any evidence of Thrawn actually sleeping. Even if he woke in the middle of the night, the Chiss was still awake at their shared desk.

That couldn’t be healthy, but frankly, Thrawn had asked for this, and it wasn’t Eli’s problem unless there was an urgent translation he needed that couldn’t wait. (Which, again, considering Thrawn’s ultra-politeness that extended to the point of seeming condescending, hadn’t happened. Yet.)

Cadet Vanto went back to his breakfast, a boring mix of slop-like grains with enough vitamins to make it a paste. At least at Myomar they had fresh fruit. One would think that Royal Imperial would have had far superior dining facilities, since it was located on perfect Coruscant. There were just some things that Wild Space excelled at, and this was one of them. Even the latemeal, which was actual food was bland for the most part.

Blue fingers wrapped around the metallic mug for the umpteenth time. Eli pointedly didn’t look at him, but he couldn’t help but notice that the mug kept getting pushed further and further away with active disdain. Eli resolved to intervene, even as his inner voice reminded him that this was the man who had literally turned his entire life inside out. It was just for a little while, he told himself, squashing his uglier thoughts. He was obviously a long way from home, but Thrawn’s home was much further, and he certainly didn’t have any friends.

Besides, it was Eli’s job to babysi- his job to acclimate Thrawn to his new life in the Empire. Eli considered his own thermos. He could drink caf however it came, but he knew how he preferred it. He was willing to bet good credits, based on his knowledge of the Chiss’s food preferences, that the Lieutenant had a bit of a sweet tooth.

- x -

“Here.” Vanto held out the thermos, a deep maroon in color, a not-quite identical twin of the one he brought with him every day to the commissary. They’d been about to depart for the morning meal before a lengthy stint of classes and labs that would keep them occupied until the latemeal.

Intense red eyes flicked down then back up the short distance to his roommate’s eyes. Vanto had expected distrust, but Thrawn’s eyes gave nothing away but scrutiny. He took it, his long fingers icy cold where they brushed over Eli’s far warmer ones. He studied the thermos as the cadet turned away.

“Obviously you hate caf, but it’s a necessary evil, and there ain’t a tea leaf to be had in the Empire’s facilities-” Vanto winced at the prominence of the twang in his voice but continued anyway, “Probably it was the drink of the Jedi.” He opened their tiny shared closet, split in exact halves. Eli’s smaller uniforms hung to the left, Thrawn’s larger ones to the right, small lockers underneath to house any personal effects.

Crouching, Eli was vaguely aware of the looming presence of Thrawn, who still hadn’t said anything. He could see the shadow of the Chiss, the way he held the travel mug awkwardly, unsure what to do with it. “You noticed that I dislike caf,” He said, well, Eli thought, he more mused it to himself, but Eli was in the room too.

“I did,” He answered, interrupting whatever Thrawn was thinking. “Seems we have that in common. I’ll drink it if I have to - I certainly prefer them to stims - but I don’t like it.”

“You have it each time we’re at the commissary,” Thrawn commented, and that might have been an expression like surprise, but it was there and gone in the space between blinks.

“I do,” Eli confirmed. He pulled something from his locker. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” He said, rising to his feet and nudging the locker shut with his heel as he set the box in his hands on the desk. Inside were metallic pouches. Tons of them. “Put one in your belt-pouch for later, and dump one in the thermos.” He took point, grabbing his thermos from the desk and popping the top off of it. He ripped open one of the tiny packs and carefully emptied the contents into the thermos, then looked up at Thrawn.

“What is it?” Thrawn asked.

“Powdered chocolate and tang bark. Try it. You won’t regret it.”

Too polite to refuse, Thrawn took a single packet and dumped it into his own thermos, thanking Vanto as he did, though he still eyed the thermos dubiously.

When he dipped back into his locker to put the box back, Eli grabbed a few extra packets for later. He wasn’t sure of much when it came to his new bunkmate, but he damn sure wasn’t wrong about this.

Sure enough, when they had the fifteen minutes necessary to run through the mess between lectures that afternoon, he watched Thrawn eye the caf dispenser with disdain. Eli pulled the extra two pouches from his belt without so much of a word and set them beside Thrawn’s mug as he poured the dark beverage.

“Sometimes one’s not enough,” He offered as an explanation, then added, “This morning’s caf was better, but still not sweet enough for you.”

He couldn’t help the smile when Thrawn didn’t hesitate to take the two powdered cocoa pouches and tip them into his mug and resolved to make sure he left the box on their shared desk for easier access. Lost in his thoughts, Eli missed the look of purposely reserved interest Thrawn threw his way as he helped himself to his afternoon refill.

When their eyes met next, Thrawn offered him a grateful nod and deposited the three empty packets into the waste bin as they left. Their walk to their next lecture was as comfortable as it was silent. Eli never thought twice about the incident, or the way that cocoa-cut caf became the norm of Thrawn’s life in the Imperial Navy.

Thrawn did. He thought about it often, reflecting on it late one evening aboard his flagship, stylus flying across his datapad as he penned a journal entry about the value of having a friend, be they near or far.

Most of the time, Thrawn’s (admittedly) genius plans tended to send them to obscure locations and land them in even more obscure situations. This time, however, they found themselves in a mid-sized city-center in the throes of celebration of some solstice or another. Stands and tents were set out in the streets, and the smells of festival food - fried and delicious - hung heavy in the warm air.

Ensign Vanto relished the heat, wearing a combination of canvas utility pant and a button-up shirt in creamy off-white that he’d left unbuttoned part way. “Kinda reminds me of back home,” He admitted, the conversation honest though it fit easily into their cover. Thrawn fit in here, more or less. There were many alien species interspersed throughout this Outer Rim world, and due to the brightness of the sun, Thrawn had been able to conceal his telling eyes with dark-tinted lenses for most of the day.

Now, however, it was approaching dusk, and the heavy tint did the captain no good. He tucked them into a pocket of his long-sleeved tunic, dark in color, but lightweight enough to diffuse heat.

“There are festivals like this on your homeworld?” Thrawn asked idly, scanning for signs of the smugglers whose ship they’d found earlier in the day at the meager, yet crowded spaceport. He turned back to regard Eli, the red-brown tone of his exposed skin deepening after a day in the sun. “You speak rarely of Lysatra,” He added.

“Not much happens there, sir,” Vanto supposed. “But we’re out far enough that a lot of things are the same world-to-world.” Thrawn’s eyes narrowed, so Eli prepared to unknowingly give him some kind of clue, thereby making Eli the butt of an unspoken joke for not being able to see the bigger picture. “Lots of folks planet-hop to make easy credits. People are more inclined to spend frivolously, and buy things they don’t need.” His brow furrowed, and he looked to Thrawn as he reasoned, “It’d be easy to doctor books or money launder that way, especially in the food industry.” There, Eli thought. At least he realized he was onto something. That was good, right?

Thrawn smirked so wide Eli almost called it a smile. Alas, it was too predatory. “I believe the majority of food vendors are located on the next block,” He said. “Shall we?”

In the end, Thrawn handled the authorities while Vanto carefully considered their options and his current credit situation. This was entirely too much like home. Vendors called out to him despite knowing he’d been part of the duo who created a real mess of this specific area of the festival hours earlier. Some of them heckled him for riling up the crowd and getting a fellow vendor arrested, hoping to guilt him into spending his credits.

He settled for procuring two very interestingly colored fruits that had been dipped in something that seemed to glitter when it caught the light. It almost resembled a candied jogan fruit, if not for the brilliant blue-green color of the fruit itself. The outer shell smelled sweet, and while it was hardly an acceptable alternative for the late meal, it was something easy to consume while they walked back to their shuttle.

When he held one out to Thrawn, the Chiss stared at it in obvious surprise. Then, unbidden, the smallest hint of delight crossed through his usually intense eyes as he took it. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Eli nodded. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“You did well,” Thrawn said, sometime after they’d started their rather innocuous walk back through the now lit bazaar. They easily maneuvered through the throngs of beings. “I rather suspected you would catch on to their scheming, though I had suspected it would have been one of the market vendors, not a food vendor.”

“We’re too far from the Core for everything to be on the books. Edible items are far easier to conceal, especially when they’re not dangerous. Makes it easier to adjust the records, I guess.”

“Again,” Thrawn praised. “An excellent deduction.” He cast a glance to the side as Eli chewed a bite of his own treat. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eli said. “I’m just glad it was a chase and not bloodshed.”

“As am I,” Thrawn agreed. Slower, more thoughtfully, he said, “My people have similar celebrations like this for the solstice. There are variances,” He continues, but doesn’t expand upon those further. “It was rare that we were able to attend.”

“I suspect you didn’t grow up on a sparsely populated world. These kinds of things are about the only option for people to celebrate bein’ alive,” He drawled but didn’t flinch away at the sound of his own voice. “Back home it was an excuse to take some time away.”

“Do you miss it?” Thrawn asked, the intensity of his gaze dialed up. “Your homeworld?”

“About as much as you do, I’d suppose,” The human answered, biting into his candied fruit. “It’s nice to be planetside, but I’m starting to come to the realization that there’s nothing wrong with belonging to the stars.”

Thrawn covered his pensive frown with another tentative bite of the treat Vanto had procured for him, but he did not escape the younger man’s notice entirely. He was becoming too good at this, Thrawn realized. His skills had been improving. He need only stop doubting himself so much and he would likely exceed Thrawn’s expectations in time.

“I do not miss my people,” Thrawn said. “My duty is to the Empire.”

“There’s more to a person than duty,” Eli offered carefully, but he didn’t say anything more.

Thrawn had noticed Vanto’s speech - more obviously, the lack thereof - over the last several days. He cleared his throat often before he said anything, trying to be quiet about it. It was also apparent that his body was running warmer than normal if one were able to see into the infrared, of course. No doubt his aide was working through some human-specific virus that did not find the far cooler Chiss biology to be a hospitable breeding ground.

Bringing it up to his aide on the bridge would hardly be appropriate, Vanto was the kind of man who preferred to remain under the radar- a term he’d explained to Thrawn that Thrawn rather liked. He too preferred to ‘fly’ under the radar, he supposed, though a free alien in an all-human military was never truly going to remain unnoticed.

Even so, Thrawn saw himself off the bridge of the Thunder Wasp with nary a word. Commander Chino didn’t spare him a second glance - no doubt he was reading some holo-novel he’d picked up at the last port, with an extra tab open as to be prepared if the helm had a question. Their patrol was routine, banal, and their Commander was hardly likely to notice him missing for the three minutes and twenty-six seconds it would take him to complete his task.

He was right.

Chino didn’t notice that he’d gone missing. Vanto did though, Thrawn could see it in the tense lines of the man’s back. Vanto was a good aide. Protective. He presented as a pushover but showed signs of that durasteel spine. He had an impeccable ethos. No doubt he was prepared to combat any untoward commentary by the crew regarding his unadvertised absence from the bridge, trusting Thrawn to have good reason.

Thrawn set a disposable cup down beside his console, only sparing him the quickest glance from the left corner of his eye. Curls of steam rose from the small opening of the lid, and the tip of a tea sachet’s labeling was tucked beneath the brim so that only the corner of it remained in sight. The scent was subtle, though Thrawn doubted his younger aide could smell much of anything with how congested he’d become as he returned to his own station closer to the helm.

The ensign waited exactly four minutes and thirty three seconds for the tea to cool to a temperature that would not damage his tongue, fingers curling around it as he continued his monitoring as assigned, his datapad connected to the terminal for later analysis. He didn’t acknowledge Thrawn, though he likely knew by now that Thrawn had already catalogued his flash of surprise followed by gratefulness. Thrawn not speaking to him meant no response was necessary, and the casual aloofness of the gesture hadn’t drawn the attention of the crew stationed around them.

What the ensign didn’t know was that the tea hadn’t come from the staff lounge. It had come from Thrawn’s personal stores, from a trader who dealt exclusively in rare blends - even some of the Jedi’s favorites, lost to time and hatred Thrawn wasn’t sure they exactly deserved but chose to ignore. It wasn’t quite Csillan tea, but it was a variant, one that tasted like crystalline blooms and sweet red fruit he’d yet to encounter in the empire. He’d added less sweetener than he’d normally allow himself since Vanto found a very diverse range of flavors palatable. If it had been Thrawn’s beverage, he’d have found it barely passable, and nearly a waste of rare tea.

He watched Vanto savor it for the next hour between monotonous events and a bit of extra curricular research into what may or may not have been Nightswan’s most recent activities. Vanto worked hard and tolerated far more than most. Such unnecessary sacrifices were most certainly worth it.

- x -

Eli had been hoarse for a week now. Thrawn has been away for yet another court martial, and once again Faro has been left alone and in charge of the Seventh Fleet. Faro hated it, always worried she’d break something that couldn’t be fixed before her commanding officer returned and would be subsequently nailed to the wall for it. Thrawn wasn’t like that, she knew Thrawn wasn’t like that, but she kept Eli close to her like a security blanket.

How he hadn’t gotten her sick yet was likely a result of way too many vitamin boosters on the commander’s part, but Vanto had neither the time nor energy to rile Faro up for nothing.

Finally, Thrawn’s shuttle is scheduled to come back, and the lieutenant commander can’t help but exhale in tandem with Faro. “I hope the debrief is quick,” He said, voice rasping and prickly but not unkind, “But,” He sighed, “I doubt it.”

“You’re welcome to go.”

Vanto’s eyebrows go up. “You want to subject yourself to him by yourself?” He cleared his voice when the volume gave out. “Since when?”

“He won’t care about the debrief, Vanto,” She drawled. “At this point it’d be stupid to contact him, and he’d be more worried about you taking ill. There’d be no debrief until he confirmed you to be alright.”

“Oh, not you, too,” He groaned, the sound rougher and more obviously pained. “He’s our commanding officer.”

“Right, and you’ve been his other half since he joined the Empire,” Faro reminded him.

That irritated him because it meant she’d been listening to the Chimaera’s crew which tended to speculate wildly about anything and everything. She could make her own conclusions, ones that didn’t insinuate he was Thawn’s glorified house-partner and maid. Irritated, he said, “Which is why you keep me at your beck and call. I’m a scapegoat, and you feel less guilty about it because you realize he won’t be unnecessarily cruel to me if you throw everything on me.” He coughed into his elbow while holding up his other hand to keep her quiet. “Y’got another-” He broke off into another hoarse cough, his voice giving out just as the door behind them opened.

“Admiral,” Faro acknowledged.

Thrawn set a tall mug of tea on his desk in front of Eli and gestured for them both to sit while he readied his datapad.

‘How does he do that?’ Faro mouthed to Vanto.

“Thank you, sir,” Eli said after a swallow of the gifted tea. It was sweet like candy, almost syrupy in consistency, but ultimately soothing. He almost sounded normal for how few words he spoke.

“To answer your question, Commander,” Thrawn said, lifting his eyes from his datapad to regard Faro, “Lieutenant Commander Vanto’s dictated replies to my messages have required multiple manual revisions, leading to a longer than usual response time of approximately twenty seconds instead of the usual ten to twelve. It was the logical conclusion that the software was acting up because Vanto’s speech had been compromised, and you had not reported an injury to me,” He looked at her pointedly, “Thus he had to be ill.”

“I see, sir,” Faro said.

“Reporting me under the weather isn’t a thing you need to do,” Vanto chimed from beside her, fingers threaded together around his mug.

“On the contrary, I would have preferred to be aware,” Thrawn said, eyes never leaving Faro. “I would also encourage you to do your own research regarding the relations of our crew. Not everything is as the-” He broke off and said a word in Sy Bisti.

Faro flushed, wondering if perhaps he’d heard their conversation through the not so thick door to the officer’s corridor.

It took Eli a second to pick the right word for the conversation. “The equivalent in Basic that’s appropriate for discussion would be ‘watercooler,’” He said, looking to Faro, who very obviously knew what the word meant, unpleasant connotations and all. Maybe she spoke Sy Bisti too, Eli considered.

“Thank you,” He inclined his head to Vanto. “You understand,” He said to Thrawn.

That had a lot of connotations, but Faro was suitably chastised and nodded eagerly. “Understood, Sir.”

The debrief was long, but Vanto didn’t seem to mind being the passive observer and took notes. Faro noticed that Thrawn didn’t ask him anything unless absolutely necessary, a consideration that most commanders wouldn’t have for their staff. If they reported for duty, that was on them. At least, that was how it had always been. There wasn’t much of a human - well, she considered that a bit sardonically, looking at her very non-human superior officer - aspect to the Imperial Navy. Or the Empire, in general. Not that she’d be caught dead saying so.

When they were dismissed, she peeked into his tea mug. It wasn’t quite empty, but there was a whole lot of sweetener in the bottom of it. “How much did he put in that?” She asked Vanto in disbelief. “There’s enough in there that you should’ve had to chew it. Does he not know how to make tea?”

Vanto grinned a little sheepishly. “I like it just fine,” He said.

“He did that on purpose?” Faro asked, incredulously.

“It’s actually how he likes it,” Vanto admitted. “If you ever have a briefing without me, caf or tea, any kind, with so much sweet you empty the dispenser should win you some points with him.”

“Let’s hope that never happens,” Faro said under her breath as they parted ways.

Years later, she’d find herself dropping into the chair across from his desk with two mugs in hand, one blessedly black, tea, not caf for a change, and the other teeming with sweetener. Thrawn would accept it without a word, and his otherwise stressed visage would smooth for a moment when he realized she’d made it just as he liked.

“I thought he might have told you,” He would muse moments later, uncharacteristically forlorn, and she would have to sip her tea to brace herself. Thrawn hadn’t meant to speak aloud, she knew, just like she knew she wasn’t to bring up the ‘he’ Thrawn had mentioned. Instead, she would sit quietly, look at the artwork strewn around Thrawn’s office without really seeing it, and wonder when the hell it had all gone to shit.

They’re not undercover. That’s what struck Eli as weird about the whole thing. They’re not undercover and Thrawn is on leave. Thrawn doesn’t take leave. Well, he did, but he was the sort to take leave to go on some undercover adventure tracking something that high command doesn’t want him to, so he instead stumbles onto it anyway by “coincidence.” It’s never like this, and Eli is concerned to say the least.

Thrawn knew it, too.

It was why he asked Eli to come with him, but neglected to explain the situation until they’d both filed the paperwork to excuse them. Eli was correct in suspecting Thrawn had an ulterior motive, but he was patient enough not to guess. After all this time, despite every bump and hiccough in their storied past, he trusted Thrawn to do what was best.

“I wish to send you away,” Thrawn said, in some upscale, dimly lit cafe, a piece of absurdly saccharine cake sitting in front of him. Being on leave, Eli had chosen some kind of custard-filled pastry with a flaky outside. He had split it two and put the smaller piece on the edge of Thrawn’s round plate without thinking much about it. Thrawn liked to try new things, and they had similar opinions on most desserts.

Eli hadn’t reacted to his words, hadn’t even let shock pass over his features. Somehow, he knew it had to be something bad. Thrawn took leave when he wanted to skirt the rules, when he was trying to act around the Empire’s clutches. “Well,” Vanto nodded once, consideringly, then met Thrawn’s eyes. “It can’t be anytime close to when we get back, unless you’re planning to make it look like you’ve killed me.”

“Commander Vanto,” He said, then shucked military formalities altogether, the subject matter too grim. “Eli, this isn’t a mission for-”

“I know,” Eli interrupted, and watched Thrawn lean back in the aesthetically mis-matched chair, inspecting him. “Was it Pryce?”

“Among others,” Thrawn said, squinting a little, as if trying to see that much deeper into Eli’s mind. “Did you know before?”

“No, no,” Eli relaxed back into his shorter chair. It was well-worn, and comfortable. The cafe had a few other patrons, but they were far from any occupied tables. “It was how you said it.” He shrugged. “You’re giving me a choice, and you were purposely ambiguous because it isn’t above board.”

Thrawn nodded, and Vanto got the hint that he was pleased, if still a little careworn. Slowly, methodically, he cut into the impressive piece of cake and took a bite. Chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and, “I wish to send you to my people,” He said.

Eli nodded slowly, tipped his head back against the plush chair so that his gaze met the ceiling, then closed his eyes. “It’s a one way trip,” He mused aloud. Brought his chin back down, looked at Thrawn. “Isn’t it?”

“That may very well be the case.” In Thrawn-speak, that was an affirmative.

“Will my family know?”

Thrawn looked conflicted. Eli was almost touched that he had thought of it in advance, but at the same time, Eli knew the only reason Thrawn thought of it was because the answer would not be yes. “I-”

Eli held up a hand. “Do I have time to think about it?”

“Of course,” Thrawn agreed. “Time is of the essence, but this is not an order. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

He knew that, though. Thrawn was used to being alone, to having no one to support him without ulterior motives. At least, he was, with one exception. “What would you do,” He had to ask, “Without me?”

Thrawn smiled at that, eyes bright with mirth. He took a larger than normal section of cake and coerced it over to Eli’s plate. “I am surprised you would ask.”

“Something tells me you’re not planning on returning to your people,” Eli said. “Call it a hunch.”

“Why would I? I serve the Empire.”

“Semantics, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Eli said, and he knew his pronunciation of Thrawn’s name was flawless. Thrawn’s expression was worth it as he helped himself to a taste of the cake Thrawn had bestowed upon him.

“Agree to go, and I will tell you everything I am able,” Thrawn retorted.

“I could say yes, then take it back,” Eli argued, for argument’s sake. He wouldn’t though. Even now, Eli knew he’d already made up his mind. Thrawn always had the bigger picture in mind. He wasn’t looking for status within High Command, he was looking for an answer to a question. Eli wasn’t quite sure what that question was, but somehow he got the feeling that whatever the answer was turning out to be wasn’t the one Thrawn had hoped for. This was a contingency. He was a contingency.

“You are a man of your word,” Thrawn said. “And regardless of what you may or may not have heard from Colonel Yullaren, you are the only one I would trust with this task.”

“Y’still didn’t answer my question,” Eli said, leaning into his drawl.

“I’ll answer yours when you answer mine,” Thrawn hissed, rather abruptly. Eli heard the words but discerned the meaning. It was as snappish as if Thrawn had said the three words he absolutely hated and all but refused to say: I don’t know. The silence buzzed around them until he said, softer, “You do not need to concern yourself with me. I will be fine.”

“You and I both know that isn’t how this goes.”

“It will have to be, if you agree to this task.”

Eli smiled sadly. “You and I both know I’m goin’,” He murmured, rising. “So I’m going to get the rest of that cake to go, and we’re going to stop at a shop on the way back and get something to drink.” The something meaning something alcoholic didn’t go unnoticed by the Chiss. “Sound like a plan?”

Exhaling, Thrawn nodded. He looked down at the remains of Eli’s dessert, all but forgotten, then up at Eli. “You should think it over,” He said. “We do not have to discuss it right away.”

Technically, they didn’t. This had all been meticulously planned by Thrawn, of this, Eli had no doubt. He’d likely built in several days for Eli to make up his mind, and then separate contingencies both for and against his decision.

But Eli was sure. So he bought the other half of the cake and had two disposable utensils thrown into the bag, returned to the table they were sharing and lingered next to the chair while Thrawn finished his cake and the nibble of Eli’s abandoned pastry, and resolved to be braver than he felt for both their sakes.

It would be the last time either of them would eat cake within the Empire’s bounds. They had sat cross legged with the takeaway container between them on one of their oversized hotel room beds, slowly polishing off the extremely sweet confection as Thrawn unravelled layer upon layer of his plans, of what Eli would be expected to do. Somehow, after that, the look of some multi-layered cake, marbled with decadent, delicate layers of sponge between thick, homemade buttercream made something uncomfortable curl in Thrawn’s belly. He’d tell himself it was because they’d eaten themselves sick of it, if only to prevent himself from thinking about Eli.

Csillan distilleries specialized in a distinctly sweet wine made of the icy fruit that grew in crystal-like pods and thrived in the cold. It’s black exterior yielded to a bloody red center that gave the wine its color. It had been decades since Thrawn had enjoyed this particular type of wine - any true wine, by his standards, really. The Empire considered sour and bitter flavors to be complex. It gave him an honest reason not to imbibe amongst his superiors, and the inclination only to sip at one singular glass if partaking was deemed necessary.

But that, that would no longer be necessary. He stepped around his admiral and approached the bar, inclining his head thoughtfully at the occasional officer or council-member who recognized him. He had no desire to discuss anything with anyone. His presence was mandated by the council, and his superior officer - who wished to share her suffering with her new first officer, of that he had no doubt - had seen to it that he did not dodge their request through some convenient loophole.

The wine was as spicy-sweet as he remembered, sampling a single swallow first: protocol, for these socially complex functions. The spicy bouquet hit like a rush before subsiding into a complex blend of unique winter-fruits: the result of a complex, but rewarding fermentation process. It was no surprise to Thrawn that the owner of these plants and the distillery itself was considered rich, even by the lavish terms of the Ascendency.

“Somehow I knew I’d find you over here,” A lightly accented voice said from behind him as the server let him consider. It was deeper, light and delicate around the less familiar consonants that filled the Chuenh language. “Nahnactim’ven,” He pronounced smoothly. Snowrise wine, a name it earned from old tales that said the fruits were sweetest and most palatable when picked before sunrise under falling snow. “It reminded me of that tea you always plied me with way back when,” They said, voice even and nostalgic.

“Vanto?”

There was a smirk on the younger man’s face, his dress uniform limned in gold so that the brighter color caught his eyes in the dim lighting overhead. “Hello, Thrawn,” He greeted, facing his former Admiral head on. His tunic was the deep blue color of a vice admiral.

The same as the one Thrawn wore himself. And then, he remembered. Earlier, Admiral Ar’alani had said she would introduce him to her fleet commander, with whom Thrawn would share duties, assuming they did not find Thrawn first...

When Thrawn had returned to the Ascendancy, it had been years since that fleeting last meeting between. Vanto had been gone. He had barely enough time between debriefings to familiarize himself with the people he had left behind. He’d thought of his former commander often, though. Considered it perhaps a mercy that Ar’alani would not tell him anything as to save him the realization that he was long dead, or perhaps sent off on some mission from which he might never return. He hadn’t been expecting this.

If the other man had not anticipated the embrace - stiff, and brief, but no less sentimental for it - he did not act surprised. Instead, Eli leaned into it for the few seconds it lasted, then stepped back, smiling.

Then, turning to the bar, the human managed to procure an entire bottle, face heating ever so slightly in the infrared as the server winked playfully in Thrawn’s direction. It was hardly noticeable amongst the rest of the crowd, their faces washed in warmth from the sheer number of people in the gala’s attendance and their own alcohol consumption. Thrawn found he didn’t really mind. It wasn’t anyone’s business, but if they didn’t notice, it would be due to their own inability to draw obvious conclusions.

“It’s good to see you,” He said over the din of the crowd, projecting an easy-going confidence as he held up the bottle and two empty glasses. He knew it wasn’t socially acceptable, either, but, Thrawn realized, his smile was bright and roguish anyway as he asked, “Maybe we could catch up?”

#thranto #eli vanto #mitth'raw'nuruodo #sw fanfiction #eli vanto/thrawn #my writing

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