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storytimewriting · 3 months

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Watching Paint Dry (HRN3)

Hi everyone!

I know it's been some time, with busy holidays, vacationing, and getting sick on top of that.

But still, I am so excited to update the HR Nightmare Series!

Here are the first two chapters if you have not read them yet, or if you just need a little refresher: Chapter 1: Perpetually Late Chapter 2: First Night at Freddy's

Again, this is a series that I hold close to my heart. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

I plan on updating more frequently than I have been! Working on the next chapter as you read.

(word count: about 5.7k)

xx gwen <3

________

HR Nightmare (3)

Watching Paint Dry

You were getting more comfortable in your new job. If you were this comfortable in three weeks, you’re certain you’ll feel at home once you hit a month.

You’ve had a few projects since the last one you worked on with Elle. None of them were anything major, just small designs for advertising and websites mostly, but you loved it. Getting paid to do something you love was a dream come true.

You went to Freddy’s with the same group of people last Friday as well. It seemed as though it was going to become a routine for you and your new group of friends to go out together on Fridays to unwind from the work week.

The more time you spent with these people, the more you learned about them. You were actually starting to feel close to them. You finally felt like you had friends at work.

Nothing has really changed with Elle. You felt more comfortable around her, but that just means you’ve started to get used to her teasing and attitude. For anything you say, she has some smart remark ready to throw back at you. It still gets under your skin more than you’d like to admit, but you’re starting to learn how to deal with her.

It’s Tuesday when Mr. Cooper calls you into his office.

“Yes, Mr. Cooper?”

He holds a finger up to you as you stand in front of the door you closed behind you, telling you this will only be a second. The finger points at the couch against the wall, so you take a seat while you wait for him to finish the phone call.

“Yes,” he speaks into the phone. “Yes, we can do that, too. Of course, we keep all our departments in house.” You can’t hear the person responding on the other side of the line. “Great, just send me the written instructions. We should have it done by the end of the week.”

You fiddle with your fingers as you wait for him to finish. You’re not sure why he didn’t just wait until he was off the phone to call you in, but he looks at you and smiles throughout the conversation, almost as if you were both in on some joke together. You didn’t know why he was smiling.

He throws out a quick goodbye into the phone before hanging up. He laces his fingers together and places his hands on the desk in front of him, smiling wide at you.

“Are you ready for another collaboration?” he asks.

You laugh at his demeanor. Some people think of this man as a hard ass, but from what you’ve seen, he’s quite the softy.

“Of course, sir. Who with this time?”

“Anthony,” he watches your lips twitch upward at his name, then continues, “and Elle.” His smile widens.

Yours drops, but you try to cover the displeasure. He notices anyway and laughs.

“It should be an easy project,” he assures you. “Anthony designed a new website for one of our clients, and they’re looking for someone to add graphic designs.”

“Oh that sounds like fun,” you gush, but quickly your face fades into confusion. “Wait, what does that have to do with Elle?”

“They need a good first blog post to draw attention, and they asked specifically for her to write it. They saw the work you and Elle did with the coffee project, and wanted a similar look to their website and blog,” he explains.

“Okay, that sounds great. When do they want this by?”

“The end of the week. It should be simple enough, but there are quite a few graph designs they want. Both Anthony and Elle will have the details, so they can each direct you through what they need.” He shuffles some papers around on his desk, opens his drawer, and places them in a file. “You can start with Anthony in the conference room since he’s already had a start on the project.”

“Yes, sir,” you smile, then turn to leave.

“Elle will join the two of you shortly. I’m sure she’ll want to assess everything herself before she works in a group,” he tells you before you open the door.

“Okay, thank you Mr. Cooper.”

You leave his office, grab your tablet and laptop from your desk, then walk to the conference room. Anthony has his head buried in his computer and his finger between his teeth as he studies whatever is on his screen. He only looks up when you shut the door. When his eyes meet yours, he smiles.

“Cora,” he cheers. “I’ve been dying to work with the best graphic designer in this company- don’t tell Mark I said that,” he adds quickly.

You laugh. “Of course not. So what are we working on?”

“Mr. Cooper didn’t tell you?” His head tilts with his question.

“He gave me a run down, but he told me you and Elle would fill me in on specifics. I know you designed a new webpage for the company, but I don’t know exactly what graphic designs you’re looking for.”

His eyes stay trained on yours as you speak and he nods his head in understanding. “Ahh,” he waves his hand at you, calling you over. “Let me show you.”

You take a seat next to him, placing your tablet and computer in front of you. He tilts his screen towards you, where you can see a mostly completed webpage. There are a few empty boxes that you assume to be placeholders for where your designs are meant to go.

“It’s for a skating company,” he begins. “They used to be specifically branded for skateboarding, but they want to expand to reach a wider audience. That’s why they’re basically rebranding themselves,” he explains.

“That makes sense. So what kind of designs are they looking for?” You look up at him when you ask.

He holds eye contact with you, a friendly smile painted on his face. Anthony is handsome. Soft brown hair and pretty eyes to match, it makes sense that he would be with someone like Elle. It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask, and you nearly let it slip, but you manage to keep your composure.

“Well, they’ll be adding roller-skates, bicycles, and scooters to the products they sell, so they want the designs to reflect products that all people can buy,” he points to the different sections of the webpage on his screen as he speaks, where you assume the corresponding design would go.

“Did they give you specifics on how they want me to do that?”

“Honestly, not really. They left a lot of room for creative freedom.” His head snaps to yours and his eyes widen slightly. “But they want the overall style to match- they were very clear about that.”

“Okay, so they want a skateboard,” you point to the first blank square on his screen, “roller-skates,” you point to the second, “a bike,” the third, “and a scooter,” then the fourth. You look up at him for confirmation.

He rubs the top of your head endearingly. Generally, an action like this would annoy you, but coming from Anthony it is actually quite sweet. He acts on his emotions, always coming from a good place.

“You catch on quick, kid,” he smiles.

“We’re the same age.”

“Actually, I’m a year and three months older than you,” he corrects.

You shake your head at him. “Okay grandpa,” you tease, “I’ll come up with a few mockups for you to approve of before I start the final designs.”

“Works for me, but you may want to wait for Elle. She’s much more picky with her work than I am, so you probably want to match the designs to her demands,” he warns you.

You sigh. You know he’s right.

“So it’s not just me she’s like that with?” you ask. You nearly cringe when the words come from your mouth. You didn’t even realize you were saying them.

His eyebrows crease slightly, but not in anger. The rest of his face remains soft. “What do you mean?”

“I- well it’s just,” you stumble over your words a bit, not wanting to insult Elle to one of her best friend’s faces. “She’s just not very patient with me. I was scared it was just a ‘me’ thing.”

“Ahh,” his mouth opens in understanding as he nods his head. “No, that’s not just a ‘you’ thing. She can be a little…” he pauses, searching for the right word.

“Harsh?” you offer.

“She’s just a perfectionist,” he corrects. “She doesn’t mean to be harsh, but she’s just always that way with her work. I don’t think she realizes the pressure she puts on other people- or herself, for that matter.”

“What about outside of work?”

“Huh?”

“Is she like that with people outside of work too?” You know you’re pushing boundaries now, but you can’t help it when you’re finally getting the answers you’ve been yearning for.

A knowing smile crosses his face. At the same time his mouth opens to speak, so does the conference room door. Both your heads snap to look at the person walking in.

“Elle, baby,” Anthony calls out. “You miss me so much you gotta come see me on company time?”

“You wish,” she rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

She closes the door behind her and walks further into the conference room, taking a seat on the other side of Anthony. She places her laptop in front of her and opens it.

“Did you finish the blog already?” His entire body leans over her, looking at her screen and effectively blocking her view of it as well.

She pushes his head out of the way softly, but he allows himself to be moved. “I got the assignment twenty minutes ago. I’m good but I’m not God,” she shakes her head.

“You’re basically God,” he admits.

He looks at her as though he genuinely believes the words coming from his mouth. Your fingers toy with each other as you watch them interact. You don’t feel you have a place to speak. Honestly, you feel like you’re interrupting something just by being in the room.

That is, until Elle makes eye contact with you. “Have any mock-ups for me yet?” she asks.

“No, I- well Anthony just explained the project to me, but I thought I’d wait for your demands for the designs before starting. I know they’re all supposed to be the same sort of theme, so I want to make sure they’ll match,” you ramble on, offering more information than needed.

Her eyebrows lift as you speak and she attempts to muffle a smile- she’s amused. You’ve gotten much better at reading her.

“Probably smart.”

Her compliments are subtle, and few and far between, but you soak each one in like water.

“So-“

“I have an idea for the blog,” she cuts you off. “But let me see the webpage first,” she pulls Anthony’s computer in front of her to scan over the work he did.

“You like it?” Anthony asks. He leans back in his chair and throws an elbow over the top of it. “I know, I do good work,” he pats himself on the back before she even has the chance to agree.

She side eyes him and shakes her head lightly. “Yeah, yeah. So obviously they’re expanding. I want the blog to speak directly to the potential new customers, without shutting out their initial clientele. I think the designs need to match that- like softer, brighter colors, but I think it would be cool to keep the graffiti look in all the words.” Her eyes drift from the screen, to Anthony’s, to yours, and back.

The two of you stare at her in awe. You’re not sure how her mind comes up with the entire basis of a project so quickly. You almost tell her she should be a graphic designer, but you hold your tongue, scared the words may insult her somehow.

“We know they need to follow a general theme, but it might be smart to add some variation. I mean, they want to bring in varying customers, so we’ll have the designs reflect that.” She looks at you expectantly, and you realize she’s waiting for your confirmation.

“Oh, yes- right- that sounds good. That makes a lot of sense actually,” you clumsily respond.

“Well, yeah. I thought of it,” she says smugly.

“You have to be careful when you compliment this one,” Anthony speaks up. “If her ego grows any more we won’t all fit in here,” he nudges her arm with his.

“Oh shut up,” she laughs.

Was it that easy to soften her up after acting like a smartass? Why couldn’t you change her mood as easily as Anthony does?

“Okay, so should I start with the basic designs for the mockups? Then you both can tell me if there’s anything you want changed,” you offer.

“I’m sure it’ll be Elle who offers critiques,” Anthony says.

She rolls her eyes and pushes her chair back, standing up. “I’m leaving,” she announces. She grabs her laptop, and turns to walk away.

“Oh, come on, Elle,” he whines. “I was only kidding.”

She continues walking towards the door, and doesn’t turn around as she speaks. “I have to work on the blog. If you finish the mockups, send them to me.” She opens the door, steps out, and closes it behind her.

Anthony runs his hand over his face. “Man, I gotta stop doing that,” he grumbles.

“Doing what?”

“I just push her a little too far when I tease her sometimes.” His hands drop from his face and back to his computer. “It’s fine,” he reassures himself.

“Was she upset?” you ask. From what you could tell, nothing seemed to upset Elle. If anything, she always seemed like she couldn’t care less.

“She’ll be fine,” he says instead of answering your question. “Anyway, I have to work on the other pages of the website.”

The two of you work in silence together. You had never spent so much alone time with Anthony, but you can see why people would like him. He’s sweet and comforting and conversational.

You start your designs by drawing the skateboard, and quickly get sucked into your work. This happens often, as soon as you start drawing, it’s like you’re transported into another world.

You finish a few different skateboard and roller-skate designs, and look up to find Anthony with his head still buried in the computer. You bounce in your chair, waiting for him to look up at you, but when he doesn’t, you tap him yourself.

His head snaps to you and he smiles. “Yes?”

“Wanna see what I finished?” You smile proudly. Every time you finish a new design, you can’t help but be excited.

“Of course, Cora. Show me what you got.” He rolls his chair closer to yours to look at your tablet with you.

You hold your tablet in your hands, tilting it towards him. You start with the first skateboard drawing. “Okay, so I have four different skateboards and three different roller-skates to choose from. Tell me your favorite.”

You slide through each skateboard drawing, and Anthony “ooo’s” and “awe’s” at each one. You can’t tell which he likes the most because he is just as excited by every drawing you show him. The same thing happens when you go over the roller-skate drawings.

“These are all so good, Cora. I cannot believe how good you are at this,” he gushes when you finish.

You laugh. “They’re only mockups. They should be even better when I finish the real thing.”

“You should show Elle,” he tells you. “She could probably give you better advice than I can. She always knows how to personalize these projects for our clients better than anyone else.”

You admire how he speaks about her. You honestly can’t blame him. Despite Elle being cold towards you, you still had a lot of respect for her. She was obviously extremely talented, not just at her job, but at everything. She could step over into your field and know exactly what you needed to do or change to make the project perfect.

“Yeah,” you agree as you stand up. “I’ll go do that now.”

“Actually,” he stops you, placing his hand over yours as he pushes his seat back and stands as well. “I have to go discuss something with Mr. Cooper, so I can tell Elle to come in here.”

You nod your head in agreement, sitting back down.

It’s only a few minutes before Elle walks in, closing the door behind her. She takes a seat next to you, but doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, so I haven’t finished all the mockups yet, but I was hoping you could tell me which you like most so I can try to mimic that style throughout the rest of the designs,” you explain.

“Alright,” she says simply.

You pause for a moment, waiting for her to say more. When she doesn’t, you tentatively pick up your tablet to swipe through the designs. She hums softly at each one, but doesn’t offer her opinion. You almost miss her insults. Her harsh critiques on the first project were what pushed you to create such good designs.

Slightly irritated, you sigh, putting down your tablet. “Are you gonna say anything?”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “What?”

“You always have something to say and now, when I’m actually asking for your critiques, you don’t want to say anything,” annoyance lines your voice.

“Yeah because you’ll throw a fit if I do,” she bites back.

Confusion crosses your features. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “Play dumb, whatever,” her arms cross over her chest.

“I’m not playing dumb-“

“Oh that’s right, you were just born that way.” She leans back in her chair, chin tilted upwards so she can look down on you.

You want to respond with an insult to match, but manage to contain yourself. “Look, I don’t ‘throw fits’ or whatever you think. Can you just be your usual bitchy self and critique my designs?”

She glares down at you for a second, eyes drifting around your face, assessing you. She sighs. “Fine. Show me again.”

You start at the beginning, with the first skateboard drawing.

“This is too similar to their original look. We need to put our own twist on it,” her tone is bitchy, but you find comfort in it. She sounds like herself.

You swipe to the next design.

When you see your work in front of her, it’s much easier for you to pick apart. It’s like you know exactly what she will and won’t like.

“Are you showing me the same drawing twice? What’s even different about this one?” Her nose scrunches with her questions.

“The wheels are different,” you defend yourself.

She looks at you flatly. She doesn’t even have to say anything for you to know to move on. You swipe to the next image.

“Okay…” she says hesitantly. “I can see the vision more with this one. It is a bit softer, but almost too much now. This style might work with the other drawings though. I just think the skateboard should be a little less soft than the rest of them.”

A smile graces your lips but you do your best to shield it from her. “Okay, I think you might like this one then,” you swipe to the next image.

“Yes, exactly,” she says excitedly. She quickly covers it up with a snarky remark, “you should’ve just shown me that one first. Could’ve saved me some time.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway, now the roller-skate drawings.”

You swipe to the first one and as soon as you see it, immediately brace yourself for her critiques. You can already tell she is not going to like this one.

“Is this an ad for a preschool? Why does it look so childish?” They’re rhetorical questions. The cadence in her voice always reflects how she feels.

You sigh. “I know, fuck, ignore this one,” you lift your finger to swipe to the next drawing.

“Wait,” she stops you. “Why did you draw it this way?” Her tone is softer this time.

Your finger taps the back of your tablet while you contemplate your answer. “I’m not sure,” you admit. “I just thought about all the new customers they would want to bring in, and I figured some would be children, so I think I just drew this one more childlike subconsciously.”

She hums as she takes in your words.

“It looks stupid, I know,” you quickly add.

“No, no,” her eyes stay focused on the drawing. “It just gives me an idea for something else. Can you send this to me separately?” Her eyes meet yours when she asks.

She looks almost sweet this way. Her entire face is relaxed- she doesn’t seem like she’s on the defense for once. Her head tilts slightly to the left, her eyes stare at yours expectantly.

Too caught up in the details of her, you nearly forget she’s asked you a question.

“Oh- yes- yeah I can send this to you.” You curse yourself in your head.

“Thanks,” her eyes continue watching you. Her head straightens back up, one side of her mouth lifts into a smirk. “You can swipe to the next one now,” she encourages you, eyes flicking from yours to the tablet and back.

You break your stare from hers and shake your head. “Right.” You swipe to the next design.

“I like this one. It matches the skateboard we agreed on, but it’s a little softer. I think you should make the colors on this lighter than the skateboard when you do the real piece.”

You appreciate the advice she offers. Truthfully, it saves you time in the long run.

You show her the last drawing as well, but you both agree the second one is best.

You have a smile on your face by the end of your conversation. Of course, she was her usual bitchy self with her subtle insults and attitude, but she was much nicer this time. She had patience and advice and compliments, and you actually felt like you were able to connect with her in some way.

In moments like this, you understand why everyone seems to like her so much. She’s too easy to connect with, even when she’s being a pain.

Her fingers fiddle with the sleeve of her shirt, rubbing the material between them. “Do you think you can finish the other designs in the same style?”

“Of course. I’m the one who drew it,” you tease.

She scoffs in disbelief. “And you call me a smartass.” She pushes the chair back and stands to leave.

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” the words were out of your mouth before you realized you were speaking them. You weren’t sure why you were saying this, you just wanted her to know she had the option to stay.

“What?” She’s taken aback more than anything.

“I just mean- I know we’re working on this project together. You can work in here with us if you want to,” you offer.

“I have to focus on my writing. I can’t have distractions.”

“I’ll be quiet. I’m quiet when I draw, anyway,” you throw out quickly.

One side of her mouth lifts slightly. “All my stuff is at my desk,” her voice drawls out, like she’s contemplating staying in the room.

“Just bring it in here,” you offer yet another solution to the problems keeping her out of the conference room. “Do you want me to get your stuff? I have to go check on Anthony anyway,” the lie slips through your teeth easily.

The side of her mouth lifts higher, but she sits. “Alright, if you’re going there anyway,” she agrees.

You scramble out of the conference room. What is wrong with you? There was no reason for you to act this way or offer to get her stuff. You’re sure you look like an idiot desperate for her approval.

Truth is, you wanted to keep this moment going. It’s not often you feel like you have a connection with Elle- not one deeper than annoyance, anyway. If you had the opportunity to keep her in this room longer, it was hard not to take it.

You grab her laptop from her desk and scan to see if there’s anything else you should grab for her.

Her desk is relatively empty. It’s neat and organized, with only a few pictures displayed to personalize it. You assume the main picture is of her and her family. There’s two smaller polaroids tucked into the frame: one of the group of friends in the office and one of her and some girl you don’t recognize.

It takes everything in you not to go through her desk in search of a deeper understanding of her as a person. Despite your curiosity, you manage to grab her laptop and walk away.

You stop by Mr. Cooper’s office to check in on Anthony, but you can see them still in conversation through the window, so you walk back into the conference room with Elle’s laptop and no Anthony.

She’s sitting, leaned back in her chair while it bends to accommodate her posture. One leg crosses over the other at the knee, her foot in the air kicking slightly. Her elbow is kicked back over the top of the chair, exuding confidence from head to toe. Her eyes drift over your frame when you walk in, from your shoes, to her laptop in your hands, to your eyes.

Your feet carry you closer to her. She snickers when you stumble as you get to your chair. You ignore her.

“So where’s Anthony?” she asks.

You place her laptop in front of her. “Still talking with Mr. Cooper. I didn’t want to interrupt them.”

Her eyebrows raise and her jaw drops open. “Oh, you do have a brain,” she exclaims in faux-surprise.

Your face falls flat. “I do you a favor and you return it with an insult?”

Her elbow pushes off the back of the chair, now sitting upright. “Actually, I think you’re doing yourself a favor,” the smugness in her tone sends waves of irritation up your spine.

“How am I doing me a favor?”

As soon as the question leaves your lips, you know you messed up. If you know the answer to the question, you’re sure she does, too. A blush coats your cheeks, embarrassment floods your system.

The next words leave her lips like fact, giving no room to argue, “you like me.”

You scoff, despite the deepening redness of your cheeks. “Yeah, right.”

Her lips curl. “You’re blushing.”

On instinct, your head turns away from her slightly, an attempt to shield the heat from her. “I am not. Fuck off,” you mutter.

“It’s cute,” she laughs.

“I don’t like you,” you insist. “You’re just not being a complete pain in my ass for once.”

“You can admit it,” she persists.

“I don’t-“

“Everyone likes me, Cora. It’s okay,” she coos. She’s taunting you.

“I thought you had work to do,” you change the subject instead.

She smiles like she knows she won. She opens her laptop and, for the first time since you’ve walked back into the conference room, lets her eyes leave you.

“Finish those mockups for me, won’t you?”

You don’t dignify her mockery with a response. Instead, you turn from her and start working on the last few mockups you need to finish.

It’s about an hour of working in silence- well, silence aside from Elle’s constant tapping on her keyboard- when Anthony walks back in.

“Wow,” he sings, “look at the two of you working together.”

You look up from your tablet at the sound of his voice. Elle’s sigh draws your eyes to her, the blank stare on her face aimed at Anthony.

“We were working until you so rudely interrupted us.”

He saunters over, arms swaying with each step, stopping at Elle’s chair and leaning overtop of her. He scans the contents on her laptop, wrapping one arm around her collarbones as he reads.

“You’re nearly done with the blog,” he observes. His arm unwraps from her as he plops himself down in the chair next to hers.

“Like I said, we were working- as in actually getting work done,” it’s like she can’t help the attitude seeping from her lips, but her tone is playful.

He pouts his lips at her. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes.”

He rolls his chair closer to her, grabbing the arm so he can maneuver it to make her face him. “How can I make it better?”

Her arms are crossed over her chest. She sighs, eyes looking up towards the ceiling and lip tapping against her chin in faux-thought. “You can buy me a coffee.”

He scrambles from his chair, muttering a quick “deal,” before nearly sprinting out of the room.

You laugh in disbelief. Her chair swivels to turn to you. She tosses her feet onto the table and crosses one over the other at her ankles. Her arms are still crossed, leaning back against the chair, a proud smile painted on her face.

“What?” she asks, as though she doesn’t already know.

“Do you always have people waiting on you hand-and-foot?” You’ve started to understand which jabs dig further under her skin. You figure it’s only fair considering how often she gets under yours.

Though, her smile doesn’t drop. “I do, actually. Are you looking to fetch me something else?”

Your initial jab seems to have backfired. “I’m not playing your games.”

She pushes her lips into a mocking pout. “You did earlier,” she argues. “Fetching my laptop like a good girl,” her cadence is though she were speaking to a dog.

“You’re an ass,” is what you settle on. Still, your cheeks are burning red.

“Oh my god,” she laughs, “you like that.”

“I do not,” you argue, but your body betrays your words.

“You so do!” She accuses, laughter still heavy in her chest.

Your nails pinch into the fleshy part of your palm, a feeble attempt to control your irritation. You roll your eyes and shake your head, picking up your stylus to continue drawing in an attempt to ignore her.

She doesn’t stop. “Oh, don’t get all quiet on me now.” She drops her feet from the desk to lean closer to you, elbows on her knees. “Come on, Cora, be good and look at me.”

You open your mouth to tell her off, but the door swings open to reveal Anthony with a coffee in his hand and a proud smile on his face.

He stops in front of her. “Am I forgiven?” He bends over, head down and hands holding the coffee out in front of him.

Elle takes it from his hands, has a small sip, and smiles contently, before responding with a simple, “yes.”

Anthony cheers, head lifting back up. When his eyes meet your face, concern crosses his face. “Are you okay, Cora?”

Before you have the chance to answer, Elle responds. “Oh, she’s very good, aren’t you, Cora?”

You should hit her- dump her coffee all over her stupid head- but you’re almost certain that would get you fired in a second. Instead, your nails bite further into your palms and you force yourself to take a deep breath.

Through gritted teeth, you speak, “yeah, just great.”

The three of you work in silence for a bit, until Mr. Cooper calls Elle into his office. She skips there, face relaxed and light on her feet.

“She’s in a good mood now, huh?” Anthony observes.

“Must be the coffee,” you mutter.

Although you know Elle was only teasing you earlier, the words remain echoing in your head, redness seeping into your skin when you think a little too hard about her voice uttering those words.

He laughs at your words. “I better start bringing her coffee every day.”

It’s now when your curiosity has truly gotten the better of you. You don’t want to ask him directly about his relationship with Elle, but you have to know if they’re together. You’ve held your tongue for long enough, you’re sure of it.

“You’d be quite the boyfriend for that,” is what you settle on.

Anthony laughs. Hard. Doubled over in his chair, the sound echoing across the walls. He collects himself for a second, but as soon as he looks at you and begins to speak, the laughter starts again.

Your eyebrows crease together, lips pushed into a frown. What was so funny?

“Do you think-“ a laugh to interrupt himself, “Do you think Elle and I are dating?”

“Are you not?”

He laughs again then, like it was the most absurd thing for you to think. “Absolutely not. Elle’s like my sister. Don’t get me wrong, I adore the girl, but it would never work between us,” he emphasizes the word.

You don’t understand how it could never work between them. Anthony is handsome. Elle is beautiful. They both have faces made for movie screens. They have faces that are supposed to be romantically paired.

“Why not?”

He contemplates his words. “Well, aside from the fact that we’re practically siblings, Elle doesn’t even like men.”

The revelation echoes in your head for the rest of the day. From when Elle walks back into the conference room, to when Mr. Cooper tells everyone to go home, on the train ride back to your apartment, till now, sitting in bed alone.

It shouldn’t affect you. It shouldn’t even matter- it doesn’t matter, you tell yourself.

Elle liking women doesn’t mean she could like you. You don’t even want her to like you. You don’t like Elle, so why would it matter if she liked women? It didn’t. Elle liking women was stupid, pointless information that was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

But you were an artist. You appreciated all forms of art, and you loved watching art form.

You loved watching paint dry.

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arceespinkgun · 1 year

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Quick Earthspark thoughts on the first ten episodes!

My expectations were blown out of the water. I love it so far—if it continues like this, it will be my favorite TF show by far! Even if it makes some mistakes, it’s been so consistently good that it may still be the best.

I was worried that I wouldn’t like many of the characters—that Robby or Mo or Alex or Bumblebee might be annoying, but I was so, so wrong. I actually love all of them. This show has a lot of emotional maturity and depth and the motivations of all the characters are totally believable.

The Terrans are great so far as well. I love Thrash and especially Twitch so much. Twitch is up there with some of my favorite characters in the entire franchise.

I wasn’t sure I’d like the designs, but now that I’ve seen them in motion, they're all great and so expressive. Love the lighting effects in the Terrans’ eyes! And I think this is the best show at portraying nature by far. They really showcase Dot's job as a park ranger, but not only that, every member of the Malto family is shown interacting with the world consistently! And the lighting and details on the plants and animals are beautiful. I love Fluffy Ears lol

I also worried that the representation in the show was going to be shallow, but it wasn't at all. There are a lot of great little details, like Mo and Robby wearing a bonnet and beanie to sleep, and the new non-binary Terran discussing their pronouns. Having Alex be a history PhD was a great way to tie in exploring the Malto family’s heritage, too! And I liked that if people initially missed Dot’s prosthetic, they take the time to showcase it in a dramatic scene. The gender balance in the show has also been very good so far.

I think what really demonstrates how good Earthspark is was when I realized I would watch an entire season of just the Malto family growing closer. I want an episode about Dot’s and Alex’s anniversary and the kids (including the Terrans) trying to make it special for them and learning about their relationship, while Robby is embarrassed by his parents’ sappiness and Twitch wants to make anniversaries for events in her own life and Mo teaches the Terrans about birthdays. I want to see a vacation episode with the whole family. I'd be totally happy without the larger plot involving GHOST shown at all!

That being said, GHOST is a really strong villainous presence so far. One of the creepiest things about the TF franchise in general has been how closely the military is involved with the Autobots in many series, and GHOST is a good way to explore that. It's very clear that Optimus is going to end up eating his words over his “the ends justify the means” approach. And it has been cool to see a more morally grey Optimus here. He literally appeared in Robby's nightmares to take away the Terrans!

I’m excited to see where this plot ends up heading, and I want to know all the lore—especially about Dot and Megatron. I feel the need to say that as somebody who doesn’t like MegOp and was nervous by how many people say this show gives so much evidence for it... fortunately I would say their relationship is quite terrible, actually! It’s mostly Megatron constantly bringing up genuine concerns and Optimus treating this like a "temper tantrum" even as they both try to work together for the greater good.

And it becomes very clear why Dot can’t stand Optimus when he went along with things like GHOST’s plan to pretend to give her a dream job just to trap her into working with them when she doesn’t agree with them at all.

I like everything we've seen of Megatron so far, but I can’t really speak much on his and his relationship with Dot until I know more of the backstory. What I can say though is that the “divorce arc” with Soundwave was great and to be honest, I think Soundwave (and all the Decepticons who have been shown so far) have a good point and are portrayed shockingly sympathetically given that this is like an alternative future of the Sunbow cartoon (where the Decepticons are so laughably evil). I think this is an interesting new approach.

Oh, and of course outside of GHOST, the main villain has been Mandroid—and I was really surprised by how compelling he's been so far. At first I thought he was going to be a laughable tool (like all the GHOST members have been so far) but actually he’s menacing and his motivation is realistic. I know Cybertronians have a history of destroying everything they touch, so I think he’s a good way to explore how someone would react to that.

One of my only complaints so far is that Elita-1 hasn’t been showcased much. I love what we’ve seen of her, but in the first part of the season her motivations haven't been explored. I do get why based on what the plot has been so far, but I’m waiting for more of her. She and other characters who haven’t had a ton of time to shine yet like Arcee, Wheeljack, and Swindle have all been excellent and I want to see more of all of them! This Arcee especially takes all the best aspects of every version of her!

Some closing thoughts: didn’t expect this version of Bumblebee to become my favorite of all time. Love Frenzy and her redesign and that she got to scream in Optimus’s face. Mean girl bully Skywarp (who actually gets to warp!) is amazing. This OST is impeccable.

#Transformers Earthspark #earthspark spoilers #my analysis #Best human characters in the franchise by far

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welcomewithmetonight-thechaos · 1 year

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Dream of the Endless and the problem with time.

Been doing a lot of thinking about dreams and time recently. Actually, Dream is the Endless closest to his father, closest to being out of time. Destiny is written in Destiny’s book, which means all of it is there all at once, but it becomes chronological by reading the book. Desire and Despair both have an object which is in time, to which relations are formed over time. Destruction takes some object in time and has an effect on it, which needs time. Death spans several periods of time from there beginning to their end, each life only lasts until their time runs out. Even Delirium exists in time, even if she might make people lose track of it.

But Dreams are inconsistent, every dream may in itself be a story, chronological, but there is no link between one dream and the next except maybe for the personal growth and experience of the dreamer, which may be driven by dreams but again takes place in conscious hours, outside of The Dreaming. If linear time is to be understood as a row of cause and effect, it is not chronological in the Dreaming but tumbled and fragmented. It almost exists out of time, which passes in the Waking, tying together events and making progress and long.lasting attachments possible, because every night it is reset, making place for a new story.

One of the reasons that Dream’s personal growth took so long might have been that he had a lack of relations with a realm where time passes chronologically, thus allowing change. He changes a lot during his imprisonment in the Waking, where things are forced to happen in order.

The reason why he could fall in love with Nada so fast is that time is fleeting in the Dreaming or maybe does not pass at all. If he promised her forever, how long would it last? Maybe just for the span of one night, and one dream, maybe all of the Dreaming’s existence.

That is to be said, for Dreams and nightmares time does pass only partly chronologically; think of the Corinthian realizing over time that he wanted to be his own person, but also think of Cain and Abel always forced to repeat the drama endlessly.

Time is introduced to the Dreaming by the Dreamer’s and even so at multiple points simultaneously and not at all after its usual cause and effect logic.

Now think of Dream as the personification of the collective unconscious, which is not at all linear or logical, basically random inserts of lots of different thoughts all at once, very few of them leading anywhere, some of them repeating endlessly (it is very likely that Dream’s mind works as if he had ADHD).

Imagine, if you will Hob and Dream arguing over which realm is more real:

Hob: “Everything that happens in Dreams is of no consequence, people don’t even remember it most of the time.”

Dream: “It is of the utmost consequence. People need dreams to understand themselves, to learn.”

Hob: “Yeah, but all that learning happens in the Waking. People can only know themselves really if they’re consciously thinking about it.”

Dream: “What even is consciousness if there always repressing their true intents. In my realm everyone is their truest self, thus the Dreaming must be more real.”

Etc.

(On that account, I think the whole storyline with Dream’s ruby and John Dee unlocking people’s secret dreams is very Freudian).

Anyway, Dream appears as a being who by his nature is not designed for change and capable of it only within other realms, through the help of others.

#I don't know how to resolve their argument to be honest #which do you think is more real?#If you wan't to read about different views on the matter of time I suggest to you Ursula Le Guin's The Dispossessed #the sandman #the sandman tv #dream of the endless #the endless #the sandman comics #father time #morpheus #the dreaming #hob gadling #cain and abel sandman

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flutteringphalanges · 2 years

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Everything You Hold Dear

Summary: For the first time in awhile, blissful rest had finally found Jim Hopper. He laid there, lost in his dreams. It was only when the panicked shouting of his wife ruthlessly yanked him out from the darkness and into the cold light that he realized a new, living nightmare had only just begun. "Hopper, where's Will?!"

(AU that follows the story if Jopper was canon prior to 1x01 and how that would completely change the canonical story we know).

Rating: T

Ship: Joyce/Hopper (Jopper)

Read on: FFN and AO3

A/N: So this is my first attempt at a Stranger Things fanfic. Basically, this is an AU where Jopper has been canon since 1x01 making him the biological father of both Will and Jonathan and how this alters the canon verse as we know it. I thought about incorporating Sara into the story, but it didn't work out the way I would've liked so she never existed. Oh yes, I decided to continue to have Joyce called Hopper "Hopper" because I like it like that haha. Alrighty, enough of my chatter, here we go! Comments, hearts, and reblogs are greatly loved and appreciated. If you wished to be tagged for future updates, please let me know! -Jen

Chapter One

Jim Hopper ignored the numbness that came with the bitter cold morning as he stood on his back porch overlooking the lake. He was on his second cigarette, the first crushed and forgotten on the railing. Later, he'd try to remind himself, to toss it away inside. For now, the chief of police sought comfort in the remaining precious minutes before the sun rose over the horizon.

It had been a rough night, not that sleep often came easy. Another dream, another nightmare from the war that mentally he wondered if he'd ever come back home from. The doctors said it was post traumatic stress disorder, that he wasn't alone in this suffering. That he should reach out, seek help. But he sure as hell wouldn't dare to ever drag Joyce down with him. She didn't need to know what he saw. What he did. He loved her too much to subject her to such horrors. Even though she practically begged him time and time again to open up. He wouldn't do that to her. Ever.

Tapping on his cigarette, he inhaled deeply. Soon both kids would be up wanting breakfast and despite the fact that he would be leaving for work well before both Jonathan and Joyce, he'd designated Sundays as his day to cook. Waffles-or "Willfles" as Will had so proudly dubbed them when he was learning to talk. Something that now only embarrassed his pre-teen son.

The thought caused the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards into a small smile. He was lucky and realized that. A wife and two sons, something he made sure he'd never take for granted. All the pain, the bad dreams, they made everything worth it. They were the light at the end of a dark tunnel, a rope that pulled him out of the deepest of holes. He loved them so much it hurt, but that in itself was a good kind of pain. The best pain. One that he was more than willing to endure.

"Hop?"

The sound of Joyce's voice snapped Hopper out of his trance. He turned to find his wife standing in the open doorway, slipper-less and wearing the old, purple bathrobe he'd gotten her last Christmas. A look of concern was etched across her features as she studied him.

"Hey." He greeted, clearing his throat as he put out the cigarette. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same." Joyce responded, stepping out onto the deck. "I woke up and you weren't in bed. I was worried." Hugging her arms around her chest, she made her way to her husband's side. "Are you okay?"

"Couldn't sleep." That really was the truth. "So I came out here for a smoke. Nice weather for it." That wasn't.

"Hopper…"

"I'm fine. Really." Hopper could feel Joyce's stare burning into him. She could read him like a book-something he could never decide if he loved or hated. "Stop looking at me like that. Keep it up and your mind will be so focused on me it'll forget how to regulate temperature. You'll get hypothermia."

His wife snorted softly. "And this information is coming from…"

"Ms. Ratliff," he shrugged, trying to hide his smile. "Or I could've heard wrong. You know I've always hated science."

"Clearly."

Silence fell between them as the sun began to barely peek over the skyline. Hopper's arm wound around Joyce's waist as he pulled her closer. Decades they'd known each other. Since childhood. And yet, it didn't feel like it had been that long. The older they got, time seemed to blur with each passing day. She was his person and he was her's.

"You know you can always talk to me right? About anything?" There was a hint of desperation in her tone. A sense of pleading he wouldn't allow himself to give in to. "There's nothing you can say that'll change how I feel or whatever you're so worried about that might happen. Hopper, I-"

"I know that, Joyce." He interrupted, cutting her off before she could finish. "I'm fine. I promise."

Joyce let out a sigh of defeat and Hopper felt a small pang of guilt over her distress. He despised putting a wedge like this between them. Creating distance. Attempting to move past the subject, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Hey, sun's coming up and I was thinking about maybe going all out for breakfast? Eggs, bacon, maybe some of that fruit we've had crammed in the back of the fridge that's about to go bad? …Willfles?"

If smiles could light up a room then hers could illuminate a mansion. One of the many, many things he adored about her. "Will you wear the apron?" Hopper's eyes narrowed, his frown only making her grin grow. "C'mon, for me?"

The infamous yellow and pink floral apron. Something their household had acquired during the police station's annual Christmas party. It had been an anonymous gift exchange, but something about the way Flo was smiling when he first set his eyes on it made it easy to put two and two together. As if he already hadn't had enough mockery to deal with that night from the ugly Christmas sweater his wife had coaxed him into.

"I'm gonna get rid of that thing one of these days." He grumbled, ushering her back inside before closing the door behind them. "When you aren't here to rescue it."

"Then I'll just get a new one." Joyce stated bluntly with a shrug. "Maybe I'll ask Karen where she got hers." Smirking softly, she poked his chest with her index finger. "Magenta has always suited you, and that checkered pattern…"

Joyce's words were cut short as Hopper pulled her in for a kiss, officially putting an end to the apron decision. She giggled and again he couldn't help but smile. The thoughts that had previously plagued him had begun to slip back into the shadows. He wanted nothing more to melt into their embrace, fingers curled in her messy bed hair. His eyes closed and the idea of pulling her back into their bedroom and collapsing onto their mattress sounded better than a winning lottery ticket.

"Just so you know, I'm right here."

Hopper and Joyce turned to see their eldest son standing a few feet away from them. Jonathan, still clearly half asleep, watched them bleary eyed. Throwing Joyce a small smirk, he made his way towards the kitchen giving his kid a quick pat on the shoulder as he went.

"You're up early." He commented, going to start a pot of coffee. "I thought you'd sleep in a bit longer since you don't have to be out the door at the crack of dawn. Thought I'd make some breakfast and get you up after."

Jonathan shrugged and he shuffled in after Joyce. "I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep."

"Seems to be a common problem in this family," his mother replied. "It's beautiful outside today. Maybe you could take some pictures before you go to work. I've been meaning to update the ones I have at work. You know how much people like to see them. I get so many compliments. And there is always your dad's office. Right, Hopper?"

"Hm?" He hadn't exactly been paying attention to what was being said but whatever it was, Joyce was giving him that look so nodded in agreement. "Yeah, kid. Sure."

Growing up, Hopper's relationship with his own father was strained. They never really connected on any sort of level, not that either party put any effort into it. That was one of the many reasons he promised himself he'd be a better parent even before the subject of kids was broached between him and Joyce. Something that he had learned early on wasn't always a walk in the park.

Fishing around the fridge for what he needed, Hopper began the task of cooking for his family. He could feel Joyce's eyes following him as she sipped contently from her mug.

"Like what you see?" He asked, not looking up from the eggs he was scrambling.

"A free show with a complimentary meal isn't something to complain about, that's for sure." She placed her cup on the counter. "Are you sure you don't need a sous chef?"

"And be even more distracted by you?" He snorted, throwing her a side glance. "Not a chance." Setting the eggs off of the side, Hopper paused. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to enlist some help with the waffle batter. Got any references?"

"Does my husband count?" She asked, feigning innocence.

Hopper pretended to hesitate. "Guess if I have to…" Grabbing a spoon, he held it out to Joyce. "Don't make me fire you." His wife rolled her eyes and he gave her a lopsided grin. "The floor is yours."

With two people in the kitchen, the prepping time lessened and soon enough a skillet full of eggs, a tray of crispy bacon, a bowl of fruit, and a steaming heap of waffles were sprawled out across the counter. Hopper exhaled, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. It looked good enough. Hopefully it would taste the same too.

"Jonathan, go wake your brother up." Joyce called out as the teenager rose up from his spot on the couch. "Tell him it's time for breakfast."

Hopper's eyes followed his son as he sauntered out of sight. When Jonathan turned of age to get a job, he'd been glad. The kid had always been a loner, far more interested in spending his time doing photography than enjoying the company of others. He'd hoped with his new gig that maybe he'd make some friends. People other than Will. Not that there was anything wrong with their tight bond. He and Joyce after all wanted to make sure they didn't have just one child as they both had been only children. But that wish of Jonathan finally being in with a group of his peers fell through. And while it didn't seem to concern his wife so much, he did for him a lot.

"You think maybe we should've waited to let him get a job?" He asked once he was sure Jonathan was out of earshot. "I've just been thinking maybe we get him involved with something else."

"Like sports?" Joyce frowned as she grabbed a stack of plates. "Hopper, we've talked about this. We aren't going to force either of the boys into something they don't want to do. Besides," she glanced towards the doorway. "He doesn't seem unhappy at all. He likes working at the movie theater. It's good for him."

"I know. I just…all I'm trying to get at is I want what's good for him. Both of them." Hopper turned back to the food in an attempt to busy himself.

"They're good kids," Joyce assured him, resting a hand on his arm. "We've raised them well."

Hopper shrugged and turned towards her. "Gotta give most of the credit to you in that department. Your parenting instincts kicked in before Jonathan was even born."

As if on cue, Jonathan entered the room once more only now joined by Will. Hopper watched as his son's eyes lit up as he took in the spread before him. Despite being skinner than a twig, the boy had a bottomless stomach with an appetite to boot.

"Mm, good morning." Joyce smiled, pulling Will into a tight hug. You sleep okay? Dad made Willfles."

Will made a face, his expression of irritation only deepening as Jonathan chuckled from behind. "Can we just call them waffles? I'm not a little kid anymore."

"But it's just so sweet," his mother replied. "I love Willfles."

"Well I don't." He responded.

"Okay, okay, we hear you." Hopper said, grabbing a spatula. "...So I guess that means you don't want any?"

There was no hesitation as Will quickly snatched up a plate. Hopper smiled, throwing his wife a triumphant look as he placed a waffle on the kid's plate.

Once they had all filled their plates, the family of four gathered around their small dining room table. Hopper took a large swig of his coffee and glanced down at yesterday's newspaper he had left haphazardly folded before him. Hawkins' news always proved to be boring. Nothing ever exciting or out of the ordinary making its way into the quiet town. It made his job as the chief of police easy.

"Mike said his mom said it was okay if Dustin, Lucas, and I came over to play D&D today." Will said, looking from Joyce to Hopper. "Can I go?"

"Did you finish your homework?" Hopper asked, stabbing his fork into his eggs.

It was a ridiculous question he already knew the answer to. Will definitely didn't inherit his focus on academics from him. When it came to his youngest, Hopper often found himself struggling to connect with the boy on many levels. Will was…different. Different in a good way. A wonderful way. But still he found it hard to level with him. He tried though. Tried to be there in the best way he could. Attempted to learn the ways of this fantasy board game his son loved. Expressed interest in the kid's art. Yet still he felt like he was somehow failing him. That he wasn't being there as much as he should be. Joyce relentlessly assured him that he was a good father. A good man. But deep down he doubted her words.

"I finished it all on Friday," Will replied, pulling Hopper out of his thoughts. "So, can I go?"

Hopper glanced over at his wife who nodded. "Alright, ride your bike over there and when I get off from work, I'll come pick you up and we can throw it into the back of my truck. But when it's time to go, I want you to be ready." He took another sip of coffee before clearing his throat. "I don't want his mom trying to set up me and his dad on a playdate." Not that Ted was much of a talker anyway. "Okay?"

"Hopper."

The disapproval in Joyce's tone made it clear that she found his choice of words undesirable. He gave her a small shrug before returning to his meal.

"Okay!" Will agreed, more than happy to abide by his father's terms and conditions. "I won't make you wait."

The boy began to shovel down his food so fast that Hopper began to worry he'd choke on something. Chugging down his orange juice, Will haphazardly grabbed his dirty dishes and hurried to the sink.

"Hey, slow down before you trip and hurt yourself!" The chief called out after his kid. "Were you planning to say goodbye?"

Will shuffled back over and soon found himself pulled into Joyce's tight embrace.

"Mom, let go! It isn't like you're not going to see me again." Will protested, trying to wiggle out of his mother's arms. "I can't breathe!"

"I'm sorry," Joyce sighed, pulling back. Holding him out at arms length she smiled. "You're just growing up so fast. Soon you'll be driving a car just like Jonathan."

"Maybe you can work at the theater too." His brother replied. "We can carpool."

Hopper opened his mouth to join in on the conversation when the telephone rang behind him. Sharing a look with Joyce, he stood up and walked over to it and answered.

"Hello?"

"Chief, it's Flo." The station's secretary sounded flat on the other end. "Sorry if I interrupted anything, but you are needed downtown at the intersection of Main and Mulberry? We've got a fender bender. Accident's not bad but the drivers are worked up. Callahan and Powell just got might want to get here quickly."

He grimaced at her words already feeling a headache coming on. "Yeah, alright. Just give me fifteen minutes. I'll head on out."

"Great, I'll radio in and let them know," Flo replied. "Oh, and give Joyce my best."

"Is everything okay?" Joyce asked as he hung the phone back up. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Nah," Hopper exhaled, abandoning his breakfast as he retrieved his hat and jacket. "Just two idiots who don't know how to drive." He walked over and gave her a kiss. "Real concern is a fight breaking out. Oh and Flo says hi."

"They're lucky to have you, Hop." His wife smiled, pulling him in for another kiss much to their boys' dismay. "Since we all have different schedules tonight, there's lasagne in the fridge if anyone wants to heat that up for dinner. We really need to finish it off."

"Sounds good." Turning to Jonathan, he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Have a good day at work, kid. Feel free to bring your old man home any leftover popcorn you have lying around. Stuff's addicting." And probably artery clogging too. Hopper walked over to Will and pulled his youngest into a side hug. "You have fun with the boys. I'll pick you up later, alright?"

Will smiled up at him and nodded. "Okay."

Grabbing his keys from where they were laying in a dish on the counter, he met his wife's gaze once more. Her features were soft and he found himself transfixed by those deep brown eyes he'd loved since those many, many years ago they'd met. Joyce smiled and mouthed I love you. She didn't even need to talk for him to know what it would've sounded like.

"I love you too." And he met every syllable he said. "I'll see you later."

Throwing one final glance at his family, Hopper made his way to the door and exited the house. The sun, though bright in the sky, still didn't offer much warmth as the chief got into his car. Hopper grunted as he shifted in his seat, finding his seat buckle to click himself in. It was going to be one hell of a long day. He didn't need to feel it. He knew it.

#Jopper #Stranger Things #Joyce Byers #Jim Hopper #Joyce x Hopper #Stranger Things Netflix #Everything You Hold Dear #Jopper Fanfic

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icybreaths · 1 year

Note

1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 11, 12

|| Headcanon Prompts || @gentlehealer ||

1: Love

Genuine love is difficult to obtain from Jewel, but those that do are gifted a rare side of her. She goes out of her way to spend time with these people, learn about them, and share a wider depth of emotion with them. There are fewer frosted windows her loved ones have to peer through with her. Though there's still a struggle to express herself at times, they’re the ones she would seek help from before anyone else.

They are the rare few that she would unquestionably put her life on the line for, no matter the opposition. She would murder for them.

As long as they’ve got each others backs she’s ride or die for them.

2: Hate

She hates people who are pushy for her time when she didn’t offer it first or show clear interest beforehand. For example: the sleazy stranger at the bar that wants to buy her drinks and get in her pants when he barely knows her past her name.

3: Hopes

For someone so guarded and outwardly opposed to letting others in, there is a part of her that wants to! There’s always this inner conflict of ‘love makes me happy and I want it’ and ‘I always fuck it up and I don’t believe I’m actually built for this kind of thing. It’s more productive for all parties if I stay away.’

Jewel has tried and failed with others a lot – be it platonic or romantic relationships – usually due to her own toxic behavior but sometimes others. She doesn’t feel she ‘fits’ well with most people and often doesn’t try very hard to nurture relationships at first.

That being said, there’s still a part of her that hopes for it, a tiny whisper that says ‘maybe someday when I can get this monster in me under control.’ She thinks she’s lying to herself with that thought in mind, but the feeling’s still there. She wants friendships and wants a healthy romantic relationship, but it feels like a dream she’s not meant to have.

4: Fears

Here are some headcanons that talk about her source of fear of dark water and sources of fear to lightning.

8: Dreams

When she has nightmares, she often awakens with a rapid heartbeat and feels jittery. She often feels the need to step outside to get some air and decompress for a time. If needed she may go for a night stroll or a night swim to try to clear her head if her mind won’t calm down.

11: Best Friend

Jewel and Airi don’t get to see each other often outside of work meetings. They may go for months without speaking or hanging out but they’re both great about picking up like no time had passed when they do meet up.

One of their favorite things to do together is model clothing. Airi designs clothing and puts together outfits for fun and got Jewel roped into modeling outfits for her. Jewel wasn’t super keen at first but was into it after she was inebriated enough. Airi commentates the poses and shapes while sketching her bestie.

12: Worst Enemy

Jewel is her own worst enemy. Some of the reasoning behind her actions towards her personal problems are counterproductive to solving them. If she had more of an open heart and willingness to accept help from others then a lot of her issues would cause her less stress. She’s too stubborn, prideful, and traumatized to allow any of that with ease.

One grating thing about Jewel is that she can solve most of her problems on her own, but she points to those personal wins when other things get hard. Like ‘I conquered this fear, there’s no reason why I couldn’t master my weapon on my own.’ If she can accomplish one thing on her own then she can do it all on her own kind of logic.

#gentlehealer #[ asks ]#//thank you for sending! 'o' <3

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refriedrambles · 4 months

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Purple tech people and red clad theater villains are a recurring theme in characters that end up being my favorites

Which I guess explains my need to make Purple to be like anal about his weapons and super knowledgeable about paks while Red's far more unintentionally cruel in general whilst really trying to come off as kind most of the time (where Purple's just purposely cruel with people, the man doesn't care), despite doing horrible thing in the need for attention. It's why he's both such a pushover and yet also a bully. Which feels both a bit like flipping what I usually see with them on it's head but also very aligned with them too

Which is kinda weird

That being said I typically like the overly pathetic theater villains (with at least a touch of mad scientist vibes) the most ei Zim or Jack Spicer, the kind where the narrative never gives them a true win, which my Red doesn't really fall in line with as much. Always just wanna see how these kinda characters would react if they got something they wanted and I guess Red fall more in line with a post preputial state version of that. Red's the Tallest now, sure that wasn't his dream, but now everyone knows his face, most irkens adore him, he's got constant access to pretty much any sort of attention he wants

And I'll be honest I'm very swayed by a character's design in gauging how much I like them. Zim easily could have been my favorite character ever if his design fell more in line with my visual tastes, but it wouldn't be Zim at that point. His design fits him perfectly for IZ ya know? He's definitely still one of my favorites, he's too entertaining and checks too many boxes on whatever subconscious list I got to determine how much I like a character to not be

If you give a character that would normally make me want to tear my hair out an old Disney villain aesthetic or red hair (be it bright fire truck red or a more natural color) I'll at the very least be okay with their presents in a story.

Also it's a down right shame the more characters don't have scars and shit and this could just be from me reading ungodly amounts of subpar manhwa (don't get me wrong here I wouldn't read them if I didn't enjoy them), but 'curing' a curse or magically healing a character of scar/curse marks that was a huge point of insecurity in their character when they finally begin to accept themselves or that someone can actually love them is bullshit. It defeats the point of maybe I can live in my own skin if you decide to immediately tear it off and give them a shiny new unblemish layer. Let them learn to truly accept themselves not just open up to the idea of it then nixing that part of them completely. fkfjhdjgh This applies to lingering disabilities as well. If someone's gonna suddenly regrow a limb or have a magic replacement against all odds in universe dig into that, give me some body horror, some trauma, an adjustment period, little details about how said new limb comes with a new set of daily rituals/maintenance, anything.

Their disability doesn't need to be a conflict or a story point if it's established as simply a part of them, these things don't need to be constantly acknowledged or pointed out (nor do most aspects of a character), but if you're gonna keep picking at it story wise (if that makes any sense, like there is a fine line between shoving something down your throat and have it effect the character often, invisible illnesses are a thing and they're fucking nightmares but would have to be approached in a different way in comparison to something more blatant in terms of showing, different limitations and quirks that might crop up more frequently that the other characters might not be aware of and all that) or bringing it into a conflict fucking COMMIT!

There's something about regrowing a limb that just screams to me there'd be some internal conflict about it, like maybe the character had begun to adjust to not having it and now it's unwieldy leaving the character frustrated at being unable to simply just DO the things they KNOW they're capable of now or the new one doesn't seem to be quite right, missing freckles or birthmarks, thick hairs grow on it that the character could have simply overlooked before but seeds them with suspicion that this limb isn't truly their own. That kinda shit, I never really see it in shit and with how weirdly common the curing trope is, it's a crime. Basically if you're gonna cure something don't just cut the plot threat there.

These are things I will try to implement in my own writing and when I say you I'm not really meaning anyone in particular or trying to get people to write what I want to see. I'm mostly bitching at this point

Since this feels a smidge preachy and I didn't intend to go off on this tangent, let me talk about how much I like Toph. She's just great, my favorite Avatar character behind Zuko! She's got a magic bandaid for her blindness and I don't think there's anything wrong with that cause the avatar writers are brilliant and implemented it nicely. She's rowdy, tough, rough and tumble and over all just a brilliant character. She's not incapable or helpless to the point it's a recurring gag other characters straight up forget she's bilnd. But like she IS still blind, its a part of her. She gets frustrated with people and herself if she or they forget her limits. She can't see the signs they're putting up for Appa nor the painting being done at the end of the series but like she doesn't get stuck on those facts or get miserable cause of it, she just moves on or uses it as an opportunity to break the tension. I love her

#refriedramblings #i guess this also goes in manhwa shit #manhwa shit

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ka-star · 2 years

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I'm still hooked on Cuphead (due to The Cuphead Show). The style and homage to 1930s animation is something near and dear to my heart, but also the gags and direct references to old cartoons like Looney Tunes and Silly Symphonies is so god damn refreshing to me.

That being said, I've seen speculations on where the show is going to go with what little story it has. The show is clearly designed to not be full on episodic, and more like the stand alone stories to match said cartoons from earlier. There is still a loose narrative though, and while I highly doubt it'll go full into the likes of the video game (the whole run and gun element) there could still be moments of light, I repeat, light angst.

We already seen something like this in the nightmare scene at the start of the episode called, "Sweater Off Dead". Yes, it was a dream, but it was still dark in terms of the show. It also showed just how worried Cuphead really was about the Devil coming after his soul, even confirming that it's been on his mind for a while.

I bring this up because that episode, as well as some others, shows just how dependent Cuphead is to Mugman on watching his back. Mugman has saved Cuphead at least twice from the Devil, and if that theme continues that could be tied into how the show ends.

From here on out I'm going to go into full speculation. Any and everything I say is just a guess, and I have good feeling I could be way off track, but it'll all for fun after all.

Based on what we've seen, Mugman has to watch Cuphead's back, Cuphead is prone to getting into trouble, and the Devil will have to get Cup's soul at some point, because in "Sweater Off Dead" we find out that the only reason the Devil needs to get the soul is because Stickler (the auditor demon) won't stop bugging him about it.

Along the way Ms. Chalice would get involved in this in some way. How, I don't know, but the fact that it was shown that she is a ghost and she showed that she liked hanging out with the brothers tells me that will come into play.

Elder Kettle may have a role too, based on a storyboard drawing showing Cuphead, Mugman, the Devil and Kettle in the same shot. This would mean Kettle will find out about the Devil at some point.

That all being said, the lead up to the show's end may involve one of a few things..

One; Cuphead will have to learn to be more responsible in looking after himself, and not have to rely on his brother so much.

Two; The Devil would become more desperate into getting Cup's soul so Stickler can get off his back. (He currently has that invisible sweater that was protecting Cuphead in those few episodes. That had to come into play too!)

Based on this I think it's possible that the Devil will take the brother's love and support for each other to his advantage. There could be a situation where the Devil convinces Mugman to trade places with Cuphead, so the debt would be paid. He could even bring up the fact that it was Mugman's fault that Cuphead lost the game of Soul Ball in the first place.

If the Devil could make Mugman feel guilty enough, I think Mug would willingly give his soul up to save Cuphead. It could be seen as a "fair trade" by Stickler, and the Devil could finally stop stressing over it.

Of course that would leave Cuphead without Mugman, and that would be devastating. He may realize just how much he took his brother's support for granted, and he would be hellbent (literally), on getting Mugman's soul back.

This senerio would involve both Elder Kettle and Chalice helping out. This may even introduce more elements from the video game into the show, like the finger guns, but I doubt it.

This would make an exciting setup for the conclusion of the show, but like I said before, it's all just a guess.

But what do you guys think? Any predictions of your own?

#cuphead #the cuphead show #mugman #ms chalice #the devil

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sunsents · 3 years

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Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

#angst #hp angst #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley series #reader insert #harry potter fluff #harry potter fic #fred weasley imagine

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helnjk · 3 years

Text

A Change of Scenery - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes!

omg hi! I just saw the fanart of the oldest Weasley brothers(🥵🥵🥵) and was hoping you could do a Charlie x reader thing? Maybe the reader is a healer at the sanctuary and Charlie doesn't mind getting hurt because he gets to see her but she literally has no idea he adores her till he spells it out. With promt 42 of your list maybe? Totally cool if you want to leave it out 😁 love you and your work! -🍄

“what the hell were you thinking?”

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: moving to romania for your absolute dream job, you did not expect to meet a cheeky, flirty redhead along the way.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, food, & drinks. charlie is a dragon tamer, reader is a healer, of course he’s going to end up with a few cuts and bruises.

A/N: god i love charlie weasley with all of my heart. that is all.

prompt is in bold

Being connected to and living somewhere very in tune with the earth had always been a dream of yours. It just so happened that your new job had you transferred to the perfect place: Romania.

Sure, it was quite far from England and had quite a different culture, but the beauty of the mountains and the picturesque scenery made up for it. The fact that you were also working in one of the best medical wings in the country, on a dragon reserve on top of that, was basically your dream come true.

“Alright, and this right here is your station,” announced the head healer, who insisted you call him Gerry, gesturing to a decently sized office space. “You can decorate it anyway you like, as long as it’s appropriate. Most of the folks around here aren’t locals either, so we’ve got loads of photos up and lots of owls coming in and out everyday.”

“It’s perfect,” you grinned.

Gerry left you alone to get settled, and you didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but the first thing you did once he was out of earshot was to squeal excitedly and do a little happy dance.

It was just all too exciting, really. Dream job, dream location, dream view even. After your burst of excitement, you spent a bit of time just staring out of the window, taking in everything. In the distance, you could even see the silhouette of a dragon peeking over the canopy of trees. The fact that this was going to be a regular occurrence just spurred even more delight in your heart.

Later in the day, after most of the introductions were made and tours were finished, you could be found familiarizing yourself with the medical wing of the sanctuary.

“C’mon Gerry, I’m completely fine!” you heard a gruff voice complain. It was coming from the hallway outside, but the accompanying footsteps sounded as if they were on the way to the wing.

“You know it’s protocol, Weasley,” a very amused Gerry replied as they rounded the corner.

Beside your boss was one of the most gorgeous men you had ever laid eyes on. With wind ruffled hair the color of sunsets and lightly tanned skin, you almost didn’t notice the small, almost inconspicuous limp he was sporting. It also took you a few seconds to realize that he was probably one of the dragon tamers of the reserve, the first one you were going to meet and treat, it seemed.

“Ah, Healer L/N, perfect!” Gerry called out to you, “This is Charlie Weasley, one of our on-site dragon tamers.”

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled, holding out his hand for you to shake.

“You too,” you said in reply, trying not to think about how warm and calloused his hand was in yours.

“His leg got swiped by the tail of a Chinese Fireball,” Gerry explained as he motioned to the leg that Charlie wasn’t putting much of his weight on.

You could see the redhead roll his eyes, “Honestly, I’ll be fine! This has happened more times than you know.”

Despite his best efforts, both you and Gerry managed to get Charlie to take a seat on one of the beds that lined the wall. With a sigh, he rolled up his trousers just enough for you to see the area of the wound.

“Lucky for you, treating this doesn’t take much time,” you smiled. Swiftly, you took your wand out and muttered the correct incantation, “There. Good as new!”

“If I get to be under the care of Ms. L/N here, I wouldn’t mind getting injured more often,” he flirted, sending you a cheeky wink.

Gerry just guffawed a loud belly laugh, patting Charlie on the shoulder fondly, “Don’t you go running off with one of my best healers now, Weasley. We just got her!”

“Don’t worry, Gerry,” you smiled, “I think this one’s too injury-prone to run anywhere.”

–

As the last work day of your first week at the reserve was coming to an end, you were surprised to see Charlie Weasley knocking on the open door to your office.

“Hey,” you said, sending him a small smile.

“Hey,” he parroted, stepping inside.

“Anything I can help you with?” you asked over your shoulder while putting away the last of your files and slipping out of your healer robes, “You’re not injured again are you?”

Behind you, Charlie gulped as he saw the little sundress you wore underneath. His head spun at the sight of your exposed legs and he nearly forgot what he was about to say.

“Nah I’ve got a better track record than that, thankfully,” he chuckled. Doing his best to keep the calm facade he had going on, he leant against the doorframe as he asked, “Got any plans tonight? I was wondering if you’d fancy getting a bite to eat.”

You were caught off guard by how nonchalant and straightforward his invitation was.

“Is this your way of asking me on a date?” you asked, finally turning around to face him once again.

He raised an eyebrow, “Do you want it to be? Because I just wanted to be a nice person and show you around Romania, but if you’re looking for a date…”

“Oh shut it, Weasley,” you groaned, “The tab is on you tonight, then.”

Charlie sent you a grin as you strode out of your office. Despite your faux-annoyance, you were happy to have someone show you around. Being a healer was your dream job, but it did have some setbacks. Obviously, you were needed at the medical wing of the reserve for the majority of the week and that didn’t give you much time to familiarize yourself with the town and the people.

Because of how remote the reserve was, most staff and employees lived on site. There was a designated area for the many different cabins and living quarters. To give you more of a tour of the little Romanian town nearest the reserve, Charlie offered to side-along apparate you.

You could feel heat creep up your neck and spread along your cheeks as you gripped firmly on to his muscular arm.

The sun was just about to set and cast gorgeous hues of orange and pink across the sky as the two of you landed just outside the town. Charlie led you along, showing you where the most important areas were; you saw the town square, the little street bazaars, and the most popular eating places.

By the time the pair of you got to one of his favorite restaurants, a quaint little place in one of the sidestreets, your cheeks were sore from laughing too much. After the initial awkwardness as you tried to navigate topics that interested the both of you, you found yourselves chatting away animatedly.

“Yeah, Fred and George were an absolute nightmare when they were little,” he chuckled, fondly recalling the many times he and his older brother Bill were left to babysit their younger siblings, “But they’re great. They’ve got a shop in Diagon Alley now, selling prank products of all things. It’s wild.”

“Your family sounds absolutely lovely,” you said. It warmed your heart seeing how his eyes lit up talking about them. “It must be so hard being so far away from everyone.”

He nodded slightly before taking a sip of his drink, “Definitely. My first year here was such a big transition. I’m lucky I get to go home every so often.”

There was a lull in the conversation as you dug into your food, but it was far from the awkward silence you were expecting.

Maybe working in Romania wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

–

“Why is it that when you get hurt, I’m always the healer on call?” you sighed playfully as Charlie walked through the door of the medical wing.

It was the fourth week in a row he had to come and get something patched up. They weren’t major injuries, thankfully, but you had come to learn that the dragon tamers were required to know how to perform the basic healing spells. The things Charlie would come in for were almost always resolved with a quick episkey.

“You know me,” he joked, taking a seat on one of the empty beds, “Always so accident prone.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

Still, with your wand in hand, you gestured for him to show you where the injury was.

“I’ve got two things today,” he began. You raised your eyebrows in response. “This is the first.”

Charlie quickly rolled the sleeve of his top, his toned arm flexing at the movement. In all the time you had worked at the reserve, which wasn’t that long at all, you still hadn’t gotten used to how fit he was. A quick intake of breath had you re-centering and focusing on the task at hand. There was a small burn on his forearm, not enough to cause too much concern.

You cast the charm quickly so as not to be distracted further, “There, all done.”

“There’s still one more place that’s hurt Y/N.”

By the way Charlie spoke, you knew he was up to something. Inwardly you sighed, “Alright, let’s get to it then.”

Your heart seemed to stop as he began to unbutton the first few buttons of his top.

“What’re you doing, Weasley?” you asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure as you got a peek of his very toned chest.

With a dramatic sigh, Charlie leant back and pointed to an area above his chest, “My heart hurts, Y/N.”

For a moment you just stared at him, looking absolutely ridiculous in the position he chose to don, eyes blinking owlishly. Truthfully, you didn’t know whether to laugh or to send the strongest stinging hex in his direction.

“Charlie Weasley, you thank Merlin and Morgana right now that I’m not hexing your balls off,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I’m being serious, Y/N!” he continued, “I don’t know if I’ll survive this!”

“Pity, does that mean I’m losing my ticket to free weekly meals?” she joked, already turning on her heel to get back to what she had been doing before he entered the wing.

There were sounds of shuffling as if Charlie had gotten back up on his feet again and then, “Definitely not! I’m banking on those meals, one of these days you’re going to be begging me for an actual date. You’ll see.”

“Keep dreaming, Weasley.”

You sent the redheaded dragon tamer a sarcastic smile, but he just sent you a flirty wink in reply.

–

“Code white. Need extra hands in the medical wing ASAP.”

The shimmering white bloodhound soon dissolved into nothing as it delivered its message to you, early one morning. You had just gotten to work, not even in your healer's robes yet, when Gerry’s patronus appeared.

As you rushed to the medical wing, another patronus made an appearance and rattled off what had happened and who was hurt. Your heart dropped the moment you heard who you were going to be treating.

“Oh Merlin,” you whispered to yourself the moment you saw the state Charlie was in, “What did you get yourself into?”

In all the time you had been working at the reserve and as a healer in general, it was not unusual for you to treat severe injuries. In fact, you liked to think that when you were faced with someone’s life or quality of life in your hands, you worked even harder and smarter. However, seeing Charlie more battered and bruised than you had ever seen him made your heart pound loudly in your chest.

“Healer L/N, you’re right on time,” Gerry spoke to you clearly, rapidly explaining the situation and what you needed to do.

In a flash, you had your wand out and were muttering all the healing spells that came to mind alongside your head healer. You didn’t notice how you were holding your breath and clenching your wandless hand until you let out a sigh of relief when Charlie began to stir.

“He’s stable,” Gerry announced and released a breath.

You felt a soft pat on your shoulder as he left you to deal with the patient, deeming it alright for him to step out and get back to his other responsibilities. Carefully, you walked towards the redhead whose eyes were fluttering open.

“What the hell were you thinking, Weasley?” you murmured softly, your wand sweeping over him one last time to check is vitals. A soft hand reached out to push the stray strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face and you felt him lean into your touch.

“Y/N?” Charlie mumbled, his eyes still half-closed.

“I’m right here,” you said in reply.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to prop himself up but groaning in pain.

“What happened,” you began, going to help him get to the seated position he wanted to be in. He smiled up at you and you could barely remember what you were trying to say. With a small shake of your head and clearing of your throat you continued, “What happened was that you were being an absolute idiot who absolutely did not call for backup when a nesting mother was going on a rampage.”

Despite his obvious discomfort, Charlie had the audacity to chuckle slightly, “Sounds about right.”

“Don’t you dare do that to me again, Weasley,” you admonished, pulling back and shooting him the dirtiest stare you could muster. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. When I got Gerry’s patronus, all I could think about was–”

As if an electric jolt shocked you, you cut yourself off before anything else escaped your lips.

“Was what, Y/N?” he asked softly.

His eyes were shining with something you couldn’t quite name, but the sincerity in his face gave you pause.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Instead of continuing to reprimand him for his foolishness, you busied yourself making sure he was comfortable and that everything was alright. The potions he needed to take later in the day and the different salves to be applied to his skin were placed on the bedside table. Pillows were summoned, fluffed, and placed behind him.

As you shuffled around the room, purposely ignoring the redhead, his eyes were trained on you.

The moment his eyes opened and he felt your hand brush gently across his face, he thought he had to have been dreaming. If it weren’t for the ache in his muscles and the sting of his burns, he would’ve believed that he was in some alternate reality wherein he woke up next to you every morning.

He was tired of waiting for his fantasies to come true, he decided.

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name sent shivers down your spine. Your whole body froze for a microsecond before you turned to face him.

“Yeah, Charlie?”

“Look at me please,” he begged.

With a deep breath, your eyes locked with his and you were almost blown away with the look on his face.

Sincerity pooled in his eyes as they scanned your face, trying to see if your own expression gave anything away. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move or look away from him.

“Tell me what you were thinking,” he whispered gently.

It was now or never.

“All I could think about was how,” you gulped, taking a steadying breath, “How you could’ve died or gotten so hurt, when I hadn’t even had the chance to tell you how I felt about you.”

You could hear Charlie’s sharp intake of breath and you had to look away, unable to face the rejection you were ultimately going to hear.

“Y/N–”

“And, and I know that you don’t feel the same–”

“Y/N–”

“But, just seeing you lying there–”

“Y/N!”

Charlie’s voice rang through the whole wing, a sharp contrast to the otherwise silent space. You sucked in a deep breath, surprised.

“Y/N you have to know I’m absolutely mad for you,” he said clearly.

You blinked furiously at him.

“You-I, what?”

Charlie tried to reposition himself so that he could face you properly, but you could see that he was still in a bit of pain. Instead of letting him maneuver himself uncomfortably, you placed a soft hand on his shoulder before taking a seat by his legs.

Immediately, he went to take your hand in his. “I think you’re absolutely breathtaking, and talented, and passionate. I just haven’t had the balls to ask you out on a real date.”

“Then what are you waiting for, Weasley?” You offered him a small smile, glancing back down at your intertwined hands.

The smile he sent you left you breathless.

–

“You ready to go?” Charlie asked, leaning against the doorframe with his legs crossed just like when he had visited your office that first week.

A small grin inched its way on to your face at the sight of your boyfriend. His hair was just a tad bit windswept, adding to the rugged look he insisted he could pull off (and he definitely did, you just didn’t like feeding his ego too much).

“Just about,” you smiled. “Let me get out of these stuffy robes first.”

And, just like the first time he had knocked on the door to your office, you turned to shrug off your uniform and hang it up in one of the hooks beside your desk. Instead of keeping his thoughts to himself, Charlie grinned widely and whistled at the sight of you in your dress.

Just as you were about to chide him for being inappropriate, strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards. A small ‘oof’ escaped your lips as your back made contact with Charlie’s strong chest.

“Charlie!” you slapped his arm lightly, “C’mon, I’m still at work!”

“What so I can’t show my girlfriend some appreciation for being absolutely drop dead gorgeous?” he mumbled, pressing soft kisses on the joint where your neck met your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, “You know I love a good compliment. I would just rather you do it outside my place of work.”

With a chuckle, Charlie released his grip on your waist. “Alright, alright.”

“Just for that, the tab’s on you tonight, Weasley.”

“Ah so the usual, love?”

“Of course.”

Charlie held his hand out for you to take, and unlike the first time he took you out, you allowed yourself to blush, take his calloused hand in yours, and press a soft kiss on his lips.

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes @cruciostyles @writingsomewrongs

Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic @lifeofkaze @oldschoolkiddo

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley imagines #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley fics #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x y/n #tw injury #tw food #tw meal mention

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

i am your salvation

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~13k

For years, Keigo had trained his body, fucking perfected it’s abilities. Every part of him was honed and forcibly designed to be the winged-hero, Hawks. But, now? He was the defunct number two, ‘Hawks’ and at home— reality? He was the comically broken Keigo Takami who struggled to do basic physical therapy.

Only you know him like that.

warnings: manga spoilers, suicidal ideation, abuse, ANGST with a capital A, just sad :^(((

this piece is hellish, enjoy ;^))) beta’ed by the lovely @keiqos, bless u

----------------------

Keigo was fucked.

He was so beyond fucked.

He was dead.

Basically.

He was half-alive in a hospital bed. An IV drip in each arm, pumping him full of god knows what. He didn’t care to ask. All he knew was that he fucked up.

He’d gotten sloppy.

Stupid.

Pompous.

And now his wings were fried off his back.

(By fucking Dabi no less.)

The first conversation he’d had with his doctor upon waking at the HPSC hospital was one where he legitimately contemplated suicide for the first time in a long while.

“Hawks... There’s no good way to say this. There just isn’t,” The doctor began, looking through Keigo’s chart, sighing deeply. There was something so grave about the way he moved through the sterile hospital room.

The doctor handed him a handheld mirror.

Hawks slowly raised it up with weakened arms, knowing what he’d see.

A gruesome burn tore down the left side of his face. It puckered the skin around his eye, narrowing his field of vision (thank god he still had any vision at all). The soft flesh around his eye was so angry and blistered, pockets of puss gathering beneath the surface of his skin.

But what was worse than the scar, so much fucking worse, was the absence.

The complete absence of his wings.

No stubs, no nubs. Just nothing.

His back ached against the hospital bed as he handed the mirror back to the doctor.

The doctor sighed again. He spoke to Hawks like he didn’t think the hero already knew what he was going to say, “Your wings are gone. Fully. The scans we’ve taken show that the... well, roots of them in your flesh are still present, they’re encased in scar tissue. Even the sections that the feathers grow from are cauterized. In our professional opinion, we don’t think that they’ll ever grow again.”

His heart fell in his chest.

It fell so deep.

So far.

He didn’t let himself cry.

Instead, he contemplated how hard it would be to overdose on morphine they were undoubtedly dosing him with.

The doctor continued as Keigo stared sightlessly at his lap, “As established, the muscles that control the roots of your wings are still intact, yes. But, they’re heavily damaged in a way that will affect your everyday life. Even without your wings, the recovery to stabilize your injuries is going to be strenuous.”

Who fucking cared.

Hawks had spent the vast majority of his life training to be a hero and now the very thing that made him the best was literally burned from him. It felt unholy. It felt awful.

Fire wasn’t cleansing, it was putrid. Desecrated was his body as well as his mind.

He didn’t listen to much else of what the doctor said. He let himself go blank, wishing tears would fall.

...

That was yesterday.

Today, he was allowed visitors. His PA came, informing him that the Commission was putting him on extended, indefinite (thankfully, somewhat paid) leave in exchange for media appearances. They also informed him that half of the top ten were dead after the war with the PLF. Ryuku, Miruko, Edgeshot, Kamuiwoods, Crust, all lost. And countless others, too. Even some students. It seemed that there was no clear winner of the fight that took so many and changed so much.

One of the most hard-hitting pieces of news was that Endeavor was in a coma, on life support, with a brain injury that would most likely kill him. At best, he’d be a vegetable.

Keigo felt nothing but hollow as he laid in his hospital bed. He was half machine, based on all of the tubes and monitors that he was hooked up to. He felt truly mechanical and falsely alive. Truly, he was used up. He wanted to die. He was sure of it.

Keigo wanted to ask his PA to smother him.

He didn’t.

The next person to visit him was you. His PA had informed him that they were legally obligated to see him first, otherwise, you would’ve been clawing his door down.

You.

Keigo didn’t want you to see him like this. All the reasons you had fallen for him were gone. There was no confidence, no lip, no charm, no drive, no stunning scarlet wings— nothing. He even had the bonus deterrent of a nasty scar covering half his face. He was so sure that you’d take one look at him and turn right out the door.

Leave him for good.

Maybe spit on him for good measure.

The old muscles of his wings twitched as you walked through the door. It burned like an old hell.

You’d clearly been crying, face and eyes puffy.

But you were strong for him.

You pulled a chair up next to his bed wordlessly. You sat, laying your head on his antiseptic smelling sheets and mattress. Your eyes went half-lidded, just barely looking up at Keigo’s terrified expression. You reached out, grabbing one of Keigo’s clammy hands. You squeezed it.

“I’m here, Kei’,” Your voice was so quiet. “It’s alright. I love you. I’ve got you.”

It made him break.

The machines that he was reliant on screamed as he desperately grabbed at you, dragging you up with the little strength he had. You pushed him down, moving to half kneel on his bed. You didn’t make Keigo work for your touch.

You cradled his head to your chest as his scarred hands fisted your sweater. He screamed into your sternum. Keigo wailed and cried with everything he had. He was losing himself, raging for far more than just his current injury.

He bawled for every single time he couldn’t in his hero training, forced to be broken by the demands of the Commission. He sobbed for every casualty and death that was on his hands, righteous or otherwise. And, selfishly, he cried for himself. He let tears fall in mourning for the version of himself that died by Dabi’s hand.

He let himself shatter in your arms for the burning muscles and scars of his back, the ache of his face, and the emptiness and vulnerability that his lack of wings graced him with.

You more than let him; you encouraged it.

You stroked his hair, matted with sweat and grease. You whispered soft adorations, validations and love into his ears. He can hear your tears too, but it didn’t stop you.

“I love you, Keigo.”

“I’m here.”

“You’re safe.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’ve got you, Kei’.”

“No one else will hurt you. I won’t let them.”

You were far too late on the last one. But, you were quirkless. Powerless to stop the destruction that ravaged his body and now, his mind.

Additionally, Keigo was relieved you didn’t say that ‘everything will be okay’.

He knew it wouldn’t be.

You let him crumble against you for hours.

Finally, he was spent, falling back in his bed, and letting you slump back into your chair. You took the liberty of finding a warm towel to wipe his face down with.

The rest of visiting hours, you laid your head on his mattress, holding his hand as he drifted in and out of sleep. Nurses came and poked and prodded him. They didn’t bother making conversation with either of you.

They understood, to some degree.

You were both together in mourning.

A nurse came by later, night had fallen, telling you visiting hours were over.

Keigo audibly whined.

You shook your head, running a thumb over Keigo’s knuckles.

“It’s alright,” You soothed both him and the nurse. “I’m not leaving.”

The nurse didn’t fight you, merely exited the room.

Keigo watched, awed. You retrieved a decently sized duffle bag and pillow that you’d brought (he hadn’t noticed). You set up a blanket and the pillow on a couch in the corner as a makeshift bed.

“Y-you’re staying?” Keigo asked, voice raw.

You, somehow, smiled. So gentle and precious, nodding, “As long as you’d like me to. I told you, I’m here.”

Keigo relied on you for comfort in the past, sure. But not like this. Not like you were his anchor, tethering him to his existence now that his pride and preen were plucked from him. You were his salvation in that hospital room. You were the ground that he desperately and necessarily needed to learn to walk on.

You both fell asleep quickly, dreaming of better things outside of your waking nightmare.

---------------------------

Keigo was discharged two weeks later.

It is thoroughly confirmed that, unless by some medical miracle, his wings were truly toast. Gone for good.

The Commission brought in at least a dozen folks with spectacular healing quirks. Truly, the best the country had. Turns out, the Commission was clawing for hope too, in the wake of everything.

The efforts were in vain, of course.

Nothing stuck.

The scar tissue wouldn’t shrink. The damage was too severe. The cauterization was so intense, it altered him. Forever.

You stayed with him the whole time.

You went home, just a bit, maybe an hour a day. You showered then, changed clothes.

You’d come back and do what you had been the whole time.

Just being there.

You didn’t make him idly chat or make him watch shitty, hospital cable. You let him ruminate, stew, and simmer. You let him be crushed.

You were smart enough, empathetic enough to know that nothing you could do or say would lift him right now.

He just needed you there.

And so, you were.

After being discharged with several prescriptions, orders to limit activity to allow for his other injuries (and concussion) to heal, the two of you went home.

Your first task was Keigo getting properly washed.

At first, Keigo resisted.

“N-no, I’m fine, I’ll take one tomorrow,” Truthfully, he wouldn’t probably, not without your help. He just didn’t want you to see him so intimately in this state.

You shook your head, speaking as you brought several plush towels into the bathroom. You turned to Keigo who had wrapped his arms around his frail-looking form, looking at the floor.

You brought him into your arms, rubbing at his neck, not wanting to aggravate the injuries on his back, “I know you don’t want to, but it’ll feel good. Let me take care of you, please.”

You spoke so earnestly, it made Keigo fall apart. He hated being so helpless.

He nodded against you.

You sat him on the toilet seat while you ran a bath in Keigo’s spectacular tub. You poured in epsom salts and some lavender bubble bath, filling the room with a familiar, herbal scent.

You helped him strip, mindful to not linger on any part of his body. Carefully, you lowered Keigo into the water. He could help but be surprised by the strength in your body to do so. Perhaps foolishly, he had never taken you as physically strong. After stripping yourself, you got in as well, across from him, so you wouldn’t see his scars. You were perhaps a bit too considerate.

The water burned his wounds, yet calmed his muscles. It was a different sensation than the ones he’d had for the past weeks. He welcomed it.

Keigo sagged in the bathwater, looking somewhat relaxed for the first time in so long. You knelt in the water and suds, lathering up his hair and body. So carefully did you wash away the sweat, smells, and lingerings of the hospital and the war that preceded it. You went through his hair with your own conditioner, figuring that the familiar smell might help keep him calm. Keigo didn’t say anything, just let you do as you needed. You carefully untangled any and all knots from his tresses, rinsing him down.

You dried him off, putting a few scented body oils on his dry patches of skin, parched from his time in the hospital. You still didn’t look at his back.

He felt ashamed and thoroughly disgusted. He smushed his face into your shoulder, gripping onto your like if he wasn’t, he’d die.

You find him fucking repulsive, right?

“Kei’,” Your voice quiet still, “You okay?— Wait, don’t answer that.”

You chuckle at yourself. Keigo would’ve laughed too if he could.

Keigo dressed himself, a semi-self sufficient act that made him feel better. Though, you picked out the clothes. Some of your own, soft, old garments that Keigo had seen you in a hundred times.

It was only before he put on a shirt that you gave his back the quickest once-over, “You can put your shirt on now, Kei’. I just wanted to make sure it looked okay. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Even that much sight and contact of the old roots of his wings made him feel so ashamed. It burned the corpse of his ego like the hot fire that crisped his wings.

Despite those nasty feelings, the simple act of wearing your shirt made him feel better. It felt so good, so good, to be surrounded by you instead of the sterility of the hospital.

You had been kind enough to leave the hospital for a bit longer than normal the day prior to go shopping. You bought Keigo a large, fluffy, ivory blanket. You even washed it, so it smelled like home (and you) too.

After you helped him to the wide couch, custom made to accommodate Keigo’s now torched wings. It was a small burn (ha) to his psyche, but he tried to let it go as you got him comfortable.

You gave him your special pillow. The one Keigo loved to steal and take naps with. You covered him in the new blanket.

“Is that okay?” You asked, tucking him in. Keigo would normally be embarrassed by something childish like that, but he couldn’t make himself care. It felt so good to be comforted.

So softly, he replied, “You made it feel like home already.”

You let a sad smile drift to your face, massaging Keigo’s scalp as he sobbed into his new blanket.

He was so glad to be surrounded by you, no matter how rotten he felt.

-------------------

The first week home was the hardest. Sleeping was painful, even next to you. Eating was a fucking labor as he had no appetite. Nothing interested him in the slightest other than staring at walls and pretending he would wake up from this nightmare soon.

An at-home physical therapist was brought in. He had to retrain the muscles in his back to relax, now that they weren’t carrying the weight of his wings. The constant tension in his back would cause long term damage (not like he wasn’t already riddled with chronic injury), least of all tension headaches.

Your job let you work from home. Thank god.

...

Keigo hated his exercises. They hurt so bad.

For years, Keigo had trained his body, fucking perfected its abilities. Every part of him was honed and forcibly designed to be the winged-hero, Hawks. But, now? He was the defunct number two, ‘Hawks’ and at home— reality? He was the comically broken Keigo Takami who struggled to do basic physical therapy.

Only you knew him like that.

Keigo’s fists slammed against the floor as he strained with his PT exercises, the therapist themselves long gone for the day. You worked from your laptop on the couch. You weren’t supposed to aid him with his exercises unless necessary, as the therapist had instructed.

“Do you want me to help you?” You asked, almost coaxingly.

Keigo beat his fists once more, crying out almost like a petulant child, (he hated himself for it oh my god—), “I don’t want to fucking do this! I can’t do this!”

And Keigo sobbed into the floor with abandon.

You moved from the couch to haul him into your arms, pressing his face into your neck. You said nothing, you just let him scream and die against you.

“I can’t do this!”

“I hate this!”

“Make this fucking stop!”

“Just make this all fucking stop!”

“JUST FUCKING KILL ME ALREADY!”

This got you to speak, not shushing him, but just trying to soothe—

“IF YOU REALLY FUCKING LOVE ME, THEN YOU’LL SLIT MY THROAT IN MY SLEEP AND LET THIS FUCKING NIGHTMARE BE OVER!—”

You froze.

He didn’t.

Keigo kept begging you to kill him.

Incessantly so.

He didn’t know what to do.

This was a tantrum, maybe. More like a breakdown. It felt dramatic. But, his thoughts were real. He’d be happy to die, especially by your hand. Then you wouldn’t have to take care of him and he wouldn’t be able to feel as awful as he did.

You kept holding him, squeezing him harder and harder still.

Finally, Keigo tuckered himself out and sagged against you.

You reached up to the side table, grabbing your own glass of water, and offering it to him. You still hadn’t spoken.

Part of him thought to apologize, crack a joke even. But he couldn’t make himself do either. Instead, his shaking hands grabbed the glass. You didn’t fully let it go, just guided it to his lips where it dribbles down his chin.

Keigo sputtered a sob.

He couldn’t stand being so weak.

“Love,” You spoke so softly as he sipped. “I will never hurt you like that. I won’t let anyone else, either.”

Keigo suddenly started fucking laughing, for the first time in so fucking long, ripping the cup fully from your hands and throwing it across the room. It shattered in a wild display of raining glass and water. He hadn’t laughed in what felt like months. He let it loose, grabbing your face and directing it right at you, breath curling over your cheeks.

He knew it was cruel, to take it out on you. He hated himself for it even as he was doing it.

“How the fuck do you think you’ll protect me?” Keigo cackled into your face, horror beginning to overtake your features. He didn’t care. It felt good— “You’re just some stupid, weak, quirkless civilian— how the fuck do you think someone as powerless as you can protect me when I can’t even protect me—!”

He kept laughing, but he was crying. He couldn’t tell which was which. Keigo could only tell he was hysterical.

This whole time, since he had woken up in the hospital, you had been nothing but the perfect partner. You had been so kind, asking for nothing in return.

And yet, he’d verbally strike you like this for no other reason than his own hurt.

How fucking cruel.

You let Keigo go, unable to disguise the pain in your expression. You didn’t say anything back to him. As you left the room, you were covering your eyes with your arm. Keigo caught one of your sobs as you fled to the bathroom, almost slamming the door.

Keigo heard your muffled cries for hours until you fell asleep on the bathroom tile as his old burns and guilt ate him alive.

He tried his exercises again.

-------------------

That night, Keigo was too deep in sleep to hear you enter your shared bedroom. Part of you didn’t want to sleep next to him. You thought about returning to the bathroom or moving to the couch. But, you couldn’t make yourself.

Keigo’s words hurt so bad.

Partially because they were cruel. They gnawed at your insecurities, the fears you were desperately suppressing for him.

Partially because you hated the fact you couldn’t do more, despite already doing so much.

Partially because you knew that Keigo would never say things like that to you if he wasn’t being eaten up on the inside.

Partially because the love of your life asked you to snuff his life out.

It all hurt. Stung. Ached. Burned.

There was a small detail that hurt in a different way.

He called you quirkless.

You weren’t quirkless.

Your quirk was so weak and so taxing, sure. It was basically unusable. For fucks sake, you never even bothered to tell Keigo directly as you never used it. He had access to citizen quirk records, and you figured he checked in the several years the two of you had been dating. Apparently not.

But, you did have a quirk.

You stood next to your bed, Keigo covered in the comforter and soft white blanket you’d gotten for him. You could see the peakings of his back. His skin was marred with burns, cuts and scars that looked unimaginably horrible. You’d been avoiding looking at it, for him. You’d seen how it made him cringe.

But now with Keigo sleeping so deeply? You took it all in.

You looked at the nearly black scarring where the roots of his wings were. The fanning out of puckered, red skin from the burns. His back, which once rippled with the muscles that controlled his crazily powerful wings, was now a charred plain.

...

You had an awful, far-fetched, fucked up idea.

You sat, sinking into the bed as you contemplated your idea.

You brought your hands to your face, concentrating on your fingertips.

Small, tiny vines and green shoots left your fingers.

There’s absolutely no way that this will work.

But, you’d hate yourself if you didn’t try.

Life reclaimed life, you supposed.

You drummed up a half-assed plan. It was a weak, frail idea— it would need a lot of support. Even then, you didn’t want to give yourself false hope. You couldn’t give Keigo false hope. It would ruin him.

...

You’d have to fix your diet. Eat lots of nutrient-rich food. Take more vitamins too.

You slotted yourself next to Keigo who, in sensing your warmth, turned into you, pressing into your front. His head nuzzled into your chest, an arm wrapping around your waist.

You heard him wince at the motion, flinching in his sleep.

You had to try.

One of your hands went to his back, brushing down the comforter to reveal the particularly gnarly scars where Keigo had lost part of himself. You laid your hand flat on the fire-flayed skin, praying you don’t wake him. You concentrated, watching small greenery go from your fingers to his flesh, desperately trying to repair the damage that had been done.

------------------------------------

Keigo apologized to you the next morning. He clutched your chest and told you how sorry he was. He told you how he knows he’s acting out, he’s just so fucking sad—

You told him that he didn’t need to justify himself. Not to you. Though, you accepted his apology and asked him to not say those kinds of things to you again.

“I’m trying my best, and I know it's not enough sometimes... but it's all I’ve got,” You speak to him in your own small voice. One that portrayed a weakness that you hadn’t shown since Keigo had been injured.

He felt even guiltier.

But, the second week was better.

His exercises were getting easier. Eating came a little better too. You started cooking more, not getting as much takeout. Part of him missed the comfort of familiar street foods, but another part of him craved the home-cooked meals you made so much more. They helped him feel better too, packed with veggies and lean proteins.

Keigo didn’t notice, he was far too out of it, but you were already looking more haggard.

It came with using your quirk in general, let alone to the extent you were pushing it. It was a pitiful quirk and you’d never strained it half as far as you were then.

It had a price.

To heal others, even something as small as a paper cut would take from your own body.

And, you were dedicating at least thirty minutes a night to attempting to ‘heal’ (read: reconstruct) the tissue of Keigo’s back. You had to start so deep in his muscles; it hurt to push your quirk that far down. Within the first five minutes, that first night you tried, you were silently crying from exertion.

But, you didn’t relent.

Each day, it was a little easier.

Sure, you had bad nights where it was extra hard. You blamed it on not eating well enough, using up too much of yourself during the day.

It was a shitty excuse, notably. Your quirk was weak and self-destructive, it was beyond your bodily capabilities. There was no way to tell if it was even working to heal Keigo’s body. It was a gamble.

And your wager was your health and body.

Even eating optimally and taking a bevy of new vitamins each morning before Keigo awoke, you could tell your physical health was suffering. You were losing a bit of fat already. Dark circles were punched under your eyes from the exhaustion. You had developed the slightest shake when you moved.

And the worst part was, you knew that you’d only get weaker from here on out.

So, you upped your calorie intake. You kept careful track of the foods you ate, the same with Keigo’s. He didn’t seem to mind the delicious meals you now coveted crafting, no matter how tired you were. If he was eating better, it would probably help you too, right?

You could only hope, resting it all on a long shot.

--------------------------

Week three was good, but hard.

The HPSC commission forced Keigo to do a media appearance. He told them, bluntly, that he couldn’t fake it right now. Probably, forever.

They told him to suck it up, get out there, and put some hope into their society that was being pulled apart at the seams.

Keigo refused to let you come. He didn’t want to think about how you’ll look at him when he’s all dressed in his hero uniform, wings absent from his back, forcing him to bear the two empty slots of his jacket.

When he mentioned it, you offered to sew them up.

Keigo felt horrible, but he just gave a nod, handing you his jacket without looking at you.

You stitched the slits shut for him. Keigo requested red thread for the stitching and you obliged him.

(You made note that Keigo truly had no hope. You couldn’t tell him a thing about your quirk usage until you were positive that it would have results.)

The media appearance went okay. Not great, but okay. ‘Hawks’ was dead, and Keigo was not a performer like he was. Though he still went by his hero name, his real name only known by himself, the Commission, Dabi (may he rot in hell), and you. He coveted that you had the intimacy in knowing his identity, but it felt dirtier now that Dabi (Touya?) had that name in his throat as well.

When Keigo came home from the media appearance, he was keyed up. He flitted around the apartment while you made dinner. There was an anxiousness in his movements.‘Hawks’ would’ve taken to the skies to fly off some of this fractious energy. Keigo just had to wait for food to be ready and pray that the feelings went away.

Just before dinner, he decided to try exercises outside of the one his physical therapist assigned him. He was feeling energetic enough, right? Might as well pull out some of the easier moves from his hero training.

Keigo moved to his now seldom-used at home gym. He picked up a dust-covered five-pound weight and proceeded to try and curl it. The moment Keigo brought it above his head, his back tensed and burned something fierce.

The weight fell from Keigo’s hand, half-thrown, luckily missing any and all of his toes and feet.

He cried in frustration, stuck staring at himself in the wall of mirrors.

Keigo truly thought he looked pitiful.

He was still wearing his hero uniform sans the jacket. He’d lost a lot of muscle mass with his more sedentary state. His hair was too long. He had gotten more pale, losing his few freckles. His eyes were bloodshot and his teeth curl over his lips in a snarl—

“Keigo?” You opened the door to the gym, eyes wide with shock, but your tone didn’t change. He just glowered at you from the mirrors. You spoke again, staring him down with an almost scarily neutral poker face. “Dinner’s ready. Would you like to eat? Otherwise, I can save it for you.”

Keigo didn’t reply. He went back to trying to pick up the weight, screaming each time and hating how his back burned so intensely.

You left without saying anything.

---------------------------

Week four was hard because you and Keigo’s relationship is beginning to suffer. Or, it had been, but it was reaching a fever pitch.

Keigo’s lack of human contact, lack of physical activity, and general cabin fever were getting to him. He was lashing out more and you, kind as you were, were having trouble dealing with it.

Your own run downstate was eating you alive, literally. No matter how much you put into your body, you needed more to heal Keigo. You were up to two hours a night of working at Keigo’s tissue with your quirk. By the end of your ‘sessions’, you would simply pass out and fall into listless slumber. You were losing a lot of sleep each night, but you were determined to keep going.

Your exhaustion, in general, was making you a bit more prickly towards Keigo’s increasing frequent outbursts.

It all came to a head on a Sunday night.

The two of you were curled up on the couch, half-cuddling and half-watching TV.

A notice for breaking news showed red on the screen.

Both of you tensed. Before Keigo’s injury, he’d be rushing to throw on his hero gear and fly to help. Now, he just sat next to you, stiff as a board with pin-pricked pupils.

A picture, pre-PLF injury Endeavor flashed on screen.

“The Hero Public Safety Commission has just made the press release the former number one hero, Endeavor, is no longer in comatose.”

You watched a real, happy smile, spread on Keigo’s face. For a moment, there was a sliver of hope—

“But, he still remains in critical condition. Due to injuries affecting his central nervous system, he is reported as being in a state of paralysis. As of now, his life still hangs in the balance, though he is lucid.”

Keigo stiffened again.

There was rage painting his face.

And pain.

You stiffened with him.

You did not have it in you that night to deal with one of Keigo’s explosive moments.

“Endeavor has left us all with this message—”

The camera flashed to an old video of the old ‘number one hero’, healthy and strong with a fist raised in the air.

You braced for impact as Keigo stood, shoulders hunching over.

Endeavors voice washed over your living room,

“Go Plus Ultra!”

And Keigo, honest to god, shrieked.

He fell to his knees and beat the floor beneath him. He slammed his fists in the hardwood over, and over, and over again. You slipped to the ground with him, trying to grab at his fists.

“Keigo, you’re gonna hurt yourself—” You tried to tell him. You managed to capture one of his fists, urging it to stay down-

But, you looked up to see Keigo giving a feral look with a frenzied, white-hot sneer all for you.

And his free fist flew towards you. It connected hard and solidly to your jaw.

You hadn’t been expecting it. Keigo had never struck you before, not even close. For fucks sake, he had never even raised his voice at you before his injury.

So, how could you expect to brace yourself for it?

The force of Keigo’s blow knocked you back. You jolted, falling onto your side and turning your head to the side, away from Keigo.

You brought a hand up to cup and shield your face, your jaw and eye socket throbbing.

All you could feel was shock.

And sadness.

And horror.

And anger.

And terror.

Keigo snapped out of it.

The news report was still playing, but he couldn’t hear it.

There was only the rushing of blood in his ears.

His mouth turned bone dry.

He had watched you move with his strike, falling more to the ground, hiding yourself—

“Oh my g-god, (Y/N),” Keigo’s voice was slippery and warbling. “I-I d-didn’t—”

“No,” You stood up, still holding and hiding your face from him. His heart was crumbling in his chest.

You looked at him with only fear and heartbreak.

Keigo scrambled up, trying to apologize, hold you, mend this before it got worse—

But you put the hand that wasn’t cupping your face out, just barely touching his chest. You refused to let him any closer.

“H-hey Kei’?” Your voice sounded so, so shaky. It’s hardly there. You were holding back tears and it was so obvious. It made every part of Keigo burn with shame. “I can’t today. Maybe another day, I could deal with this, y-ya know? But not today, okay? Have a g-good night.”

You walked away before he could say anything else.

You dashed off to the guest room, shutting and locking the door before falling against it and breaking. You cried and rocked yourself as you tried to self-soothe your shattered body and mind.

The month prior had been so hard. The person you love was hurt so deeply, and though you were trying with everything you had to help, it didn’t seem like enough. You were getting verbally beat up semi-frequently and now Keigo had fucking hit you.

You were scared. You were terrified that this would become the norm. That Keigo’s outbursts would continue to worsen, as they had been, and you would become a physical punching bag for him.

It especially hurt because you were trying so hard to help Keigo.

You weren’t delusional enough to think you could really fix him, were you?

The fact that you were secretly and silently trying to regenerate Keigo’s body with a quirk he didn’t even know you had struck you bluntly in your mind.

“I’m just so fucked up, aren’t I?” You laughed and sobbed to yourself at the same time, slamming your head backward on the door, relishes the pain that floods your skull. It was a reprieve from the bruises blooming across your cheekbone.

You eventually managed to cry yourself to sleep, literally. You curled up in a ball on the floor next to the door, worn down to the bone.

In the early morning, far before dawn, you pulled yourself into half-wakefulness.

You were relentless and you were coming to hate yourself for it.

You needed to work on Keigo, no matter how you shitty felt.

You crept into the master bedroom, trying to be silent. You didn’t want to wake him. Only when you were fully in the room did you notice a soft lamp is still on despite it being early, early morning.

Wide awake and upright, Keigo looked horrified to see you. He looked at you, shaking and half-sobbing into a pillow he clutched to his chest.

You both seemed shocked to see each other.

You sniffled as you turned off the lamp, stripping down to just a t-shirt and panties before climbing into your side of the bed.

You refused to face him while he was awake. You got as comfortable as you could (which wasn’t much).

There was half an hour of disgustingly awkward silence. It coated the room, bearing the two of you who refused to sleep.

“I’m s-sorry,” Keigo had yet to move. He was frozen in place as you were turned away from him in the dark. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

Silence.

Your mouth felt dry and your mind parched.

“Keigo,” You spoke like a being empty. You truly felt like it too. “If you ever touch me like that again, I will do worse than just leave you.”

It was a threat.

You let yourself have it, in all of this. You deserved one low blow.

Keigo slowly slid down into the covers, babbling apologies and beginning to cry again.

“Stop, Kei’,” You finally turned towards him, cupping his face. He blinked at you, eyes wide and glassy. “I love you. Just stop. Apologizing doesn’t make something like this better. I can’t do this if you keep hurting me, you know that. Just be better.”

Keigo winced at that. He knew it was true, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful.

You fell asleep on each other that night. You let your headrest nestled up against Keigo’s chest. He breathed softly above you, arms wrapped securely around you, holding you tightly like he was afraid you’d leave. You wouldn’t. You made the decision to stay at the beginning of all this. Your threats would always be empty.

Idly, you had an arm thrown over Keigo’s waist, snaking up the back of his shirt to press your fingertips against his scars. Your roots and greenery didn’t have to go as deep now, as far as you could tell.

But, it had been a month with no discernable progress, visual or otherwise.

But, you held onto hope.

Because you had to hold onto hope that Keigo would get better.

All of him.

-------------------------------

The second month was... different.

Keigo tried with his whole heart to earn back your trust.

You flinched at him for the first week or so.

He hated himself so fucking much each time you did. But, he never blamed you. He couldn’t.

(Even as you twitched away from him in the daylight, you tirelessly worked on his scars in his sleep. You couldn’t give up, no matter how awful you felt).

Keigo did his exercises several times a day. He made a few more media appearances but refused to be seen with Endeavor. He (and truthfully, the Commission) knew that he could not psychologically handle it.

You were rapidly getting weaker, but you didn’t care. You ate more, slept when you could, and pushed on. You were up to three hours of healing a night. Tears rolled down your cheeks the whole time.

You were clinging to the prayer that you could unburn Keigo’s back like it would save you from your personally made hell.

This was despite the fact he was already crawling out of the pit himself.

Your existence was eased slightly as Keigo was starting to help out more.

Keigo wasn’t anywhere near normal— normal Keigo was dead in a disintegrated building, miles from your shared home. But, he was getting better.

His muscles felt better. He wasn’t sure how, but they did. His PT exercises must’ve been working. The outbursts he had thrown so often during the first month pittered out to maybe once or twice a week. They were calmer now. You were still his anchor, of course, that was undeniable. But, it was mostly crying and clutching and not screaming and breaking.

It was a welcome shift.

Most of the time, Keigo would pull you into his lap and wrap you in his embrace. Softly, he’d sway and rock the two of you, like he was trying to lull and calm not just himself, but you in tandem.

A lot of the time, this was true.

Your flinching subsided and Keigo had no more close calls with any physical violence towards you. In a few high strung moments, he still snapped at you. He’d apologize, and do better. At least, you told yourself that. That’s how you saw it anyways.

Keigo was thoroughly traumatized. His mind was an open nerve and that had consequences. You were so endlessly tired. What kind of wounds and trauma were you incurring?

You forced yourself not to think about it.

Part of you, during this month, wanted to simply pack a bag and leave without a trace.

But, you stayed with Keigo. You stayed determined.

(Or, you stayed out of spite. On your bad days, you really had trouble figuring it out.)

Your body looked like shit. You were endlessly glad Keigo still wasn’t in a position to be having any sort of sex because he probably would’ve noticed how fucked up your body was getting.

You shook constantly, always quaking like a leaf in a rainstorm. Your skin bruised with almost any contact beyond light touch. Your eyes, once vibrant and expressive, had sunk in.

Your body, no matter the several thousand extra calories you forced yourself to eat a day, still ran through your fat reserves. It was leeching muscle from you. It made your joints feel raw.

It almost hurts that you noticed how Keigo is so pained, but he didn’t notice you falling apart.

-----------------------

The third month was when shit hit the fan.

It was near the end of the month.

You were doing so badly. You stretched yourself far beyond your body's abilities.

You felt particularly sick, but you needed to get groceries. Keigo couldn’t himself for a host of reasons, which made it your job. You kissed him on the cheek as you left for the market.

Meanwhile, Keigo’s physical therapist dropped by for a check-in appointment.

Keigo did his exercises beautifully. He had to admit, his muscles didn’t ache in nearly the same way they used to. They only really hurt when the weather changed, like he was some old, arthritic man.

“Wow!” His therapist gasped, watching him complete his exercises. “It’s looking great, Hawks. It looks like you’ve gained back a lot of strength.”

The small amount of praise made him beam as he sat up.

“I just want to check the actual wounds around your back, if that’s alright? Just feel the scar tissue,” The therapist asked. Keigo bit his lip, slowly pulling off his tee-shirt. He didn’t like the idea of anyone’s hands being that close to the intimate roots of his dead wings.

But, it was necessary.

Keigo faced his back to her.

All he got was an audible gasp as the therapist’s hands traced at his spine.

“The progress back here- Hawks this is insane,” The other was alight, pressing a thumb somewhere near the root. It hardly even hurt. “The scar tissue— it’s not gone, but it's a lot more tender than it should be. Like it's actually healing.”

“Is that why it doesn’t hurt so bad?” Keigo asked, letting a few slivers of joy light him up from the inside out. During his initial prognosis, multiple doctors had said that he was going to be on fire for years, not months.

The therapist nodded, “Looks like it. Even the scarring on the surface looks pretty good. Must have some damn good genes to be healing like this.”

The two laughed, Keigo feeling more lighthearted than he had in months.

You, on the other hand, were greatly struggling.

You were so, so fucking cold; yet another bi-product of your overextension. You were wrapped in an oversized cardigan on top of one of Keigo’s mock necks. You couldn’t stop trembling as you try to shop as quickly and effectively as possible. Anything to get you home as soon as possible.

You had a great deal of difficulty doing this, though.

If you moved too fast, your vision blacked out. It had been like that for a while, a week or two. You’d lost track. You figured it was your iron, maybe blood pressure.

It was an easy thing to hide at home, but much harder in public.

You reached for something high on a metal shelf, tossing it into your cart. You needed another item, on the bottom shelf. You dropped to your knees, your body aching and rolling.

Almost done.

So close.

Then you can go home and rest.

You stood up too fast. Your vision went black ringed for a second. You stumble, trying to catch yourself as you lost sight.

You felt weightless for a moment, spinning, Though your limbs felt weighed down, impossible to move. As your vision returned, its field wouldn’t move, pointed up at the ceiling of the crowded market.

There were people speaking, shouting around you.

Alarmed.

Speaking to you?

You didn’t care.

You were so, so tired.

You let your eyes slip shut.

------------

Keigo had been waiting for you for several hours longer than it took to go grocery shopping, sure. And, to have you gone from the apartment so long made him itch too. It had been eating him, making him pace around. You hadn’t been answering your phone either. He figured you had made a detour and let your phone die.

When he received a call from the local civilian hospital about you, he feels his blood freeze in his veins.

“You’re listed here as (Y/N)’s emergency contact as a partner, yes?” The nurse asked. “They collapsed at a local market. They’re stable, but we’d recommend coming to the hospital as soon as you’re able to.”

Keigo nodded, head swimming.

You’re hurt.

You’re safe, but you’re hurt.

...

Keigo was whisked to the back of the hospital in a poor disguise. He gets recognized, given some extra security. The scar that marred his face was enough of a marker even if he didn’t have wings. He hardly cared. He couldn’t.

Your door opened to a very dark room, soft beeps and hums filling it.

He imagined that he must've been feeling close to how you felt, seeing him in such a similar position those few months ago.

The nurse enters ahead of him, clicking around on a tablet to pull up your chart.

Keigo could hardly pay attention. He felt like he was going to die, seeing you like that.

You had an IV, pushing fluids into your thinned arms. Your face was hollow looking, sockets sunken, especially with your eyes closed like they were. You had several blankets on you, piled over you. Yet, you were still visibly shivering.

The nurse whispered, “They’ve been asleep for a while now. A doctor will be in soon. Just sit tight.”

She left the room while Keigo pulled a chair up to your bed.

The smell of the hospital burned his nose. It reminded him far too much of his own time. All that pain.

The ache in his back flared, but he figured it was somatic.

Keigo reached out as he sat, holding one of your frail-looking hands in both of his own (had you looked this purely death stricken this morning? Keigo couldn’t recall either way, and he hates himself for it).

Your eyes slowly opened.

Keigo met your gaze, breath caught in both of your throats.

Neither of you got a chance to speak, not a moment of fucking comfort, before a doctor barged in, flipping through your chart with a bored look on his face.

“We finished up your testing. Lucky for you, no concussion or fractures from your fall,” The doctor nods. He doesn’t even seem to notice Keigo, or rather, Hawks. “The rest of your results aren’t looking so great though.”

Your hand stiffened violently in Keigo’s grip. Your face went from worn and exhausted to filled with terror and... guilt?

You were fucked.

The doctors and nurses had mentioned to you that they were fairly certain that all of your symptoms came from quirk overuse. You started weakly crying at that, your nurses looking confused. You didn’t elaborate then. You knew, the moment you woke up in the hospital that you were going to have to confront your own damage to your body.

You were going to be forced to explain it.

To Keigo.

The doctor continued.

“Low levels of nearly all essential vitamins and minerals. Particularly low iron, magnesium, and potassium. In general, your test results and physical state would lead me to think you’re suffering from malnutrition. But, your panel shows that your metabolic rate is actually going abnormally quickly in a way that could only be linked to-”

Wait for it.

“Quirk overuse-”

Keigo barked out a laugh, letting go of your hand, “I’m sorry, but what? They’re quirkless, it has to be something else.”

You didn’t say anything. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, are trained on your lap. You’re taking sharp, quick breaths.

You’re going to have to tell him everything.

The doctor flips through your chart again, shaking his head and bringing it over for Keigo to look at, “I apologize if this seems out of turn, but they’re listed in the public files as having a quirk... It’s marked as a weak healing quirk, but all the same, any strength of quirk has overuse.”

Keigo is stone still.

There’s tension so thick in the air of the room that the doctor excuses himself.

Keigo, for months now, had been in a traumatized stupor. His normally sharpened senses, aided by his wings, were the key to so much of his cunning. Both his physical and mental states were affected, which had made him less observant.

It had caused him to disregard so much.

But now, in your stupid, acrid hospital room, he was quickly putting it together.

His back burned again.

You felt frozen. You couldn’t force yourself to move. You couldn’t do anything other than look at your lap and roll in your head. Your body hurt so bad, your head hurt too, and so did your fucking heart.

“Can I clarify? Because I think I have an idea of what’s going on.” Keigo had physically moved away from you. He leaned back in his chair, staring down with a mix of expressions you couldn’t suss out. It made you feel even sicker.

You nodded.

“Breath, (Y/N),” Keigo reminded you. He watched you take a massive inhale, followed by tears beginning to gather. You still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Have you been... using your quirk on me? Without me knowing?” Keigo asked, trying to keep his voice firm, but truthfully, it wanted to waver and bend so badly. “Please be honest.”

You nod, breaking down to rub at your eyes.

Keigo doesn’t stop the instinctual way he moved towards you, leaning over your bed and wrapping his arms around me.

With his cheek pressed to the top of your head, he broke the illusion:

“Please tell me what’s going on. Please.”

And so, you did.

It came out tearfully, you spilling and cracking as you did. You felt stupid and guilty and awful, but at least you were out of this fucked up lie.

It all poured out of you. Your fear and your desperation were all laid out and Keigo was reading the cards.

You explained that your quirk has always been weak in addition to taxing on the body. Hence, you had seldom, if ever, used it as an adult. You were effectively quirkless and you were okay with that. Keigo had never asked so you never told him.

You tell him, voice shaking, what happened the night Keigo had pleaded with you to kill him.

“I-I, Kei’,” You push out, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I didn’t know what to do. You were so hurt and so sad and I had this stupid fucking idea that maybe, maybe I could use to my quirk to heal you.”

Keigo’s breath catches. He doesn’t say anything for a moment before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? Ask me?”

“I didn’t know if it would work. I still don’t know if it does. It didn’t wanna... I didn’t want to get your hopes up. E-especially since it would’ve been coming from me.” You pressed harder into him like you’re scared of him disappearing. “You were already so crushed.”

Keigo didn’t know what to say. There was a swirl of emotions bubbling and writhing in his body and mind and he didn’t know what to say for the first time in a long time.

So he didn’t say anything.

Keigo sat back in his chair, putting his elbows to his knees, using folded hands to rest his head on, parsing through his own feelings.

“K-Keigo?” You asked, wiping a tear away. As much as Keigo hated seeing you like this, he also recognized your state was by your hand.

Right?

“Sweetheart, I love you—” Keigo stopped himself, sighing deep in his chest. “But, I can’t... I just need some time.”

You nodded, tears coming back to drip down your face.

Keigo just watched with a neutral expression.

-----------------

Despite not being able to handle talking to you, Keigo was more than willing to help you out of the hospital. You were discharged with a prescribed diet and vitamins as well as a followup appointment in a few weeks.

“And, most importantly,” The doctor made eye contact with you. “Don’t use that quirk of yours until further notice. Honestly, with it being so destructive, I can’t understand why you would in the first place.”

You burned with shame.

The night you came back from the hospital, Keigo took incredible care of you. He didn’t talk much during it, not to you anyways. He was nearly constantly speaking under his breath, all unintelligible. From his tone and myriad of expressions, you guessed he was verbally processing.

Keigo gingerly gave you a bath, scrubbing away the smells and stickiness of the hospital. He managed to cook you one of the nutritious recipes you had shown him a few weeks ago. You sheepishly had to ask for another portion, explaining how your metabolism burned so quickly.

“Have...” Keigo finally spoke while making you another plate. “Have you always been eating this much?”

You nodded, sipping your water, “For a long time, yes.”

He hated himself for not noticing such obvious things.

Keigo kept carrying you from place to place, no matter how much his back hurt. He didn’t care. He couldn’t.

He laid you in bed at some point, sliding in next to you. He still hadn’t spoken much since you’d left the hospital.

You had tried to babble apologies and beg for forgiveness, but selfishly, Keigo wasn’t listening. He was trapped in his own head. Even when you clung to him in the bath, he could hardly make himself hold you up from sliding too far into the water.

It almost hurt to touch you.

It was late when Keigo finally verbally, directly regarded you.

“Why?” Keigo asked. You’re both turned away from each other. The bed had been vibrating with your harsh breathing and crying for an hour or so now. “Why did you do all this?”

You stop shaking, but only for a moment.

Your voice is so soft, weak, “Please don’t blame yourself. It was my choice.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Keigo could hear the anger in his voice. “Why. Did. You. Do. This?”

You’re silent for a moment.

And then you’re sitting up, yelling.

“Because I didn’t know what else to fucking do!” You gripped your hair at the roots, pulling. “You asked me to fucking kill you, Keigo! You begged me to!”

Keigo sat up, staring you down. He felt so much anger and rage in him, it was bubbling up, “That doesn’t mean you had to hurt yourself like this for me!”

“I didn’t want to hurt myself! I wanted to help you! Using my quirk was all I could do!” You looked over at him, digging your nails into your exposed thighs. “What else was I supposed to do!”

“Exactly what I thought you were doing, helping me!” Keigo screamed back at you. “You were doing so good at it!”

“You wanna know why I could even help?!” You shouted. You grabbed Keigo’s shoulders and brought him inches away from your face. “Because, every night, I got to give myself just a shred of hope that you would get better. That maybe, maybe your wings would come back and you’d smile like you used to instead of yelling at me, and hitting me, and asking me, begging me, to slit your fucking throat!”

You couldn’t stop crying. Your body was so run down, so depleted, but it still musters up the energy to drip tears like a flooded creek. You wanted to run and leave the bed, retreat to the bathroom where you can break down on the tile in peace, alone where Keigo wouldn’t have to watch. You’d done it enough prior to know he wouldn’t check on you.

Keigo stared at you with wide eyes.

He didn’t know what to say at first

He was feeling so much—

Keigo didn’t know what to do or say.

So, he just twisted the knife, one could say.

“You should’ve just left if you were really that miserable with me.” Keigo regretted it the moment it left his lips. You tense up, looking at him with a gaze he could only call broken.

“No,” You grabbed your shoulders, rocking yourself. “No, Kei’, I couldn’t, I won’t—”

“Then stop complaining.” Keigo shrugged. God, this was awful, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t he just shut up? “You’re the one who stayed and tortured yourself. That’s on you.”

“So you’d rather have that I... left?”

“Duh,” Keigo laughed, staring down your crying form. You’re so decrepit in your current state. He hated looking at you, purely because he knows he was at least a portion of what led to this. But, he’d never admit it. “Fuck, (Y/N), you didn’t have to kill me, and you didn’t have to kill yourself either.”

He’s splitting inside as he watches you break in front of him. Some fucked up, sadistic part of him relishes it. The other, muted, more sane part is screaming at him to stop fucking talking-

“You really got yourself hospitalized for overusing a quirk on me that I didn’t even know you had. You were so desperately trying to get me my wings back, all while acting soooo supportive of me trying to live without them?!” Keigo bellowed at you. You cowered, bent legs beginning to slide off the bed — “Do you realize how fucked up that is? That, behind closed doors, while I was fucking asleep, you were trying to fix me? Well, guess what, (Y/N), I’m broken beyond fucking repair, and no cute little shit you pull is going to fix me!”

Keigo shrieked his last words.

You fell off the bed, slamming onto the floor. A sickening crack filled the room as your head, basically unsupported, met the hardwood.

“Stop it!” You were screaming yourself silly from the floor. Your head hurt so badly. Maybe you were bleeding. You didn’t care. “Stop it!”

You knew you couldn’t handle this.

You were raw. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t confront any more than you had already that day. Your body hurt so badly and your mind hurt too. Everything Keigo said just rubbed salt in the wounds he helped to create.

“Keigo, just fucking stop it!”

Your vision spun. You thought that maybe you were hyperventilating. You couldn’t feel your hands, numbness beginning to pull at your extremities.

“I’m fucking sorry!” You wailed. “What would do if you were in my position, Keigo?! Just watch me suffer and not do anything even if you could?!”

Keigo leaned over the bed, giving you the most empty look you’d ever seen him wear.

“I would’ve just fucking left, (Y/N),” He spoke in a monotone, eyes like dead coals. “I would’ve just left.”

You stared up at him.

This horrible feeling had filled you from toes to top and you couldn’t escape it.

Keigo didn’t say anything else as you panicked on the floor. He simply got up, left for the guest room, and slammed the door.

Neither of you ever felt as awful as you did that night.

--------------------

Keigo didn’t sleep that night.

Neither did you.

He figured (he hoped) you’d be gone by the morning. Maybe you would just pack your dusty suitcase and get the fuck out.

...

Truthfully, not a single fragment of Keigo wanted you to leave. No piece of him wanted you to go out of his life. God, if he really thought about it, the prospect of not being side-by-side in this world together threw him into bends of anxiety and pure grief.

Truthfully, as Keigo silently, tearfully, examined your actions, he felt his anger ebb away.

He understood.

Why you did what you did.

But it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

Guilt was eating him, too. For all the horrible things he had said. The things he’d done that hurt you without regard for months now. The fact he never noticed you deteriorating. And all the nights you crept back into your shared room, for comfort and to keep trying to help him, though perhaps cruelly.

It was dawn when Keigo exited the guestroom. He figured that you were either gone or would be soon.

He was clearly mistaken.

Keigo stopped when he saw you at the kitchen table, head down, and resting on your folded arms. You were wearing a huge sweater, one of his, and a blanket around your shoulders.

Keigo had, incredibly selfishly, somewhat forgotten your physical state.

He ached.

“I made coffee,” You said quietly. You looked up, meeting Keigo’s gaze with bloodshot, puffy eyes. “It’s still warm.”

“Why are you here?” Keigo asked, heart starting to beat too fast again. “Why haven’t you left-?”

“Do you really want me to leave?” You asked with an unfamiliar edge to your voice. It’s not anger or malice, but something different. You stand, bracing yourself on the table, wobbling. Keigo wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his arms and apologize. But, he doesn’t.

You looked at him with this edge of fierce determination, asking the penultimate question, the core of this all, “Keigo, do you want me to leave because of my actions, or do you want me to leave because you don’t think you deserve help?”

There was a poignant quiet over the apartment.

The birds of the new day interrupted it from outside, chirping with the eos of dawn.

“I don’t think... I—” Keigo was speechless again, stuttering. “You shouldn’t have hurt yourself so bad.”

“That’s been established, I went too far. I should’ve told you, offered and asked, and go from there. It ultimately was a complete breach of boundaries and for that, I’m sorry. Fuck my good intentions, it was selfish.” You squeezed the edge of the table, eyes low. Your gaze turned up sharply to meet his, that edge of determination and fierceness in it that Keigo was unfamiliar with. “My question is, do you want me to leave?”

Keigo stared at his feet. His head was swimming, “You should leave.”

“I asked if you want me to,” You asked again. You were being more firm than you had ever been. You sounded unbreakable. It was that stubbornness that kept you there with him, right?

Keigo met your eyes with a sharp glare, “You should’ve left the night I asked you to kill me.”

You sighed, shaking visibly, but still keeping yourself so strong, “Please just answer me. Do you want me to leave? If we’re going to break up, let’s just call it that, and get it over with, okay Kei’?”

Oh, hearing you say ‘breakup’—

That broke Keigo.

Having to truly think and reckon with a reality where you weren’t with him and you weren’t facing the horrors of the world together was purely the stuff of nightmares.

The stupid little facade Keigo had so carefully crafted broke. The burns on his body started to ache anew, somatically. The scar over his eye twitched as tears were gathering anew.

“N-no,” Keigo hugged himself, shaking his head. “N-no— I don’t want you to go—”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him with a sad expression.

“Then I won’t.” You sat back down. “Keigo, I know that this is all fucked beyond belief. I know. But, I won’t leave. I really, really don’t want to. I won’t, not unless you want me to go.”

And Keigo was breaking for you again.

He somehow stumbled next to your chair, managing to fall to his knees and rest his head on your cold, cold thigh. He pressed his nose into your flesh, trying to fucking absorb your smell like you could disappear any moment.

“Why did you do it-” Keigo sobbed into your skin, nails biting in the flesh of your calves. It made you jerk in your seat. “WHY DID YOU HURT YOURSELF FOR ME!”

You didn’t have a good answer for him, so you didn’t reply.

Keigo’s grip on the flesh of his leg started to break skin as he wailed into your leg.

You just looked down at him with this expression of pure remorse, melancholy coloring your eyes.

You grabbed his clawed-hands, recalling the last time you tried a move like this with a twitch. You held his hands in your own, pulling him up, “You can’t do that, Keigo. You’re hurting me.”

“All I DO is hurt YOU!” Keigo crushed you into a tight hug, knocking the wind from you. You jolt forward into his death grip.

“It was my choice,” You remind him, so much weakness in your choice. “A very, very selfish one. If I was going to try to heal you, I should’ve asked.”

You started crying with him.

You both were just torturing yourselves, truthfully.

At his core, Keigo was a fucked up man who was so thoroughly repressed and manipulated, it was hard to see his psychological shortcomings. They were all so meticulously hidden.

But not then, not after losing his wings.

“I’m so fucked up,” Keigo kept crying into you as you had his hands locked together. “I hate myself for being this upset at you when you were trying to help me.”

“Love,” Your voice was so soft, releasing Keigo’s hands to pet his hair. “It wasn’t right for me to try and do what I did. You can’t help how you feel.”

“I could before I lost them!” Keigo muffled himself with your flesh.

Them being his wings, obviously.

You hauled him upwards, forcing him to sit in your lap. Keigo had always had a bit of size on you, but in your shrunken state, it was even more pronounced.

“Then you weren’t feeling,” You pressed your face to Keigo’s chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. He entangled himself with you, and you both just held each other for a long, long time.

------------------------

In the following six months, a many very important things happen.

Keigo got a place for you for two entire months, just so you two have some separation. After actually having a calm talk about your relationship dynamic since Keigo’s injury, it was comically apparent there were so many fucked up things that had happened and that you both needed a bit of time to collect yourselves.

It was a hard separation, but you still see each other at least half of the days of your time apart, and even a few that you snuck over for the night to stay over. Keigo was so, so thankful. Being wrapped in each other was a different experience, something actually healing.

You both got therapists, next. A couples therapist too.

Thank God.

Keigo had oodles of trauma to sort through, and you had your own shit to deal with as well. Not to mention the whole ‘Keigo being a dick to you because he was hurt doesn’t justify it’ kinda broke your brain for a second. Also, Keigo having to process ‘he was capital A abusive to you after he got hurt, and your only stability being the hope in healing you is much more complicated than just them trying to ‘fix’ you’ was a case of note.

It was weird, really.

When you moved back, fully, to Keigo’s (you weren’t sure if you could call it ‘your’ apartment anymore), it was nerve-wracking. It was under the understanding that you could move out if you needed to, that separation and an ending were just a corner away.

It made you feel more unstable than you had in months, but you kept up with it.

Keigo noticed, much more observant than he had been. About two weeks into you returning to the apartment, he asked the question, “What if we moved?”

You had been quietly eating your breakfast, but this startled you, “Move? Why?”

“I mean,” Keigo sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze flickered to the living room, recalling the times he broke down and was so awful to you. It shifted to the bedroom door where you broke boundaries over and over. “A lot of bad stuff happened here. If we’re going to have a fresh start, might as well live somewhere new, right?”

You mused on it for a moment, then nodded, “Yeah, that would be good.”

The next few weeks were the most healthy and productive that you and Keigo ever had, pre- or post-injury. Apartment hunting turned into purchasing a two-floored, highrise, insanely nice condo across the city. Keigo suggested buying a house, but you refused. You both liked the views too much to live somewhere so close to the ground.

You packed your things, mutually. You both threw away plenty, bits and bobs that had been relatively unused for a long time. Lots of old memories were thrown out to make way for new ones. Though it was sad and there was plenty of grief in it, you actually had each other this time.

When you found Keigo sobbing, clutching an old picture of him and Touya, one of the only of him from his childhood with the Commission, you held him and rocked him. You cried with him, not just settling for ‘dealing’ with him anymore.

When you cleaned out the kitchen, you found the two dozen extra vitamins and extracts you had been taking while healing Keigo. You stared at him, idly, for ten minutes, somewhere far off in your head. Keigo came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. Softly, he pulled you back from your mind. He helped you throw away each bottle, talking reverently to you so your gaze and mind would stay in that moment, and not those past and unsavory.

You helped each other, or, were learning to.

You and Keigo both had to agree that shopping for furniture was probably the most fun the two of you had in a while. With a facemask and a beanie on, Keigo appeared a lot less like his former self, allowing for the two of you to covertly search for new homewares without prying crowds.

The old apartment had originally been Keigo’s from his early years of being a hero. You simply moved in with him, adding yourself to his space. This time, you were making it together.

“What do you think of this one?” You turned to Keigo, next to you. Both of you laid on top of a fairly nice mattress, the store relatively empty aside from the employees and the two of you.

“I think it's good, it’s not too soft,” Keigo turned and smiled at you, speaking from behind his mask.

You couldn’t help sitting up, tugging the cloth mask just a bit lower to drop a sweet kiss on the side of his mouth, “Get out the credit card then, babe.”

The condo was sorted within a few weeks, full of furniture and slowly being decorated.

You also had the opportunity to christen the mattress, if you will.

...

How long had it been since you and Keigo had laid together like this?

Your bodies were sticky with sweat and cum, several rounds having passed throughout the night. Your new mattress was going to need a fresh change of sheets after this.

“Hey, angel, come over here,” Keigo tugged you closer to him, laying your head on his chest. You smiled softly, pressing closer. You missed it, truly, the warmth of his body and the feeling of his skin on your own like this.

“Alright, check-in,” Keigo pressed a kiss to your damp forehead. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel great,” You hummed, throwing a leg over his waist. “I can honestly keep going.”

“Should you?” Keigo raised an eyebrow and chuckled, nudging a knee between your legs. You flinched, knowing how sore you’d be in the morning already.

Though your body had recovered somewhat, you weren’t fully back to where you were before Keigo’s injury. You didn’t mind, though. Keigo had taken to doting on you a bit more than he used to.

You shrugged and Keigo just chuckled, bringing you ever-closer.

“Are you okay?” You straddled Keigo’s hips, cocking your head to one side.

Keigo was silent for a moment, stormy almost. He bit his lip, tracing hands and eyes over your figure, finally landing on your face. His softened hands cupped your jaw.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” His thumb rubbed over your lips. There’s something so melancholic about him. “I just missed you.”

You knew exactly what he meant by ‘miss’.

It was a feeling beyond sex, but rather intimacy. Sure, Keigo had been balls deep in you for the first time in months and that was ecstasy you wouldn’t trade the world for. But, this feeling Keigo regarded was different.

It had been so long since the two of you had been so softened around each other.

Guards, after months of being raised high, had begun to fall.

Thank God.

Your eyes watered as you lowered your face to his, ghosting your lips over his, “I missed you too, Kei’. I missed you so, so much.”

How many minutes of hell had your both endured? And how many were there still to go? Thoughts of fear and anguish constantly swirled within the two of you for so long. They certainly hadn’t stopped, but they were lessening. Therapy helped. Being in the new place with a fresh start did wonders for the two you. Keigo’s passion for cooking continued to grow and you had taken up a few new hobbies of your own.

It was the mundane, you supposed, that was the stitching for broken relationships. The real healing of proverbial flesh and bone was intimacy, vulnerability, and love.

“Hey, Kei’,” You kissed him breathless, once, twice, three times. “I love you, you know? A lot.”

“Yeah?” Keigo giggled, something high and light that he wouldn’t have released a year ago. “I love you too. So much.”

The night continued in tender fucking, the two of you visibly watching wounds begin to grow smaller and scar, no more fire, and no more forced stitchings.

Salvation came from time and small things, you supposed, half-asleep and nestled neck to Keigo, feeling better than you had in a long time.

---------------

You supposed, some time later, that karma gave the two of you a small gift. In the eyes of all things, it must’ve been just a spec, but God, it was something.

...

They had come back over a year and half from when you had tried to heal Keigo.

The attempt wasn’t forgotten, no, but it certainly wasn’t at the forefront of your minds like it used to be. Except the one morning that Keigo got up before you, sleepily yawning his way to the bathroom.

You heard his sharp gasp, loud exclamations in your half asleep state.

“Babe?” Your voice hoarse with sleep, you spoke. “You okay?”

Keigo jumped onto the bed, straddling over you and the comforter.

“(Y/N)!” Oh, his eyes were wet. Soft, gooey tears were streaming down his face as he shakily grabbed your wrists. He pressed them to the scars of his back.

Your eyes went wide as your hands brushed against small, soft feathers.

“Keigo!” You shouted, sitting up, urging him to turn around so you could take a better look.

Keigo trembled as he bared his back to you.

Your breath caught as your hands trailed down his marred flesh.

The scars, old and worn now, had faded a great deal. The charred plain calmed with time, perhaps by your own touch and very much so by Keigo’s own cells and flesh.

But, in the center of his back, where the roots of his wings once were, was something growing anew.

Small, burgundy feathers were growing from spindly looking, down-covered bones and skin.

They were small, nothing like his old wings. More aged, with their darker color. The feathers felt softer as you ran your hands along the largest, no bigger than your hand from wrist to tip.

Keigo shuddered.

“Do... Do they feel like they used to?” You asked, transfixed.

Keigo shakily shook his head, “N-no, they feel less sensitive I think. They feel different.”

...

As Keigo had healed and changed, so had his body.

His wings never grew to their own old size and power, not even close. They couldn’t support his own body weight, so Keigo never flew again. But, the feathers, wine-colored and almost bruised looking, could be sent to do small tasks, much like his old ones.

At first, it seemed cruel. After so long and so much, his wings grew back but in such a decrepit form. For days, the two of you waited and waited to see what the final form of his regrowth would be. In the end, at their best, they stretched out to about the span of Keigo’s arms. The feathers weren’t symmetrical either, even at their peak regrowth. Some grew in fluffy and rounded, while others were jagged, sticking out awkwardly from the rest of his form.

Over time, the inherent disappointment and despondence turned into appreciation.

Because they had come back, it just took time.

...

With enough time, Keigo wore them proudly, no matter how oddly they stuck out from his marred skin. Keigo’s body was still too damaged to do hero work proper, but he still was kept around.

At the end of the day, the feathers colored like dried blood represented something far larger. If the completely destroyed number two hero could come back to even a fraction of his former, angelic glory, that was something, right?

It was like in the eyes of all things, you were both awarded a physical manifestation of healing. The gnarly wings that grew from Keigo’s body may have been off-putting to some, but to the two of you, it was a testament to it all.

It just took time.

#salem writes #hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #reader insert #my hero x reader #mha x reader #fanfiction #reader x my hero academia #takami x reader #keigo x y/n #angst #manga spoilers

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shtern-and-art · 3 years

Note

I have more questions because it's no longer 4am lmao.

Does Skeppy fear any animals? I just wanna know if there's any sweet moments of Skeppy clinging to Bad whilst he tries to calm him down.

I'm guessing Bad still hates things like littering and woodcutters but would he ever act particularly strongly about it or would he have more control?

I like how Rat seems to tolerate Skeppy because Bad likes him but would she ever get jealous if Skeppy started pettting another dog?

I have a horrifying image of Bad just spider climbing up a tree to fetch Skeppy. I don't know why but I feel like dude wouldn't even need branches lmao.

What other supernatural creatures/people do they come across? Were there any that were especially dangerous and did they befriend any?

Is Bad much physically stronger than Skeppy? I keep thinking of Skeppy being a little shaz and Bad just one-arm picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder XD.

Does Bad ever get nightmares of the day he became the forest spirit?

How far would Skeppy take stealing? Would he steal something he knows the owner has genuine attachment to? Would he do everything in his power to steal something for Bad even if it means getting hurt?

Who's more likely to protect the other?

Skeppy just minding his business looking at one of Bad's textbooks, turns his head and Bad's just having a tea party with a freaking bear. Surprised the man hasn't had a heart attack yet XD.

What's your favourite thing to imagine them doing?

Is Bsd an adrenaline junky? Or is he scared of more dangerous things like bungee jumping and mountain climbing.

What would their reactions be to rollercoasters?

Do they have a favourite date-night activity?

Everytime I think of this au it brightens my mood!! Thank you for making something so heartwarming!! <3

Glad to see you again :D And yaay, questions!

My pen pressure broke again, I can't finish any sketches for this ask rn, but here's a couple of old messy designs.

1) Comforting and nightmares

Skeppy has a normal, I’d even say adequate level of fear towards wild animals, whilst Bad has it in negative numbers. And, yes, this fun juxtaposition leads to a lot of unfortunate moments of Skeppy nearly dying from heart attack when some of Bad’s animal friends show up unexpectedly, or Bad goes all out for his tea-parties with wild bears or smth.

So, yes, sometimes the comforting hugs are necessary! And no, none of them ever play up the dramaticness of the situation just to drag out the nice comforting moment They do n o t. That’d be very silly and unnecessary, and will deserve a lot of teasing. So, it’s all serious. Not only for the first couple minutes. Yes.

But If you’re looking for comfort-after-actual-hurt – Bad does have to hold and comfort Skeppy, when the stress of trying to not fuck up the good stuff around him gets too strong. And after the nightmares where they are hated and chased by people. Those dreams do not come often, but when they do, Bad is there to hold Skeppy, whisper in his hair that he is alright, that they’re both alright, and that they can handle everything that’s going on right now.

And Bad himself, well. After leaving the town, his nightmares about the night of the ritual stopped almost completely. They come rarely, only when the anxiety gets really bad. Before, in the forest, Bad had them pretty often. It’s one of the reasons he mostly slept not as himself, but in the minds of the animals.

2) Littering

Bad will not maim someone for not getting a candy wrapper in a trashcan, especially if there are people around. But if someone leaves a big mess in the nature, or even (*gasp*) does it regularly, Bad can and will try and teach them a lesson. As in: pull a cautionary (and probably slightly terrifying) prank on the misbehaving person.

It doesn’t always work out as Bad intended, and may even scare some people off anything relating to nature for good, but, according to Bad, it’s still “a fun and useful little hobby to have :3”.

3) Rat

Rat takes a looong time to warm up to any other animals that infringe on her territory. And Skeppy might be a little shit (and his own rights for Bad are debatable) but he is Rat’s territory still (by approximation from Bad). So, she can gatekeep Skeppy a little bit. Not as much as she does Bad, but the man gotta know his place – Rat comes before other dogs for him too.

4) Tree climbing and strength

Oh, Bad can an will climb down a tree like a full-on creepy creature he is: head down, using only his claws, with Skeppy tucked under one arm. Maybe not even upside down, if Skeppy is lucky, and wasn’t too annoying about wanting to stay up on the tree for the night :D

5) Meeting other spn creatures

Oh, that’s a big question (: Yes, they do meet other cryptids, befriend some, and get in trouble with some, and deal with a handful of new and old spn troubles :D

I always thought that Bad and Skeppy’s life after the main story can make a series of short stories (or one big episodic one) dealing with exactly that: the guys traveling around, meeting other cryptids, learning more about themselves and the world, trying to build a life between human and supernatural crisis going on. Just like In The Dark it can based on the mix between the real life and the minecraft-verse events.

I wanted to focus more on finishing the main story first, though, so these stories are not as sought through, I didn’t even write down any of them yet :D

But if you have more concrete questions, ideas, or suggestions (about a specific person, or a specific thing happening) – write me, I’ll think about it, and how it can work with the theme and worldbuilding I have in mind.

6) Stealing + Protectiveness

Skeppy can sometimes forget about, ahem, moral principles, or human decency… emphasis oh “human”. He’s nature and different worldview it gives, it seeps through in his life and actions even more with age. Especially after he’s been away from actual people for a long while. So, I guess, he might at times steal something that is very important to someone, or do something that could be considered weird or rude in general.

And if Bad really needs something, or is in danger – all rules are down. If there is no one to reality check Skeppy, he might proceed to walk on heads, and commit risky and reckless crimes just to help or save Bad.

They both are quite bad with that, the protecting each other thing. Bad, tho, can be more fiscally violent in his protectiveness.

7) Adrenaline and rollercoasters

Well, it’s not that Bad likes adrenaline specifically, he’s just very curious, likes to try new things, and is almost unkillable. So he can just- just go for everything that’s interesting for him with reckless abandon, and if it goes wrong – welp. Bones can heal limbs can regrow, and the cool abandoned caves will not explore themselves. He’ll have to learn to ease up with lack of selfcare though. Because Bad can’t always leave Skeppy to fend for himself, while he heals, and Skeppy does NOT like seeing Bad getting hurt so much, and not caring about himself at all.

This probably comes back to Bad dealing with his spn nature and learning to make peace between it and himself. And to his anxiety, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

And hey, it’s the same for Skeppy and his lack of adequate moral compass at times :D

There will be a lot of tension and growing they’d have to do in regards to all this.

Also Skeppy is the one who’s really into chasing the thrills :D Man spent nearly half a year annoying probably-murderous-forest-spirit just for little not-boring fun, jeez :DD

Rollercoasters are a no go, tho. They go up in the air, real high, and, once again, Skeppy and highs do not mix, they do not mingle, they will not have tea parties (with or without bears). Unless, of course, Skeppy really needs to prove something. Then he’ll go on a ride, and die an honorable death, and will never admit he screamed all the way through it.

8) Dates

(*insert an innuendo from Skeppy here*) But, ahm, actually I’d say they love going on picnics: getting food, and hanging around in the nature for a while.

And I honestly donno what I like to think about the most… I just really enjoy the vibe and the atmosphere of the whole story, and how Bad and Skeppy interact in general.

It all is a real delight to write about :D

---

In The Dark - masterpost

#mcyt #mcyt fanart #badboyhalo #skeppy #skephalo #In The Dark #shtern talks #.....#dang i talk a lot don't i #:DDDD #but really #getting these asks getting to write more about this AU - always makes my day

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sassyhobbits · 3 years

Note

Could you please write post Kingdom of Ash fic where Aelin has to go back to Doranelle with Rowan on important business or something and she deals with her trauma going back/ meets Rowans family/ Rowan repairs his relationship with his cousins? Pretty please 🥺

loved this idea and had so much fun writing it!! combined with the modified prompt of “living is so much harder than dying. are you sure youre fit for living?”

here’s day 5 everyone!!

~~~

It had been three years since Aelin Galathynius had stepped foot in the City of Rivers.

Her first two visits to Doranelle had been… less than pleasant, to say the least. Most sane people who had gone through what Aelin had would never get within a hundred miles of the city. But, Aelin had never been one to allow a shitty experience or two keep her away.

In the three years since the end of the war, Terrasen had slowly been rebuilt. Aelin had gotten used to her role as queen, had gotten used to peace. Although it had been hard and strenuous work, it was worth it. Every struggle and late night, argument with lords and advisors, had led to happiness for her people. Aelin would do just about anything for them.

Part of being queen, Aelin had quickly learned, was responding to correspondences from other kingdoms. Sometimes, they weren’t all that bad. She liked to write to Dorian, enjoyed the sporadic letters she received from Manon. But there were plenty of others that were less fun. Taxes, proposals, budgeting.

But, a few weeks ago, she received a letter from Rowan’s cousin, Sellene, the new Queen of Doranelle. She invited both Aelin and her husband for a diplomatic visit to her lands.

“Are you sure about this, Fireheart?” Rowan had murmured to her one night, curled up in his arms in bed. “You don’t have to go.”

Aelin understood his concern. The last time she had been to Doranelle, she had been beaten and bruised within an inch of her life, patched back together, only to go through the process again the next day. Maeve had certainly done a number on her. But Aelin would be damned if she let the bitch get the last laugh.

“I want to go, Ro,�� Aelin assured him. “I want to see where you grew up, get to know your family better.”

I need to go, is what she didn’t have to say, but knew Rowan understood. Aelin had conquered many of her fears in the years since the war, but there were still nights she woke up screaming, still nights when it was impossible to tell the difference between the darkness of night and the darkness of the iron coffin.

She needed to go back to the place where she had been brought down to her lowest. Needed to prove that she was strong, and that she had triumphed.

And so it was decided. The queen and king consort would sail east.

They stayed a week in Wendlyn with Aelin’s cousin, Galan. Since he had sailed to her aid during the war, they had formed a closer friendship. It was good to see him, to see the kingdom from which her mother hailed.

From there, they traveled by carriage to Doranelle.

“Much nicer than the first time we made this journey,” Aelin remarked one afternoon from the comfort of their carriage, resting her head against Rowan’s shoulder.

“You certainly smell better.”

Rowan earned himself a slug on the shoulder for that little comment.

They passed into the City of Rivers discreetly, not truly wanting to deal with a huge welcoming party. Aelin convinced Rowan to take a day to themselves, for her husband to show her the city itself. The beautiful, simple lives of the citizens of Doranelle. How Rowan had grown up.

It was a perfect day. Aelin loved seeing Doranelle in all its glory. It was truly a work of art, unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her years traipsing the continent. They wore hoods despite the mild, spring weather, the both of them far too recognizable now to move freely without some sort of disguise. It brought her back to the days of being Adarlan’s Assassin.

Rowan brought her to some of his favorite places growing up, showed her a block that sold the traditional street foods of Doranelle for lunch. He bought her some sweets and took her to a lovely park, where they lounged under the shade, just talking and sharing kisses. He took her to a nice restaurant for dinner, snagging a private back room for just the two of them. It was all perfect.

And then the next day, they woke and readied themselves to head to the palace. Aelin managed to wrangle her husband into something nice, though he protested it on the basis of it just being his cousins. She wouldn’t hear of it.

That first day in Doranelle, exploring the streets as nothing more than another citizen, Aelin had been nothing but content and relaxed… but the first sight of that wide, curving bridge that would lead them to the palace had her heart beating just a little bit faster.

She remembered the last time she had crossed this bridge beside Rowan. She had still been going by Celaena then, freshly nineteen, just stepping into her power and her status. Terrified, though she never would have admitted it then. She had already been falling in love with Rowan, and her newly healed heart certainly wouldn’t have survived losing him.

She knew Rowan noticed the small change in her demeanor, feeling him squeeze her hand comfortingly.

They were greeted by Sellene, who was just as elegant and beautiful as Aelin remembered. It was clear she had stepped into her role as ruler with dignity and grace. She embraced Aelin like she was an old friend, making her feel truly welcome.

They were shown to their rooms, given time to settle in and refresh themselves before they would meet in court before dinner.

Their quarters were lovely: bright, open, and airy. The glassless windows allowed for the sweet spring breeze to blow into their room. There was a large bath that Aelin had full intentions of making use of that evening. Hopefully with Rowan. He wouldn’t need much convincing.

Some of Sellene’s ladies came in to help Aelin prepare, making sure her hair was thoroughly brushed and gleaming, twisted up in perfection before placing her crown on top. Her gown was a lovely piece of Terrasen green and intricate silver embroidery.

By the time they were both ready, they made quite a pair. Striking, indeed. Aelin made sure she complimented her husband thoroughly as they made the short trip from their chambers to the throne room.

It managed to distract both Rowan and herself. She barely took in the halls they walked through, some of it twinging deep recesses in her memory, like some sort of dream. But, she forced herself to focus on Rowan, the man she loved, lest the memories get the better of her.

The next thing she knew, they were being announced as they strolled leisurely through the crowded throne room. Fae nobility bowed and curtsied as they walked by, sending them wide, broad grins.

The throne room was so different than Aelin had remembered it. When it had been Maeve perched on that throne, it had been cold and quiet. It had somehow always felt like a trap. But, with Sellene as queen, it was bright and full of life. Music played, people laughed and smiled. It was… good.

A half hour passed by busily. Aelin was introduced to some of Sellene’s courtiers, reintroduced to Rowan’s other cousins. People gave her their thanks, commended her hard work and sacrifice during the war.

It was hectic enough at the beginning to keep her mind thoroughly occupied. Chatting and charming and laughing. It took a while before there was a lull in the conversation, when Aelin wasn’t listening to someone or speaking herself. But, it finally came.

Aelin took the rare moment of solitude to take in her surroundings. Rowan was across the room, talking with his uncle and cousin, Enda. He looked happy, relaxed. She loved it when he smiled.

She looked away from her husband, glancing around the room. Despite her better judgements, her gaze snagged on that throne. It almost looked non-threatening in the late afternoon sunlight, but her gut still twisted. Images of a pale woman with dark hair and a spider’s smile flashed to her mind unwillingly. She flinched, eyes screwing shut and willing the memories of Maeve away. She was successful at first, but not for long. Images and snippets of voices, of screams that she didn’t know came from herself or others, assaulted her all at once.

Aelin’s breathing sped up, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. She felt the phantom bite of broken glass in her knees, heard Maeve’s cruel laughs. She saw Fenrys, heard his cry when Connall spilled his own blood right there by the throne. It was so clean now. Like none of it had ever happened.

But no. That had been real. The other images Maeve had sent her weren’t but…

Suddenly, the airy throne room was too small, too packed. Aelin felt ill. She ducked her head down, slipping out as discreetly as she could manage. The moment she was sure she was out of view, she bunched up her skirts and ran.

Her body remembered the way down into the depths of the palace, though she had never navigated herself. It had left a mark on her soul. She would never forget.

The dungeons below the palace were a stark difference from the open, bright architecture above. It could have been a different world. It was just as dark and cold as Aelin remembered, as it was in her nightmares.

She wasn’t sure how, exactly, she knew which of the near identical, dismal cells had been hers but… she knew. She hesitated outside the door, amazed by just how ordinary it looked. Who would have guessed that she had been held and tortured behind that door for two months?

Aelin pressed her palm against the door, the magic left in her recoiling at the iron she sensed. These dungeons had been built to keep people with magic contained. They had been well designed.

She pushed into the room slowly, using her magic to light the torches lining the walls. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find: a coffin, blood stains, iron chains waiting just for her. But… it was empty. Even the stone table she had been chained to while Cairn carved her up was gone.

Just… nothing.

Aelin wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she sensed a familiar presence behind her. She was wrapped in the familiar scent of pine and snow, Rowan’s warm body standing just behind her. He placed a broad hand on her shoulder. “I thought I’d find you here.”

A tiny smile curved her lips, though she didn’t bother looking back at her mate. “You know me well, husband.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aelin didn't have to be looking at Rowan to know he was carefully considering his next words. So, she did him a favor, and spoke first.

“There’s nothing here,” Aelin said simply, stating the obvious.

“No, there isn’t. Is that a bad thing?”

A tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Yes? No?” Aelin hung her head in defeat, covering Rowan’s hand with her own. “Sometimes, it's hard to believe it all really happened. Without the scars, without the coffin… it just seems like something I dreamed up. I know I didn’t but…”

“But what, Fireheart?”

Her eyes burned with tears, throat tightening. “It would be… comforting, I suppose, to know that the experience left its mark somewhere else than in my head. It was terrifying and hopeless but I don’t want to forget it happened.”

Rowan stepped closer, her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her securely, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “I think you know that what happened doesn't only still affect you. I don’t think Lorcan will ever fully forgive himself for summoning Maeve to the beach that day, I don’t think Aedion will ever stop feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him. And I…”

He trailed off, but Aelin knew Rowan better than she knew herself. She knew his fears, his regrets, his insecurities. Just as Aelin awoke some nights thinking she was back in that coffin, Rowan would wake thinking she was gone. Those nights, he would wrap her tightly in his arms and wouldn’t let go until the sunrise, as if she’d disappear with the morning dew.

She gave a meek nod. “You’re right.”

They stood in silence for a bit longer, stealing strength from one another. After a period of silence, Aelin spoke again.

“I thought it’d be easier by now,” she commented. “I spent most of my life struggling to survive, trying not to die in one way or another. It’s been three years of peace. I know three years is nothing to you and will eventually be nothing to me too but… when does life get easier?”

Rowan didn’t answer right away. “Living, Aelin, is so much harder than dying.”

She sighed and nodded. “You’re right. But when have I ever not stepped up to a challenge?” She looked up at Rowan and smiled cockily. He gave a breathy laugh and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’ve already conquered death, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “I have no doubts you’ll conquer life just as easily.”

#rowaelin #my writing #i rlly enjoyed writing this one #tog

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

Text

Always Have a Place (Preath x Teen!Reader)

Request: learning to love part 2 with reader being super attached to Chris and Tobin then someone coments about it and reader starts to feel insecure about it again and Tobin and Chris has to reassure her again

You pulled the blankets tighter around you, padding through the chilly apartment towards the sound of your mama’s voice. The cold Manchester weather wasn’t quite agreeing with you, and paired with the holidays, you had been a bit on edge for the past few days.

You never understood what the big fuss around Christmas was (as you had never been visited by Santa when you were younger), and Christmas Trees kinda freaked you out (Forster father number 3 had sent one through a window on your first Christmas with them). Though Christen and Tobin tried to show you some holiday traditions, you just didn’t understand why making cookies and drinking hot chocolate were supposed to put the world in a more giving mood.

You rounded the corner, glancing to the left where Christen was sitting on the couch, and Right where Tobin was talking at the dining room table. You thought it was strange they never did video calls from the same room, but if it made them happy then who were you to judge.

You sighed, deciding that Christen looked more cuddly, and began shuffling in her direction. She glanced over the top of her laptop at you, opening her arms to invite you in as she took in your tired form.

“Hmm, you’re warm,” You mumbled, wigging into the woman to find your favorite spot. Christen giggled, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you closer, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. The two of you had grown close (almost as close as you and Tobin) in the past few months, and while you and Tobin bonded over art, you had become her cuddle buddy. Plus with the bad feelings the holidays always dredged up, you had been a bit more clingy than usual (not that her or Tobin were complaining) and her calming figure had put you at ease.

“I’m glad baby, just a few more minutes and then we can all go to bed alright?” Christen asked softly, running a comforting hand through your hair.

“You don’t have to rush, I’m comfy now,” You mumbled, allowing your mom’s scent to relax you. Now that she was here to ward off your nightmares, you were finding it difficult to stay awake.

“Awe, is our favorite designer in training tired?” Megan jested from the screen, and you stuck your tongue out at her.

“In training? My design sold out in less than a day,” you grumbled. You had been honored to work with your Ma on the popsicle capsule and were super excited that your work had done well. It was nice to know your art was appreciated, even if it wasn’t the typical portraits you did.

Megan laughed, nodding in concession, glad you had warmed up to her. You were making amazing strides with not only the women that had become your moms but with the team as a whole.

“The time change is a little much for us all I think,” Tobin said, glancing over at the two loves of her life from the kitchen table. God, you had come so far, had grown so comfortable coming to them when you weren’t feeling alright.

“We all know the truth, that kid is just super attached to you, and probably can’t even sleep by herself,” Kling laughed, not noticing how you flinched slightly. You didn’t know Kling as well as you knew Megan or any of the other members of the USWNT and you weren’t quite sure how to take her teasing.

“I can attest that Y/n is pretty cuddly. I don’t know how you detach her to train sometimes,” Pino shrugged and your eyebrows furrowed. Did Pino think you were too clingy too? Did she think you were holding your mom’s back? If they couldn’t train, they couldn’t be the best. They wouldn’t want you anymore if you were hindering them.

You twisted slightly uncomfortable, pulling away from Christen’s comforting embrace.

“I’m gonna go back to bed,” You mumbled, tucking your Batman blanket tighter around you.

“You sure babe?” Christen asked, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes.

“Hmm,” You hummed, shuffling off to go and cuddle Roary. Hopefully, he could keep your nightmares away (not missing Tobin’s “Nice going, Kling,”).

****

You woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and clutching your blanket tightly to your chest. You gulped down the bile that rose in your throat. You ran your hand across your forehead, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your clammy skin.

You blinked at the red number of the clock, the little 2 mocking you. It was the 4th time this week. Every part of you longed to go find the comfort your Mom and Mama always offered when you had a nightmare. But you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb them. Kling was right, how the hell were they supposed to play well with you bothering them every time you had a little scary dream. You were 14, not 4.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and smoothing your thumb over both of your closed eyes in an effort to chase away the images that plagued your sleep. You were never going to get back to sleep now.

You leaned over and grabbed your trusty drawing pad, before quietly tiptoeing out of the room, and down the hall. You paused as you passed the slightly ajar door to your moms’ room. They never complained about your frequent visits to their bed or pushed you to tell them which ghost from your past had made you end up there.

You shook your head, taking a second to convince yourself that not going to them was going to benefit you in the end. If you stopped bothering them, being so clingy, they wouldn’t get tired of you. They wouldn’t get rid of you.

You continued down the hallway, bypassing the kitchen in favor of turning into the living room. You stared out the bay windows, wishing for a minute that you were back in Portland. That you had the balcony to stand on and collect your racing thoughts, and the cool night air to ground you back in reality. Alas, you were here in the UK instead.

You sighed again, curling up on the little window seat, staring listlessly at the drizzly night sky, and flipping mindlessly through the pages of your sketchbook.

You settled on a blank page, mindlessly tapping your pencil on the paper. Your thoughts wandered, taking in the skyline as though it would tell you what to draw, how to set your mind at ease. The movement of your reflection in the window caught your attention, and suddenly you knew exactly what to draw. How to get your brain to stop obsessing over them leaving you.

****

Tobin sighed as she entered the living room. It was the 5th time this week she had walked into the same sight of you slumped against the living room window, your pencil paused over your coveted sketchbook, which was balanced precariously on your knee.

“She’s out here Chris,” Tobin called quietly down the hallway. How they had gone to waking up with you almost always cuddled between them (or on the foot of their bed) to you virtually pulling away entirely they weren’t sure. It hurt to see the brick wall around your heart rebuilding itself in front of their eyes.

Christen padded up next to her, wrapping her arms around Tobin's waist and resting her head on her shoulder. “Again?” She asked, the sadness evident in her tone. They thought they had gotten over the hurdle of convincing you to come to them for help, plus she was starting to miss her cuddle buddy.

“Hm, we need to get to the bottom of this,” Tobin mumbled, leaning back into her wife. It wasn’t healthy for you to be awake all night, even if you were processing your emotions through art, if for you to be pushing them away. They tried not to push you too hard, tried to let you come to them, but you clearly weren’t. They were going to need to intervene soon.

“I’ll make the coffee, if you want to wake little miss up,” Christen murmured into her neck, placing a soft kiss before heading off towards the kitchen.

You may have been her cuddle buddy, but you always had an easier time opening up to Tobin. Her chill demeanor set you at ease.

Tobin nodded making her way over to you, making a mental note to put an extra blanket on the window seat in case this was going to continue.

She crouched in front of you, carefully maneuvering the dangling sketchbook out of your hand, barely glancing at the still open page as she set it on the coffee table, and placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“Hey kiddo, it’s time to wake up,” she said softly, rubbing your leg to rouse you.

“Hm, what time is it,” You asked, pushing your forehead against the cool glass and blinking sleepily at the woman.

“Just after 8. What time did you come out here?” She questioned softly.

You shrugged, yawning loudly. “Like 1:30. I couldn’t go back to sleep after my dream so I decided to come out here for a bit,” You lazily gestured towards your sketchbook “thought I could work through it and I guess I fell asleep,”

“Why didn’t you wake Me or Mom up, we would have hung out with you until you could get back to sleep,” The woman pressed, cupping your face and running her thumb over your cheek, brushing the dark circles that had grown more prominent under your eyes. You leaned into her touch, allowing it to ease your fears for the moment.

“Didn’t wanna bother you. Your both starting today,” you said.

Tobin squinted at you, her head tilting to the side. You were more important to them than any starting position, they thought you knew that. It was a piece to the puss me that was this change in your behavior, but she couldn’t seem to put her finger on the rest. She couldn’t quite see how it fit.

“You could never be a bother to us babe, we love you and want to help you. And you’re our priority, never worry about soccer when it comes to stuff like this. If one of us has to sit out, it’s no biggie,” She said, looking you in the eye, repeating the words that had become their mantra to you.

You hummed noncommittally, abruptly pulling yourself out of her grasp, looking away from her piercing gaze. That was too close, and you didn’t want her to make a promise you knew she wouldn’t keep. It would hurt less later if you didn’t believe her.

“Is mom making pancakes?”

*****

Christen was worried. Very worried. She hadn’t meant to go snooping, but the sketch on the page of your open notebook had caught her attention, and once she started she couldn’t stop.

It was a striking image. The drawing of the view from their apartment was nice, but what really caught her eye was the reflection of you in the glass. There was something about your expression that tore at her very soul.

You drew what you felt, and if you had this much disparity, then something was very wrong.

“Have you seen this,” She asked her wife breathlessly. Tobin glanced at the page, nodding once. It had been the same sketch 4 days in a row, the only thing that changes were the expression. The eyes growing emptier, the shadows getting bigger. She bit her lip.

“We have to let her come to us, babe. All we can do is try to be there for her,”

And try to be there for you they had. They increased their touches (trying not to feel hurt when you pulled away), Tobin scheduled extra time for the two of you to work on the capsule together. Hell, Christen even started leaving hot chocolate in the window seat for you. But nothing seemed to be working. You were slowly slipping away and neither of them knew why.

Christen sighed, glancing back at the sketch, so beautifully haunting. “I just want her to let me help,”

“She will, you just have to let her sort through whatever it is first,”

*****

Your moms were on their feet mere seconds after your first shriek, racing across the hall and into your room, searching for the threat. They released a breath they didn’t know they were holding when they saw you alone in your bed until another strangled cry left your lips.

“No, I’ll be good, please don’t leave,”

That was all it took for them to jump into action, Tobin flipping on your bedside light, and Christen crawling into bed beside you.

“Hey baby, wake up, it’s just a bad dream,” your mom said, wrapping you up in her arms and rubbing your back to rouse you from sleep.

“Mom?” You asked disoriented, trying to fight the gentle hands keeping you from accidentally hurting yourself.

“Shh, I’m here, you’re ok,” Christen said, pulling you into her lap. You buried your face in her neck, gripping her nightshirt so tightly the cotton was straining in your grasp.

You sobbed into her neck, your tears making the skin sticky. “Don’t leave me please,” You begged, the words garbled by tears and your adamant refusal to pull away from your favorite hiding spot. Christen shushed you, rubbing your back with one hand and cradling your head with the other, sharing a worried glance with Tobin over your head. The other woman stood next to your bed, her hands opening and closing, shifting foot to foot unsure how to help you.

“Never baby. We’re not going anywhere,” Christen soothed, gesturing for Tobin to take your other side. She did, hugging you from behind to let you know that she was there too.

They held you as you cried, whispering sweet nothings over your unintelligible whimpering.

“I’m sorry I’m too clingy. That you can’t practice as much as you used too,”

“No baby, we don’t feel that way at all. We love you, and we want to be here for you,”

“But Kling and Pino-“ You protested, only to be cut off by Tobin solemnly shaking her head. “Were joking, they didn’t mean anything by it. They’re both glad that you are opening up to them,”

You stared at her in disbelief (and Tobin made a mental note to murder her friends for being assholes. They needed to learn that even though you felt comfortable, your fears and insecurities were not something to be picked on, even with the best intentions).

“And so are we. We’re glad and honored that you’ve opened up to us, and let us see your goofy side, and your amazing art,” She added, brushing a wild curl from in front of your eyes.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. We love how cuddly you are- it makes up for the 13 years we didn’t get with you,” Christen said, squeezing you tighter just to prove her point. It had taken you a long time to let them in, and though it was still a work in progress, they were honored you trusted them. That you had let them in further than anyone before.

“Will you stay?” You asked in a small voice, almost afraid of the answer.

“Always,” Your moms answered together. Tobin pulled back the covers, allowing Christen to maneuver the two of you inside before joining you. You sighed, reveling in their safety. Here, wedged between the women, you knew you would always have a place.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #preath x reader #preath imagine

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

#star wars #obikin #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #fanfic

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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In My Dreams IV

Characters: Xiao, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,167

Warnings: Brief depiction of violence, nightmares

Premise: The past is many things. Something to admire, something to learn from, something to hold dear. And yet how unreliable it can be, especially in the hands of ghosts.

In which the reader dreams of the past.

Author’s Note: Translation notes and historical references will come after the fic. This one was a little sketchy/ooc, prolly because I’m tired.

Xiao

If there was one thing that you appreciated most about your relationship with Xiao it was the fact that he never attempted to cage your independence.

Though the adeptus had a penchant for clinginess – something he’d never actually admit to – the circumstances of both his and your past had set a standard for a level of separation that you greatly appreciated. You were never pressured to tell Xiao about things you weren’t comfortable sharing and in return you never pressed your partner in regards to topics or events that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

And yet there was something very isolating about such a freedom.

It was an ordinary enough commission, laughably so in fact, the kind that you could knock back in ten minutes flat if you put a little effort into it. Treasure Hoarders were once more encroaching on Liyue, this time gathering at the vicinity of Dunyu Ruins, something that would surely be a hazard to the archaeologists who gathered to study the lost jade monument. The act of chasing out the Treasure Hoarders was indeed easy enough, and it was only until you started rifling through their loot that you found yourself uneasy.

The lid was an innocuous enough item. Though the box that it once covered was nowhere to be found it must’ve been a work of art, as the smooth tortoiseshell lid was clearly the result of patience and love. Painted a deep blue it depicted a snowy scene, with a castle or cathedral at the front and center. The building itself was of a unique design; a tall turret stuck out at the top while small onion domes sat a little lower, each painted a more outlandish color than the last. The architecture was completely unlike what one might see in either Liyue or Mondstadt, and really there should’ve been nothing to it except the odd design of the building. Yet the moment you set your eyes upon the building you felt something harden in the pit of your stomach.

You never thought about what you couldn’t remember; after all, what was the point of it? Why mourn something you weren’t even sure was good or bad? Yet in that moment you felt that you would give very little to not remember just a little bit. At least enough to know why the image of a cathedral in the snow made you wish deeply for something you couldn’t remember, and frightened you just as much.

“Something’s wrong with you face.”

“Xiao!” You sputtered, surprised by the sudden bluntness of your partner. “My face is just fine, a little dirt won’t kill me.”

“That’s not it.” Xiao scowled. “Your face is harder than usual. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened! Sometimes I just don’t smile, okay?” You instinctively moved the corners of your mouth upwards, trying to ignore the sudden jump in your heart rate. “I’m fine.”

Xiao looked supremely unimpressed at your efforts, sighing and flying up to the balcony of the Inn. You sighed, letting your expression once more droop. It was easy sometimes to forget how in tune Xiao was. You wouldn’t expect it from an adeptus who had spent thousands of years mostly secluded from humans, but your partner was impressively good at reading your mood. Usually you didn’t mind the ability of his, even welcoming the fact that he so bluntly brought up the question of your feelings. But today you wished despite yourself that he was a little less aware. After all, how could you explain to your partner what you didn’t even understand yourself?

The rest of the night was oddly tense. Though Xiao said nothing you could tell from the way he stared intently at your face that he hadn’t given up his suspicions. For your part you tried to ignore his gaze, talking about trivial matters such as the question of replacing the Guild roof and the fact that you had managed to gather a few Qingxin during your commissions. All the while you felt the roiling of your heart; and all the while you kept rubbing your fingers along the smooth finish of the lid in your pocket as if in doing so you might suddenly be struck with what you currently missed and currently, desperately, needed.

The next day you walked up to Katherine utterly exhausted. Though you’d made a concerted effort to sleep, knowing that if not you’d just arouse more worry in Xiao, most of the night had been spent tossing and turning, your eyelids feeling paper thin as you attempted to drag yourself down into the depths of sleep. Of course now that the sun was shining you felt like even a stone bench would be a soft enough mattress. Blinking heavily you smiled awkwardly at Katheryne.

“Any commissions today?”

“Two ordinary sweeps and one request.” Katheryne tilted her head slightly. “Are you sure you don’t need rest?”

“I’m perfectly fine Katheryne, thank you for worrying. You said there was a request?”

“Yes. It seems that the citizen who noticed the Treasure Hoarders for us claims to have been robbed by them. He says to meet you at Dunyu Ruins so you can hand over the item.”

“And what item is that?”

“He said it was some sort of box lid. He didn’t give many details I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable though of course we could send someone with you.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks for worrying.”

“Of course! Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

You turned around, trying to stem the ice that flooded your veins. Who was this man to whom the cathedral belonged? How did he come across such an odd item, was he from one of the other nations of Teyvat you hadn’t visited? Most of all you wondered if he held some connection to your past. The idea thrilled you in some way, though dread also lingered. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to meet this mysterious person. Commissions were commissions however; you wouldn’t betray the Guild. No matter how much you wanted to; you couldn’t.

The Dunyu Ruins were still, no monsters seemed to linger at the gates and no other adventurers peeked out from behind old walls. The air was utterly still, something which worried you greatly. Walking at an increased rate you sought out your mysterious commissioner. The more you thought about it the more you wished the whole thing to be over as soon as possible. Turning the corner you stopped in your tracks, gazing in awe at the person a few meters in front of you.

The first thing you thought was how oddly he was dressed. The second thing was that he was much younger than you had expected. The third thing was that you felt an odd sense of familiarity from him.

“Ah yes, the adventurer who accepted my commission. Have you brought what I asked of you?”

Though a response was certainly in order you found the words stuck in your mouth. Staring at him you felt the ground shift between your feet slightly. He was familiar, this young man in front of you, and yet he was also a perfect stranger. He seemed more like an apparition than anything, a spirit who had yet to cross to the far side. You stepped closer, reaching out your arm slightly. If you went to touch his shoulder, would your fingers go right through him?

“You really must think it’s odd that I’ve returned.” The man chuckled. “I assure you I’m completely real. You weren’t the only one to survive sister, though I know that information might be too little too late?”

“Sister?” You snapped out of your trance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surely you aren’t pretending not to recognize me? I think that’s beneath even you. Come now, was I such a brat as that?” Reaching out the young man went to grab your hand. Instinctively you pulled away, feeling discomfort shoot through you.

“I don’t know what you mean? And you certainly aren’t my brother! I’ve never had a brother!”

“Then who was the kid you lived with your whole life before the incident?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any incident or any brother. You asked me here to return something so I’m returning it.” Reaching for the lid you thrust the little work of art in front of you. “Here. Take it.”

“So you really don’t know who I am?” The young man reached out to take the lid. “How is that possible? Have they gone so far as to erase me from your memories? Have I been taken out of your family?”

“They?”

“The gods.” The young man’s eyes seemed incredibly harsh all of a sudden. “Their presumptiveness holds no bounds.”

“Don’t speak of the archons that way.”

“Answer me this,” the young man ignored your protest, “where are you from.”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Humor me.”

“I…” You stood there for a moment, wondering whether or not you should tell this strange figure the truth. Morbid curiosity floated in your mind, and you took a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“So I really have been erased from your mind.”

“Nothing’s been erased! I just don’t remember, should that surprise you so much?”

“Yes, it does. I see my plans will have to be changed.” The young man took a deep breath. “Very well then, we shall see what we shall see. I have an offer for you.”

“And what is that?” You felt suspicion wash over you.

“Join the Abyss.”

“Over my dead body!” Instinctively stepping away you drew your polearm. So that’s what this was about.

“I figured you might say that. However, let me tell you this. Our family was torn apart by the cruel whims of faraway gods. Teyvat suffered the same fate, still suffers it. You may not remember what happened to us, but I know it is buried in you somewhere. If you wish to avenge our family, then you’ll join us.”

“I have no petty thoughts of revenge against the gods.”

“That may very well change.” The young man smirked. “I’ll be back in a week. I expect your answers then.”

He was gone before you could say anything, carried away by a blanket of purple stars. You stared at the empty ruins, confused and empty, feeling far worse than you had felt when you arrived here.

“You look worse.”

“Thanks Xiao.” You let out a sigh, unsure how to respond.

You’d spent the rest of the walk back to the Wangshu Inn in agony, thoughts darting back and forth as you tried to reason with yourself about the veracity of the young man’s claims. There was no proof he was who he said he was after all, no proof that he wasn’t simply insane, or trying to convince you to join him by lying. Yet there was something about him, his demeanor, his anger, something that spoke to a truth about him. Not that the idea made you any happier. After all truth or not, he was still an Abyss member, or at least an advocate. You could never side with him, even if he was your long lost family. And yet what if he was your family? What then? Would it truly be a betrayal then to simply send him packing?

Xiao’s hand enveloped your own, the soft warmth drawing you out of your confused thoughts. Looking up you found him leaning into you, the tips of his hair lightly brushing your cheeks. His eyes bored into you ask he scanned your face. You stood perfectly still. You knew what Xiao was doing, knew that he was trying to figure out the depths of your discomfort. It was valiant of him, even if you hoped that he turned up empty handed. How could you tell Xiao, an adeptus who served directly under Rex Lapis, about the man who blasphemed the gods.

“You should sleep.” Xiao finally pulled away.

“It’s still early evening.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night, I could tell. You should sleep now; maybe you’ll feel better.”

“Maybe.” You replied, knowing that even if you slept better than you had ever before nothing would change when you woke up.

Still your eyelids were heavy and your feet aching. Sleep beckoned you with open arms, and you were quick to fall into its depths. Pressing a soft kiss on Xiao’s cheek you made your way up the stairs. Collapsing onto your bed you let out a sigh of relief. Sleep was coming on fast, and you quickly found the outside world swirling away. The last thing you were aware of was a dent in your mattress, and a set of familiar eyes staring down at you, filled with affection and worry.

It was dreadfully hot. That was the first thing you were aware of. The second was how loud everything was. There was a terrible sound swirling around you, inhuman shrieks seemed to rise up from the ground beneath you, accompanied with a banging that cracked through the air, echoing oddly in a night that was all too quiet. The third thing was that you had no idea where you were. Looking around you found yourself reeling at the scene that met your eyes. The house in front of you must’ve been nice at some point, but now had fallen into ruin and disrepair. Smoke was drifting up from a door that led into the ground, and bottles lay in pieces on the ground. A wall seemed to separate the house from the outside world, so tall that you had no idea what lay beyond it. Trembling slightly you felt yourself move towards the source of the noise, feet moving despite the rising dread that you felt. Making your way down a set of stairs a few lines came to you all of a sudden.

A ceiling of amber, a pavement of pearl

The smoke was thicker now, filling your lungs, leaving you short of breath. Little bits of orange blurred your vision, wielded by strange men in strange uniforms. They seemed distorted in the smoke, made into ghosts that might haunt a child’s nightmares.

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still

You didn’t move your head towards the back of the room, somehow you couldn’t. Your very soul fought against it. Instead you closed your eyes, overwhelmed with how hot it was.

“You’ve come so far and you can’t even look?”

The voice was mocking, familiar, full of scorn. Opening your eyes you stared at the men in front of you, the men with fire at the tips of their hands. Why did he want you to look? You knew what you’d see. Somehow you knew.

We climb’d on the graves, on the stone worn with rains

You couldn’t make it out among the smoke. All you knew was that it was red.

You screwed your eyes shut, even as sudden clarity danced before you. Someone was calling your name.

There was a hand on your shoulder.

And alone dwell forever

The smoke cleared, and with it the dream.

The scream ripped through your throat before you could even process it. You knew that you should stop, knew that you were no longer dreaming, knew that the hand on your shoulder belonged to your terrified partner. Still you screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

“Hey. Hey!” Xiao’s voice was frantic. Shifting your gaze towards him you felt yourself begin to tremble.

“It, it was true. It was true, I saw him. I saw him. I saw me. It was true. I, I, they’re dead. They’re dead.”

“It was a dream. No one’s dead.”

“But Xiao, they’re dead. He was right, they’re gone and dead and somehow I forget them.”

The loneliness slammed into you, mixing with the horror that sent your stomach churning. You dug you nails into your palm, desperately trying to stop shaking. Everything seemed distorted, the light emerging through the window just as menacing as the dark.

“Take my hand.”

Xiao pulled one of your hands on his lap, gently opening it and running his fingers over the marks that now rested in your palms. Unfurling your hand you it was flat against his he covered it with his own. Letting his palm rest gently against yours he looked up at you.

“No one is dead. You were having a nightmare.”

“I was remembering, Xiao. I finally remembered something. And now I wish I never had.” You unfurled your other hand, wiping furiously at the tears that pooled in your eyes. “I’m so alone Xiao, I’m so alone.”

“You aren’t alone.”

“My family, my family is gone. The only one left is an Abyss member. I, I’m so utterly alone.”

You felt Xiao drop your hand slightly. The sudden lost connection made your founder for a moment, but soon the feeling was lost as Xiao wrapped his arms around you. Pressing kisses to your forehead his grip was tight and strong, encasing you utterly in soft comfort. Letting yourself collapse slightly you leaned into his embrace.

“You’ll never be alone. I’ll always be here.”

If promises were conveyed in actions then you had no reason to doubt Xiao’s. Though the air around you was sticky with heat you found yourself pressing into your partner’s chest eyes more, soaking up every bit of connection that you could get. Xiao said nothing more, simply keeping you in his embrace, lips brushing against your cheeks as he kissed away your tears.

You knew that he wouldn’t ask about your brother that night, perhaps not even the morning afterwards, or even tomorrow evening. After all your partner wasn’t one for words, and your relationship wasn’t built upon the expectation of painful transparency. If you weren’t ready to talk he wouldn’t push you.

Eventually your tears slowed, though the pain in your chest still burned like a brand. Bringing your hands to your chest you gazed up at the adeptus who was still wrapped around you.

“Can we stay this way a little longer?”

Xiao’s eyes gleamed catlike in the moonlight. Leaning down he brushed his lips against yours, sighing slightly as you met him with exhausted ardor. Pulling back you rested your head on your partner’s chest. The dulled beat seemed almost musical, a reminder that Xiao was alive, a reminder that he was right next to you.

You had assumed in some way that it meant he didn’t care, or didn’t want to know. Though you would’ve never thought that before, the feeling of loneliness that had threatened to swallow you up had made that perfectly clear. Yet Xiao did care, cared enough not to prod and poke at wounds that were surely bleeding even now. Cared enough to kiss your worries away, cared enough to let you embrace him as long as you needed. Cared enough to show that you weren’t truly alone.

In a week you’d give the young man who had once been your brother an answer. In a week you’d face the fact of your loneliness, of a family that you’d once been a part of. In a week you would let yourself be truly lonely. But until then you would listen to the familiar beat of Xiao’s heart as you remembered that you weren’t truly alone. That you never would be.

-------

The box lid itself was based off nothing in particular. The building painted on it is a reference to Saint Basil’s Cathedral.

The poem I used was “The Forsaken Merman” by Matthew Arnold

The scene in the reader’s dream is a reference to the execution of the last Imperial family of Russia. It took place in the basement of the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg on July 17th/18th 1918.

#genshin impact fanfiction #xiao #xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin xiao #requested #scenarios #my writing #sorry mistagged as gn out of habit first jme

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