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nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice · 4 years

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Hi fren! Been following ur blog for a while and honestly I love it! I was wondering if I can get ur thoughts on something :)) remember in sozins comet when Iroh refused to fight ozai becuz “history will see it as more violence, a brother killing a brother to gain power” but then cue to Azula and Zuko who are fighting for the throne and it’s fine?? with them?? doesn’t that count as more violence as well? Thank if you ever come across this :D

Okay, first off, I think it needs to be clarified what Iroh actually said in that scene in regards to sending Zuko to defeat Azula because the two situations are very different and everyone involved knew that. The exchange went as such:

Zuko: Uncle, you’re the only person other than the Avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord.... we need you to come with us.

Iroh: No Zuko, it won’t turn out well.

Zuko: You can beat him. And we’ll be there to help.

Iroh: Even if I did defeat Ozai, and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History would see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to gain power. The only way for this war to end peacefully is if the Avatar defeats the Firelord.

(dialogue, etc.)

Iroh: Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Firelord falls, you can assume the throne and restore peace and order. But Azula will be there waiting for you.

When I see the argument that Iroh sending Zuko after Azula was hypocritical, I think it ignores the reality of the situation and the pragmatic approach. Because Iroh was absolutely correct throughout this whole exchange. Here were the facts as of this point:

1. Iroh and Zuko were declared traitors and could not legally assume the throne once Ozai was defeated, meaning Azula would assume the throne by default.

2. By this point in the series, Azula had shown at every point that she was just as enthusiastic about waging war and had shown no remorse for the suffering of the Earth Kingdom at the hands of the Fire Nation. She was particularly enthusiastic about the two major affronts against the Earth Kingdom: conquering Ba Sing Se and using Sozin’s Comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom.

3. Azula was the one who had the idea for the ‘let’s use the comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom’ plan in the first place and was proud of that plan. If Ozai was defeated, she would have used her position to go through with the plan anyway.

Realistically, this situation is in no way ideal, but the reality is that Azula did need to be stopped from assuming the throne. Make no mistake, if she had the opportunity to do so, she would have been at Ozai’s side burning down the Earth Kingdom instead of staying in the Fire Nation. She was dangerous and needed to be stopped and that was evident from her actions throughout the entire series.

And the situations of Zuko defeating Azula and Iroh defeating Ozai are completely different, mainly because it was never Zuko or Iroh’s intention for Zuko to kill Azula like everyone else was planning with Ozai. The intent with Zuko going after Azula was to stop her from being crowned, which was a thing that needed to be stopped, otherwise, the war would have continued. And Iroh was absolutely correct in his assumptions: Zuko and Katara arrived in the Fire Nation just before Azula was crowned Firelord. And in the end, as we all know, they didn’t kill her, they just removed her as a threat so Zuko could assume the throne. There is a difference between taking out an actively harmful force in a position of absolute authority (Ozai) and stopping a harmful force from taking a position of absolute authority (Azula).

There’s also the facts that 1. Iroh had his own history as a general who held siege on Ba Sing Se for 600 days, allegedly committed war crimes, and wasn’t exactly well regarded in the Earth Kingdom. 2. Like he said, a fight between Iroh and Ozai was not one that had a clear victor. Iroh was not the right person to defeat Ozai, Aang was, for many reasons. (There’s also the fact that Iroh’s arc came full circle as he freed the city he once laid siege on, but that has less to do with the pragmatic rationale behind the match ups and more to do with thematic purposes.)

And this is a thing that also bothers me. There’s an argument that Iroh failed Azula and that part of the reason she was how she was fell on him and I don’t think that’s fair. And this post by @withyoutilltheendofthecredits articulates why:

the ideas “azula was a victim of abuse who was manipulated and hurt by ozai” and “azula had a hand in a lot of trauma for zuko due to her awful treatment of him” can and should coexist

I think it’s important to keep in mind whenever we talk about Iroh, Azula, and Zuko how their dynamic was in season 2. Firstly, Iroh’s priority through this show was to keep Zuko safe. In season 1, he wasn’t so much there to actively help Zuko find Aang (and on multiple occasions seemed to work against Zuko’s mission), but rather was there to stop Zuko from making stupid decisions that would get him killed while offering emotional support and training him to be a better firebender. Does he actually want Zuko to kidnap the Avatar and return to his awful, abusive father? No. But he does want Zuko to have something that gives him hope, something that keeps him going. And Iroh’s priority is to be there to make sure this kid doesn’t do anything too reckless.

In season 2, Zuko technically no longer has his mission as he’s deemed an enemy of the Fire Nation and Iroh more explicitly works to help his nephew mentally and emotionally extricate himself from the family members that hurt him. At the beginning of the season when Zuko is excited about going home after Azula lies to them, Iroh voices his suspicion because unlike Zuko, who’s still holding onto the idea that he can win his father’s love, Iroh is able to look at the situation objectively and knows that if Zuko goes home, he’s not going to be safe and he is not going to be met with any sort of love.

Zuko: Did you listen to Azula? Father’s realized how important family is. He cares about me.

Iroh: I care about you!

And through the rest of the season, Iroh tries his best to take advantage of their new freedom by showing Zuko that he does deserve control of his own life, happiness, and unconditional love. He’s trying his best to help him through this difficult time because part of Zuko’s emotional struggle in this is reconciling with the fact that no, his father doesn’t want him, at all. When he was banished, he had the ‘if I get the Avatar I can go home’ thing to cling onto, but Iroh and everyone else knew that Ozai never actually intended for Zuko to succeed or return. So Zuko has to deal with that in season 2 and doesn’t get to that point, he still tries to capture Aang and he still joins Azula in Crossroads of Destiny because he’s not ready to let that little bit of hope that he could return home go. It isn’t until he takes a stand against Ozai with the “it was cruel and it was wrong” speech that he really discovers who he is and what he wants and the main reason he’s able to come to that conclusion is because of Iroh’s treatment of him in season 2.

In season 2, Iroh not only protects Zuko from physical harm and takes care of him in regards to sickness, food, and water, but tries to drill into his head that he didn’t deserve the treatment from his father and shouldn’t throw his life away trying to please him. That he can have and deserves a peaceful life. And Zuko keeps going down the self destructive path because he’s been convinced for so long that him proving himself to his father is more important than his personal safety or happiness. Iroh just wants him to put himself before the man that abused him. He hates it that Zuko almost gets himself killed multiple times for the sake of Ozai. There’s their talk in The Avatar Day and their fight in Lake Laogai that bring this to the forefront:

Iroh: Even if you did capture the Avatar, I’m not so sure it would solve all our problems.

Zuko: Then there is no hope at all

Iroh: No Zuko, you must never give into despair.

Iroh: And then what?! You never think these things through. This is exactly what happened when you tried to capture the Avatar at the North Pole. You had him and then you had nowhere to go.

Zuko: I would have figured something out.

Iroh: No! If his friends hadn’t found you, you would have frozen to death!

Zuko: I know my own destiny.

Iroh: Is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?

And as Iroh acts as Zuko’s protector and tries to break him away from his self destructive mentality, how does Azula fit into that? Here are the interactions between Azula, Zuko, and Iroh in season 2:

Azula trying to take Zuko and Iroh as prisoners to the Fire Nation with no remorse

Azula attempting to shoot lightning at Zuko in the first episode of season 2 and Zuko only being saved by Iroh redirecting it at the last second

Azula shooting Iroh and seriously injuring him (it could have been lighting, but I think it was just fire)

Azula trying to capture Iroh and Zuko in Ba Sing Se and succeeding

Azula manipulating Zuko into going back to Ozai

Objectively, Azula is a threat against Zuko’s safety and there’s a good chance she would have killed him in the first episode of season 2 if Iroh hadn’t stopped her. He knows exactly how dangerous she is and made the decision that he was going to do what it took to keep Zuko safe, which he did. With this exchange in Bitter Work.

This isn’t Iroh saying ‘I have no sympathy for my niece whatsoever and am choosing to ignore her’. This is Iroh saying ‘Azula has proven herself to be an objective and real threat and I need to keep Zuko safe from her.’ And he was correct. I feel like this stance is reasonable when the last two times she saw them she tried to shoot Zuko with lightning and actually shot Iroh.

And the reality of the situation is that Iroh shouldn’t have had to be the one to raise Zuko or Azula. He wasn’t their parent and he shouldn’t have had to be responsible for them. Ideally, Ozai should have been the one to do that, but that wasn’t the reality of the situation. And Iroh was faced with a choice: go with Zuko who was banished, injured, and lost, or stay with Azula who was not in a good home with a good influence, but who was still the favored, prodigy princess. He had a choice of which kid to stand behind and I think it’s fair to say that Zuko needed Iroh more when he was banished.

Ideally, there shouldn’t have been a choice for Iroh. Ideally, Iroh shouldn’t have had to raise his nephew. Ideally, Azula should have had a better parental influence who didn’t encourage her violent streak. But it was by no means an ideal situation. Azula was dangerous and remorseless and Iroh was entirely correct when he saw her rising to power and realized ‘if she isn’t stopped now, there is no telling what she’s going to do’. Because he knows exactly who raised her.

#hot leaf meta #atla #avatar the last airbender #azula #iroh #zuko #tw: abuse #the babes are asking

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

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A Darcy Day Off

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you will not work today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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random-french-girl · 3 years

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In the spirit of positivity, let me talk about something I am super excited to see in the wilds season 2: BUNKER REUNIONS. Watching Shelby and Leah reunite in season 1, as brief as it was, made me:

a) emotional, because even though Shelby is on a mission, it’s very clear that they’ve both missed each other a lot: the way they cling to each other, the way Leah rushes to hug Shelby, Shelby closing her eyes...,

b) realize that with all the girls separated, we are gonna get MORE reunions! So, here are my 5 most anticipated bunker reunions that we may or may not get in season 2:

5) Rachel and Nora and Leah. Look, I’m not gonna believe that Nora is dead until I’m told so directly and without any ambiguity. With that out of the way: there’s bound to be some drama between the twins and Leah after episode 10, and especially if something happens (or seems to happen) to Nora during the shark attack. Rachel in her interview is very calm and.. at peace, and I wonder if at this point she’s learned about Nora’s involvement. In any case, I love the sisters’ relationship, I love Rachel and Leah’s stubborn, messy dynamic and their growing respect/affection for each other, and I’m very interested in how the conflict between Leah and Nora is going to be resolved, so I’m dying to see how a reunion between these three would go.

4) Toni and Martha. Speaking of being in denial, I’m also not even considering the possibility that Martha is dead until proven otherwise, so her and Toni reuniting is something I really want to see. They’ve never been separated before! I can’t imagine how much they must miss and worry about each other. I want them to hug each other and not let go for a long time afterwards, and maybe crack a few jokes to hide how emotional they are. If we get a parallel of them singing their song, I might cry.

3) Toni and Shelby. Obviously. I’m even more interested in their reunion given that we know we’re getting some angst for them in season 2. Are they on good terms when they get captured rescued from the island? And if that’s not the case, if they were fighting or mad at each other before their separation, when they reunite, will they forget about it, lost in the joy & relief of seeing each other again? Impulsive reunion kiss? Or are they going to act hesitant, ambivalent, not sure of where they stand with each other, therefore breaking everyone’s hearts, including their own? Can’t wait either way!

2) Leah and Fatin. I mean, they are my favorite pair after all. My secret wish for their reunion is for Fatin to be like, so completely overwhelmed with relief and happiness that she breaks down a little, and starts crying and Leah gets to comfort her. Especially because I think it’s very clear how much Leah needs Fatin on the island, but I would love for their separation to be the moment where Fatin realizes how much she needs Leah too - hence a very emotional reunion. I expect them to have a good, long, tight hug at the very least, but if the writers want to be brave and have them kiss... I wouldn’t say no!

1) The unsinkable eight. Ultimately, I’m most looking forward to all of them being together again. Give me a group scene! Give me all of them laughing and maybe crying a little! Give me a group hug! A dance party! Give me everyone making jokes or teasing comments at each other! Let them go wild at being all together again! I deserve this!

#the wilds #random meta #let me know YOUR most anticipated reunions

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areyougonnabe · 4 years

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Short Term Memory

But there can often be a lot of “thinking you love someone” before the loving truly begins. — The Man In The Red Coat by Julian Barnes

Now I am superlatively, actually awake. — The amnesiac composer Clive Wearing

Aziraphale knows it in Eden.

He watches the demon, Crawly, sprawled loose-limbed underneath the boughs of an eternally blooming magnolia, lazily swatting at the plump bees that buzz around his head, and knows he is in love with him.

On this plane, in this body, Aziraphale is subject to all the forces the Almighty has created. Gravity, yes. Electromagnetism, the strong and weak nuclear. And, it seems— love as well.

Adam and Eve certainly didn’t take long to get down to it, after all. Aziraphale, having observed the Garden and its inhabitants closely, knows of no possible love other than the kind that blossoms at first light, and does not wither ever after, even as the sun falls below the horizon. That is the only reference he has to compare this feeling inside him to, the sensation that throbs deep within him when he lets his eyes linger on Crawly, on the dark pool of him beneath the tree.

“I love you,” he whispers, so softly not even the bees can hear, just to know how it feels.

***

On the Ark, Aziraphale thinks of how foolish he was, to believe that he’d loved Crawly after just a few scant days in a garden, hardly even speaking to each other. Longing gazes and yearning sighs does not a true love make.

He hadn’t known then, not really, the true appeal of an argument that went on long after sunset, ideas and perspectives finding purchase before being wrestled triumphantly to the rhetorical floor. He hadn’t known all the different tones of Crowley’s voice, the demon’s magical ability to parrot and mimic, to mock and decry, to leave Aziraphale wheezing with laughter one moment and incandescent with offense the next.

But now that he does, now and only now— can he believe himself to finally, fully be in love with Crowley.

***

In Rome, Aziraphale cannot countenance his own sheer idiocy.

How could he have possibly loved Crowley, when they’d never shared a meal together? It was a childish infatuation, before this moment, before he’d ever seen food make its way past those full lips, before he’d ever seen that tanned throat bob as it drank down a dark wine.

Crowley’s hair is shorter, now, too, and Aziraphale finds it almost laughable he’d thought what he felt for this demon was love, when only on this day has he first seen the pale nape of Crowley’s neck, the full uncurtained juncture of his ear and jaw.

They order course after course, jug after jug. Aziraphale does not want the night to end, because now, and only now, for the first time in nearly four thousand years, does he really and truly know that he is in love.

***

It is the fourteenth century, and Aziraphale has not seen Crowley in ninety-six years. Every year that passes without sight of him, in this monastery high on a mountainside, hurts deeper than the last.

It was pure folly to have thought himself in love, in those times he could go centuries without seeing Crowley, and not have each separated year be a brand new wound upon his heart.

Love is only really proven by pain in its absence, surely. So only now, assigned to this most sacred of places, where Crowley could not tread even if he wished to, is Aziraphale absolutely positive he knows for the first time what it actually means to love.

***

London burns, and Aziraphale gathers his precious books, his artifacts and keepsakes, into a bag that rightfully should not be able to fit them all, and escapes outside the city walls.

There is a familiar dark shape waiting for him there, lingering in the shadow of Aldgate. Aziraphale can smell the telltale scent of Hell on Crowley, the acrid stench of a bad deed done well clinging to his smoke-stained skin.

He doesn’t need to ask where Crowley has been. His own side has warned him, in many recent holy missives, about increased activity from Below during these tumultuous times of plagues, wars, dissidence. He knows Crowley had something to do with the flames now consuming the city; to ask for details would be to invite pain. So instead they exchange mumbled pleasantries, avoiding each others’ gaze, but not willing to separate, not just yet.

“A pity,” Aziraphale is saying. “All those homes, and oh— St. Paul’s! That interior was simply divine…”

Crowley grimaces, ash-faced, and shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course.”

Silhouetted against the smoke, Crowley is wicked, and foul, and demonic, and Aziraphale loves him. Oh, he does, he does, he does.

Only real love could withstand such conditions, such determined attempts to exterminate it. Whatever Aziraphale felt before this awful day, it was untested and as such untrue.

It is only now, faced with such inarguable evidence of Crowley’s nature, and feeling a tide of affection rise within him nonetheless, feeling the urge to gather the demon into his arms and hold him there, whisper words of forgiveness and comfort, does Aziraphale know that he is finally in love at last.

***

It happens again, and again. Aziraphale curses his own stupidity, as each and every time his past self is proven idiotic, infantile, naive, simply misled. His heart bears a succession of false claimants to the crown of love, each overthrown in turn.

He did not truly love Crowley until Paris, when the demon snatched him from underneath the hanging blade of Mme. Guillotine, for love is only love when it surprises, amazes, does the impossible.

He did not truly love Crowley until St. James Park, when he refused to provide him with the means to his own destruction, because love is not love if it bends to every harmful whim, accepts every poor decision without question.

He did not truly love Crowley until the bombs fell on St. Mildred’s, because in that moment he knew Crowley must love him as well, and love is only love when it travels both ways, amplified by actions on both ends, miracles done in the maintenance of it.

He did not truly love Crowley until he handed over a thermos full of holy water, because love is not love unless it is trusting, rather than rigid and unforgiving.

He did not truly love Crowley until they shook hands in the back room of his darkened bookshop, promising to save the world together, for love can only really be love when it is committed to, promised, sealed with a touch.

***

“I love you,” Aziraphale says, between kisses to Crowley’s cheeks, his throat, the corners of his lovely mouth, here in the darkness of the demon’s flat on the night after the end of the world. “Crowley, I love you.”

“How long?” gasps Crowley. “How long have you loved me?”

“I— if you must know, I don’t believe I ever have, not until this moment. Not really.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re lying, you’ve loved me longer than that—”

“A childish crush. A mere obsession. Darling, I swear, I never truly loved you before now!“

“That’s not true. You’re being ridiculous.”

Aziraphale finds it in himself to be primly offended, even as Crowley’s fingers find the buttons of his shirt, opens them, and press into Aziraphale’s skin, shockingly cool as they travel up his chest, exploring him, claiming him.

“I’m not!”

“You are, though. You wanna know how I know? That you’re wrong? I’ve watched you. I’ve known you, better than anyone. That— that damn look in your eyes, it hasn’t changed in six thousand years, no matter what you think. I’d’ve noticed if it had, believe me. You’ve loved me from the very start, angel. From the beginning.”

This revelation does not square with Aziraphale’s understanding. It does not slot neatly into his narrative. “But I know,” he insists. “Everything before now, before this moment— it was nothing. It was all in my head. I feel it now everywhere, my dear.”

“I can tell,” Crowley smirks, his hand now traveling downwards. The smirk turns into a smile as he finds purchase, and Aziraphale gasps, shudders, clutches Crowley tighter.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Crowley goes on, “seeing as we’re here now, after all.”

“Oh, but it does! Love is not love unless it is spoken aloud, and only now am I speaking it, so only now do I truly love you, Crowley—”

“If I let you believe that you’re right,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale remembers their friendly sparring as the Ark traversed those many waters, remembers how naively thought he knew love then, “will you keep saying it?”

“Saying—”

“That you love me.”

“Clearly, you’ve—ah!— known this whole time,” Aziraphale says, still managing petulance even as Crowley’s swift touch between his legs increases in speed, sending shocks of sensation rocketing upwards, “so why do you need me to prattle on?”

There is silence, for a moment, just the sound of breathing from the both of them, coming heavier now, the sound of fabric rustling between them, and the sound of skin on skin, hot and human.

And then Crowley speaks, right into Aziraphale’s ear, in a voice so low, so close, it makes Aziraphale shake with the dearness of it, or maybe that’s just the rising tide of pleasure inside him—

“Let me count the ways. Because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. Because I deserve to be told, after all this time. Because—even though I’ve known, all along, doesn’t mean I ever really let myself believe. Because I love you, too.”

Aziraphale falls apart, then, beneath the weight of Crowley’s affection, physical and otherwise, cresting over into ecstasy, unlike anything he’s known, from his own touch or that of others.

“I take it back,” he gasps, winded, “what I said before, now I love you, now I really love you, Crowley—”

And he goes on, until Crowley throws his head back in joy, lets out one of those pure, gleeful laughs, and cuts him off with another kiss.

#my writing #THIS TURNED OUT WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED HERE HAVE IT #i'll put it up on ao3 tomorrow #good omens #rated M below the cut fyi

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crimsonandcloverwrites · 3 years

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bhah ch5 reread time for emotions

idk why eddie half-asleep mumbling about pancakes is so funny to me but like... relatable king

we love the contrasting feelings of Dani and Eddie vs Jamie’s house

lmao poor mikey. let the boy shred on his air guitar in peace

god this is all so domestic I want what they have (owen’s pastries and Jamie in a bandana)

a great, good place huh???? idk why clever canon line inclusion sometimes makes me go a little bit mad but here we are

Dani wanting to leave her mark on this place vs... whatever the fuck is going on in her own home the signs are all there babe

Jamie seeing the problem of Dani not having a desk to work at and immediately wanting to fix it vs Eddie just being Eddie hmmmmm

Carson and Mikey being buddies is actually something that can be so personal

dang Jamie and her quiet temper are so intimidating

problem solver Dani is here we love her. god they’re such a good match

skjfhdfkjfh so much talk about loins ladies get a room already

"Sometimes I just like making other people happy, is all." Dani you are toooo sweet (even if this gets you into trouble sometimes)

oh my godddd Jamie sending Dani flowers I can’t handle this. DANI WANTING TO KEEP IT A SECRET TOO LIKE WANTING TO KEEP THEIR TIME AS JUST FOR THEM I’M GOING INSANE

oh she is having Thoughts about their thighs pressing together and their fingertips grazing. this is so gay. gayer than whatever is gonna happen when they finally bone (I will happily retract this statement if proven wrong 👀👀👀). nothing tops this on the homosexual heirarcy of intimacy

mikey trotting towards school w the lil packed lunch jamie just threw him is so adorable I love the visuals of this fic

I am headcanoning Dani’s Aunt Liz who moved out east to be gay and no one will convince me otherwise (also bring her back Dani needs a cool gay aunt in her life)

Dani being presented with an opportunity to not hang out with Eddie’s familly: I will be there also I can be there 7 hours early also I will bring snacks

Charlotte? Charlotte Wingrave?? Is she on maternity leave to have Miles???

“"Yeah," she lied.” is one of my fave sentences ever idk why I just... the agreement and the deceit of it all (not necessarily specific to this moment tho it is a good one. I just love them in general)

ooft Dani feels so close to breaking here r.e. Eddie and their relationship and I cannot help but wonder if she’s been like this for a while or if the Jamie of it all is really accelerating things

aww Dani’s birthday we love to celebrate she

Dani looking for Jamie I always always imagine as a grounding thing even if she’s not aware of it. Jamie truly is her person and I will be going insane about it ty

Jamie’s wardrobe is truly top tier she is so dreamy

gah the um. heights of everyone on the wall... the familyness of it all. the history. time to look away before I explode

“It’s just the way it’s always been.” ooooohhhh these lines in sort of inconesquential moments that capture the essence of everything!!!!! genius

i fucking hate how hot I find Jamie smoking akjdfhdjfh why can I see it so clearly in my head and why am I like Dani Clayton levels of attracted to her about it

oof Dani truly hates her n Eddie’s house (a house is not a home.glee.mp3 etc). I’m also just realising with a return to the wall heights thing that Jamie was probably thinking back to simpler times and what this house represented as a home to her (both as a welcoming place to be/an ideal kind of home but something she will never really have/be a part of) my heart hurts

What is Dani wishing for as she blows out the candles does she even know what she wants???

Jamie insisting she gets to sit beside Dani is so adorable

the casual domesticity of Dani and Jamie together has me making the stupidest most endeared faces at my screen I love it

the camping trip mention kjfdghdfkj I will never forget Dani gay panicking the whole time I love this lead up

god why am I thinking so hard about the different paths Dani and Jamie went down r.e. their sexualitites rn like Dani being all scared of Jamie mixing w her work life and people realising that there’s something there is just... she’s so fuckign afraid of being herself and then u have Jamie who has lived her life as authentically as she can in that sense and the contrast of it all is so damn interesting (and breaks my heart a bunch)

is this the scarf Dani gave her for christmas does she still have it oh my god

“"And here I thought you were a fan of delayed gratification," Jamie said, chuckling softly.” please tell me this is a surprise tool that will help us later

wait i take it back about the gayest thing ever. I think this blindfolded w Jamie gently guiding her w a hand on her back while she says gentle reassurances like “I got you” is possibly the gayest they’ve ever been. OH she’s guiding her to the desk she refurbished with her own two gay hands this is peak lesbianism. i’m gonna make a heirarcy of needs pyramid based on this fic one day just u wait

ok but this is really soft as hell god I love the thoughtfulness of Jamie. get u a best friend that will fulfill ur every need and feels like home and then kiss her a bunch

“I feel like I'm standing in the middle of the room, screaming, and nobody even looks at me. Nobody can see me." this nell crain ref pls I cant

i think it’s really like... sweet in a way that both of them are sort of dancing around this like there are so many feelings there and they’re just sort of clinging to each other and the familiarity of their bond without pushing it into anything more even incidentally. i think it’s v much a testament to the writing that their relationship and what it is/what it could become isn’t overwhelming to either of them in moments like this. it all just feels very authentic and I love this fic so dang much for it

the library trip ok are we ready 4 the gay meltdown of the century

god them lowkey playfighting on the bus pls this is just like the perfect mix of teacher Dani trying to be professional meets teenage Dani and Jamie cuteness aaah

lmao is Jamie having a small gay meltdown over Hannah Grose that is perfection

fvkdjfgkjfh Hannah and Jamie discussing Dani’s pretty eyes I love this so much please I need more of this and Dani getting flustered about it

god the Jamie and Jackie history I need to know this backstory so bad

plsss Jamie putting Dani’s hand in her jacket pocket to keep it warm could you two be any more digustingly cuuuuute.

jesus fuck the tension of them almost making out in the back rowww. Jamie having a meltdown. Dani falling impossibly harder in love

i can’t believe this moment was it for Dani. lesbianism is stored in the library

oof the parallels between this and the school dance bathroom meltdown Jamie gone vs Jamie HERE in ways she can barely even comprehend. everything is NOT OK

“She couldn’t want this. She couldn’t want Jamie.” Ms Dani your delusions

yeehaw I’m officially halfway through my reread may the next 5 chapters align with the universe and see me through until ch11 is here amen

#bhah #there are a few tangents in this one #but I am v tired and my brain refuses to stay on a single train of thought #anyway that was fun see u next time

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singingforthepromises · 3 years

Text

fruits basket manga lb (ch 115-118)

CH 115

“The feeling... of being left behind.” Oh no.

I actually agree with the maid - Ren IS despicable. She’s horrible. I do think I’m at the point where I dislike her more than Akito, honestly. I at least feel bad for Akito at certain points and it’s growing with each chapter. Ren? She can fuck off, honestly.

“She’s worthless” about Isuzu. Lol shut up bitch

“You’re the one who’s worthless, Ren-san” OH HO SHIGURE WENT THERE

Ren is such a hypocrite. In one breath, she criticizes Akito for holing onto ‘delusions’ when she’s sitting here doing the same shit with Akira.

“She just didn’t want to stop being Akira-san’s ‘number one.’ She’s jealous.” FACTS

Wow she didn’t even hold baby Akito. :/

“The way she is now... whose fault.... is that?” I love that this is being brought up, and I’m gonna talk about it. Akito is a product of her environment, we know this. It’s not surprising that she turned out this way. It’s all she knew. She’s clinging to words that her father told her, to justify her actions and make sense of her existence. Otherwise, in Akito’s eyes, her mom was right about her - and that’s a horrible perspective to have. It’s understandable of course: that is what abused children think. Akito is as much a victim from abuse as any of the others. It’s like this entire series has been a game between Ren and Akito and seeing who the winner will end up being, and damn the collateral picked up along the way.

The way Akito is now.... it’s mostly her own fault, but it’s ALSO Ren’s, Shigure’s, Kureno’s, the maids, the entire Sohma family’s. They all either directly caused this behavior or were content to let it continue. Or they simply chose not to try and get her help or direct her something more positive. I blame Kureno less than I do the others, because he was as much as a victim as everyone else, in his own way. Shigure I do hold responsible because even though he’s under the curse too, he knew Akito best, knew her entire situation, and is still comfortable talking to and fraternizing with Ren.

At the end of the day though, Akito’s decisions are her own, and until she owns up to it and changes her ways, she’s the same as her mother. I feel much more for her now as opposed to when I first started the manga and anime, but she’s still got a ways to go for me. We’ll see by the end where I stand on her.

One thing I know for sure: Ren is an irredeemable piece of shit.

Okay, let me address this scene with Akira and Akito. I totally get where he’s coming from, being a loving father to his daughter that is treated like crap by her own mother. She deserves this warmth and care from her parents, even if from just one. But I feel like this approach, the way he explained her destiny to her, was part of the problem. One parent was overly loving and wanted to give the child everything and told her how important she was and the other was cruel and cold. Akira needed to let Akito know the meaning of the word “no.” Not to be harsh, or cruel to her, but to let her know that the Zodiacs are people too, and they can’t be sentenced to a life of imprisonment with her just because she is their God. That if she treats them right, they’ll be close and bonded, but allowed to live lives of their own. It doesn’t mean that she’s been abandoned, or that no one wants to be with her. Healthy relationships can exist from a distance, and that was not expressed by anyone in Akito’s life. It certainly explains her terror when thinking they’re all going to leave her, or she’s told that they’re going to.

OH SHIT OH MSJFSFJS DID THAT JUST HAPPEN

MOMIJI’S CURSE

IT JUST BROKE

IM SOBBING MY BEAUTIFUL BOY IS FREE

CH 116

Momiji is walking past his mom’s house? I’m upset

Ohh boy here comes Akito

I do feel bad for her... it’s sad, because she’s brought all of this on herself, and to a degree, it’s karma. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel bad.

Momiji realizing that Akito is weak and has no power over him anymore.... wow, we love to see it.

omg are Haru and Yuki realizing it???

Tohru blushing at seeing Kyo!!

Momiji watching her! ;A;

“Well... you know, right?” AHHHHHHH HE SAID IT

Oh, Momiji did go talk to Akito again...

“Akito, I can’t spend the rest of my life at your side.” YES MY BOY

Okay here she goes, slapping him. And she’s rubbing salt in the wound, lashing out because of her own pain... and Momiji is bigger than that, better than that. The fact that he’s admitting that nothing will go back to how it was, that breaking from the curse is just as much a curse as actually being under one... that’s truly sad. I hadn’t thought of the bond as a beautiful thing in a while, but I see the potential it could’ve had TO be. They were united by something that could’ve been beautiful. To an extent, in between all of the horror that came with it, it was.

“I’m going to walk my own path.” I AM SO PROUD OF YOU

“How about you? How long are you going to stay HERE?” I love this question for many reasons, but mostly because it shows that Momiji still cares about Akito and wants her to be happy, too.

I respect that Akito isn’t trying to stop him even further with more violence or more demeaning words. I don’t know if Momiji’s words are having an impact and she’s starting to realize what she’s caused, or if she’s internally about to have a meltdown and do something much worse, but for the moment, I like that she isn’t lashing out at him much more.

CH 117

Oh, we’re paralleling mother relationships with Tohru and Akito, are we? They really are foils of one another.

You’ll get another chance, Tohru!!

Damn Ren is legit awful.

“This thing?! It was just a toy to pass the time!” Oh, okay. Explains the “you’re just a toy for me to play with” from little Akito to Yuki. Was this the moment she snapped in the room and painted it black? Was this the precursor? And she repeated those awful words her mother said to her?

“It meant that I could show off...in front of that woman.” Yep, called it.

Holy shit she’s becoming aware... “I forced them to stay.”

“I had faith that no one could split us apart.” So Tohru being involved was so Akito could show Ren that no one could interfere with her bond to the Zodiac. I hate saying that Ren was right, but... it’s true. And like the sad thing is, in this case, the bond SHOULD be severed, because it’s unhealthy for everyone involved, including Akito. But I relate to Akito here: I wouldn’t want my abuser to be proven ‘right’, either.

Ren is insane

I do appreciate the maids being kind to little Akito. It’s just an unfortunate situation. All of the wrong words in the wrong kind of environment, not knowing how much to support someone without supporting them TOO much to the point of enablement...

CH 118

Is Akito actually gonna kill Ren? I’m not opposed to that honestly.

HIRO

HE’S HOLDING HIS BABY SISTER!!!

DID HIS CURSE BREAK?!

YESSSS

That’s two Zodiacs down! oh my god it’s actually HAPPENING.

“No one ever gave me a different way to live!” I mean, Akito is not wrong. She’s justifying her actions, but at the same time, she has a point. Everyone around her allowed this. Like I said: at the end of the day, she’s responsible for her own actions and she needs to own up to them and not shift the blame to everyone except herself. Hold everyone else just as responsible, yes: but admit your own faults.

SHE JUST STABBED KURENO

JFC

Come on, Akito. You could’ve made a good decision right there, Kureno is willing to help you with the change. But unless you actively want to, nothing will happen.

Is Kureno actually going to die??? omg. This was the quick moment from the trailer with the knife, right? Holy shit.

“So then what? It’s MY fault?” YES. YES, it IS! It’s your mother’s, and Kureno’s, and Shigure’s and the Sohma’s too - but it is YOUR fault with how you continue to treat people.

“Where are they all going to go?” as she thinks of Tohru.

Oh god

oh fuck

Akito, I’m being more sympathetic to you, but if you hurt Tohru again, it’s OVER.

Kyoru!!

“Kyo-kun... there’s something... I need to tell you.” OH MY GOD HERE WE GO HERE SJFJSFJSFJSJFSJFSF

#fruits basket #fruits basket spoilers #fruits basket manga spoilers #fruits basket manga #liveblogging

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immortalcoelacanth · 3 years

Text

Little Nightmares 2 Oneshot: The Choices We Make

I PROMISE I’M STILL WORKING ON ALL MY FICS!!! I just got into that mood and had an interesting introspection of the ending and I couldn’t stop myself from writing it down.

With that being said, there are spoilers for the ending to Little Nightmares 2 here, so if you wanna avoid that I recommend not reading!

Word count: 1559

Summary: She could feel his fingernails sinking into her flesh as he clung to her. She could feel the board underneath her creaking and groaning with their shared weight. She could hear the static of the television, her freedom, buzzing so very, very close behind her.

She could feel nothing but disgust for the boy that had been her “savior.”

Stupid.

Moron.

Idiot.

These words repeated themselves over and over in her mind as she glared down at the boy clinging to her hands. Bones that were not as fragile as they appeared ached under the strain, her wrists unused to supporting so much weight, but she refused to let the pain show. Even as his nails dug into her flesh and drew blood, her face remained shrouded in darkness, impassive and blank.

It was what she preferred, of course. Hiding her eyes from the world and letting no one see. The eyes were the windows to the soul, after all. The Viewers did not have them, the televisions had taken them.

Their eyes.

Their souls.

They were weak.

They had stupidly exposed the most vulnerable parts of themselves and suffered the consequences. Been changed by a power they could never comprehend, a strength they lacked, all because they had allowed themselves to fall into the tower’s trap. Their weaknesses had been exploited.

Six refused to be weak.

She would be strong, had to be strong in this world. Being weak would get you killed, or worse. She wanted to survive, to fight and live and break free of the fear that encompassed her life. One day, she would be able to stop running, stop hiding, but for now she had no choice.

She had to wait until she was strong enough to fight back, but until then she had to keep herself alive. A struggle in the best of circumstances, and something that was practically impossible when you had a deadweight dragging you down. Like a brick that had been chained to her ankle as she struggled to stay above the water, always seconds away from drowning and never any closer to freedom.

Mono was weak.

It was something she had noticed right after meeting him. The fact that he had bothered to free her, as if she had been incapable of freeing herself, and the worry that had been clearly expressed made it clear that his emotions ruled him.

He had been concerned about the girl humming her tune and playing her song, stopped whatever he was doing to swoop in and save her from whatever horrible fate awaited her. At least he had proven his worth by helping her get that ladder down and finding the key, but she did not need his help. She did not need him anywhere near as much as he needed her.

The smile that would cross his face as he looked at his presumed companion as he forced her to tag along on a journey that she had never agreed to, his mask everchanging and slowly showing her more and more of his personality.

It was disgusting.

Almost as disgusting as the hope that would fill his eyes whenever she caught him after an especially far jump. Previously, his face had been obscured and hidden by his collection of headwear, eyes safely hidden, but now?

Now the whole world could see them, see how brightly they shone with joy at the fact that she had caught him once again, like she always had.

How dare he.

How dare he smile, be happy, as everything around them crumbled. How dare he become emotional while hanging between life and death. How dare he act like everything was going to be fine once she pulled him up.

How dare he assume she would save him, assume she would save the one who had brought so much angst and fear into her life.

He was the one responsible for everything!

Everything bad that had happened to her had been because of him. She had been captured because of him. Been dragged on this horrible journey because of him. She had been attacked and injured more times than she could count because of him! Battered and bruised, crushed and left tasting blood.

His hand always clamped around her wrist and tugging her along, chaining her to him. His voice always calling out to her, demanding her attention.

He was needy.

He was clingy.

He was weak.

It was only when she first watched him touch that television, seen how he had instinctively moved towards it, communed with it, that she realized how much trouble she had gotten herself into. He had been oblivious to how she recoiled once she broke him free of the television’s influence. She had seen the door, the eye, and quickly put the pieces together.

He was being manipulated, clear and simple.

How could he not see the trap he was falling into? The road that would lead to his demise, how could he not question it and what he was doing?!

It was obvious!

So, so painfully obvious…

Instinct was important to survival, but so was asking questions. Why was he being drawn towards the city? Why was he able to commune with the televisions in such a way?

What was behind the door?

He never asked, never bothered to slow down and think during any step of their journey. He had just stubbornly kept moving forward no matter what obstacle they faced or how grim the situation became.

Like the hunter who had been shot by one of his own guns, like the doctor who had been lured into the furnace and burned alive, neither of their foes had stopped to question their actions or think about what was going on. They blindly followed their instincts and it had led to their demise.

And here Mono was, following in their bloody footsteps.

At least the teacher had known when to stop, known that her prey had escaped her. She had not followed the instinct to hunt, to kill, and had left that encounter with her life intact even though she had been one of their most aggressive pursuers.

Even during their escape, he had been weak.

He had allowed his injuries to slow him down, and the tower had closed in on him. Eyes that focused on him, and him alone, and watched as he struggled to jump over the newly formed gaps, stumbled over the bridges of flesh that appeared before him. He was slowing her down.

He had always been slowing her down.

In this world you had to be strong. You could not show weakness. You could not hesitate. You could not depend on others as the world would just take them from you, leaving you alone in the darkness.

Six liked being alone.

There was no one else to hurt her, or be hurt by her.

She liked the darkness.

It was easier to hide, to wait and watch.

The shadows that hid oh, so many monsters. The shadows children had been taught to fear. The flashlights that cut through the gloom and made her eyes ache at the intensity of the light. He had taken the safety of the darkness from her more than once.

She liked her song, her shadows that stretched out before her and made a shape that was far taller than she could ever hope to be. A form strong enough to fight and take what was hers.

Twice now her song had been stolen from her because of him, him and his selfish desires. She did not need him to save her, she did not need him to help her, and she had been put in that situation, the tower, because of him.

She hated him.

Hated him for how weak he was. Hated the audacity he possessed to think that she had ever agreed to help him. Hated that he had assumed that she cared about him as anything more than a helpful partner. Hated the fact that, on the edge of freedom, he dared to drag her down into the darkness with him.

The tower would never let him go. His fate had been sealed long before he entered the city, and he was an idiot to think it would let them escape.

There was no future for her as long as Mono was by her side, his life was chained to this place. There would be no freedom, and she would always be weak.

Resolution steeled her nerves, tensed her muscles, and she lifted her other hand. Not to pull him up, nor to push him down, but to instead move her hood and brush her bangs out of her eyes.

Eyes that had been hidden from him since the start of their journey.

Eyes that burned with malice and hatred.

It was amusing, watching the realization of her feelings dawn on him and seeing the hope fade from his eyes. The shadows that dimmed his eyes and brought her salvation. It made her feel triumphant, even as her shoulders burned and her gut ached-

To survive you had to be strong.

You had to fight.

You had to do whatever you needed to, no matter the sacrifice.

She would survive.

His mouth opened, as though he were aware of what her decision already was, the start of him pleading for his life, but she was done with him. She had made up her mind ages ago on what to do with him the moment she was able to.

The choice to break free from the weight that dragged her down. The weight that was holding her back.

And, so…

Six let go.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I am so very eager to see all the different theories that are gonna come out and all the cool details and symbolism people will discover as times goes on. I doubt anyone will know for sure what was going on in Six's head when she let Mono go, but I am ready to see the content that comes out of it, angst and otherwise.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

#my story #fanfiction #little nightmares 2 #spoilers #little nightmares six #little nightmares mono #introspection #angst

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ibijau · 4 years

Note

Hi I hope you are well! in Worse engagement AU, does NHS ever find out about LXC getting longer-lasting incense, or LQR intentionally failing him his first year in Cloud Recesses? Poor NHS just can't catch a break, and I love the angst

Worst engagement AU

He does! And I may or may not have pushed myself to write nhs failing his year just because of how badly I wanted to write this, ahah.

Set soon after they get married :D

warning for... I guess he’s having a panic attack of sorts?

Unpacking is a terrible chore, worse in some ways than the packing that preceded it, but at least Nie Huaisang gets some help from his...

His face heats up. It's going to take a while to get used to the fact that they're married. It's only been a few days, and half the time it doesn't feel real. Which is the entire reason why Lan Xichen insisted that Nie Huaisang unpacked his things so they could put everything in its proper place and turn the Hanshi into something that's home for both of them. Even more than Nie Huaisang, it's obvious that Lan Xichen can't believe he gets to have this. It shows in the way he looks at Nie Huaisang when he enters the room where he's working, always half surprised to see him there. It shows also in the way he clings to him at night, as if Nie Huaisang might disappear otherwise, or run away, or do whatever other insane thing Lan Xichen might be imagining.

“What are those?” Lan Xichen asks, having opened a chest and found it full of various papers.

Nie Huaisang abandons the books he was trying to organise and comes to sit next to his husband, a little closer than necessary perhaps, but he knows Lan Xichen will appreciate it.

“This... Ah, it's a bit of everything,” Nie Huaisang admits. “Things I’ve done for fun these last few years. Most of it is bad poetry. Some of it about you, actually.”

“Did you?”

“I got very creative with insults at one point. I made Jin... I made someone read them, he found them very funny. Jiang Cheng saw them too, but he made a fuss about me being rude.”

Lan Xichen's smile freezes into that very annoying, very polite expression he has when he's unhappy about something. They usually avoid talking about Jin Zixuan, really, but Nie Huaisang was so taken by nostalgia for a moment that he half forgot. Besides, the poems really were funny.

Still, Nie Huaisang takes pity on Lan Xichen, and quickly digs into the chest to find something that will let him change the conversation. There's some half finished paintings, some calligraphy attempts, even notes from his time as a student and...

“Oh, right, I kept that,” he mutters, grabbing a neat little stack of paper. “That's probably good for a laugh.”

“Poems?”

“Even worse,” Nie Huaisang chuckles. “It's that exam I failed, my first year in the Cloud Recesses. I really thought I'd done great, you know? Well, maybe not great, but decently at least. Heavens, sometimes kids are so stupid they can't even see how stupid they are.”

Lan Xichen tenses next to him, and rather than to laugh along, throws him a concerned look.

“You kept that? Why?”

Nie Huaisang shrugs, grinning, and looks over the failed test. It always just felt like an important reminder that he’d never manage to play by the rules of others. A good chunk of the paper is unreadable because Lan Qiren had crossed over those wrong answers, but suddenly Nie Huaisang feels curious to see if he'd figure out how he got it so wrong.

“May I see?” Lan Xichen asks, his tone almost too careful, as if he fears he might offend.

“Sure, why not,” Nie Huaisang replies, handing him the papers and turning his attention back to the chest. “You know, I think I have a few portraits of you somewhere in there. Let me just find them, I think one at least is pretty good.”

While Lan Xichen deciphers the physical incarnation of all of his failures, Nie Huaisang continues digging into the chest. He does find a few portraits, but not the one he wants. These are doodles of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, and this he must get rid of discreetly because it's Jin Zixuan, smiling, so Lan Xichen won't like it, and this... well that's a painting of Lan Xichen alright, but he doesn't know how his husband might feel about, ah, imaginative depicting of what Nie Huaisang had once thought their married life might become. Besides, aside from the faces, everything was copied from one of his artful books, so it hardly counts as his own work. And this...

“Huaisang, are you sure this is the test you took back then?” Lan Xichen asks in a strange voice.

“It's not something I'd forget, is it?” Nie Huaisang replies with more bitterness than intended.

He half regrets it when he looks at Lan Xichen. Nie Huaisang almost can't figure what sort of an expression is on his husband's face except that it's an intense, rarely seen one.

Then it hits him.

Lan Xichen is furious.

“If you're having second thoughts because you're realising that I'm really an idiot after all...” Nie Huaisang starts, an old, half forgotten rage and terror already welling in his guts.

“Huaisang, I wouldn't have passed that test.”

Nie Huaisang stares. It's all he can do, when nothing makes sense.

"And I'm not saying I would have failed it when I was the age you were," Lan Xichen continues, blind to Nie Huaisang’s growing panic, his hands clenched on the papers, nearly tearing them apart. "As I am today I would probably not pass this test. The questions are made to look simple and to have easy answers, but they are actually on complicated subjects that only a scholar would know.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, fear still curling in his chest, though a little less tight now. Lan Xichen is angry, but not at him.

Possibly for him.

But it makes no sense, none of this makes sense, because if his exam was really this hard and tricky, then…

“Uncle set you up for failure,” Lan Xichen states, almost a hiss.

Nie Huaisang stares.

This is. This is important. This changes. It just. It changes everything. It should make him angry, and it should make him happy. It should make him feel something, but instead he’s just numb.

It changes everything.

It changes too much.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t even know how to start unpacking everything this discovery means. It’s too much, it’s all at once, it’s the very basis of everything he’s done and felt those last few years being shaken on its foundations so badly that it threatens to crumble.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t think, he can’t breathe, because it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s…

He feels hands on his and that grounds him. One of the hands move to his face, wiping tears he hadn’t realised started flowing down his cheeks, just as he doesn’t know when he closed his eyes. He opens them when a gentle, worried voice calls his name.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen whispers. “Huaisang, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know.”

Nie Huaisang nods, trying to remember how to breathe. He doesn’t doubt that Lan Xichen didn’t know. Neither of them wanted to be forced to spend time together at that time, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have played along if he’d known, not even for his uncle.

But this is still…

“I didn’t fail,” Nie Huaisang manages to gasp. “I didn’t fail.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’m not stupid.”

He hears Lan Xichen make a noise almost like a wounded animal, feels himself being pulled into a tight hug that he doesn’t, cannot resist.

It’s not.

It’s not that he actually thinks he’s stupid. Nie Huaisang has learned, has accepted, that he’s quite smart, in his own way. He’s good at reading people, and at becoming friends with them, and he knows about literature and poetry and art and, and he’s nearly as good as Jiang Cheng for mixing patterns, and he understands animals and how to tame them. Nie Huaisang is clever, and he’s forced everyone who matters to see how clever he can be, but he knows what some people still say.

Even now, there are some who think that Lan Xichen should be pitied for their marriage. He’s heard them say that Nie Mingjue should have released his sworn brother from that ridiculous engagement, now that there are no Wens left to justify the need for an alliance. That a man as brilliant and respected as the mighty Zewu-Jun deserves a better spouse than that kid who somehow managed to fail when studying in the Cloud Recesses, something nearly unheard of.

But he’s not stupid.

He didn’t fail.

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Lan Xichen whispers against the top of his head, fierce and sincere in a way that Nie Huaisang doesn’t know how to handle. This, also, is too much, but in a way that hurts less. “I will go talk to Uncle. He owes you an apology.”

It’s almost funny. The idea that Lan Qiren might have to say sorry to Nie Huaisang…

Not so long ago, he would have said that it was impossible. He would have suspected that Lan Xichen would never dare confront his uncle, least of all on Nie Huaisang’s behalf. But now, if Lan Xichen says he will obtain an apology for him, his husband believes that he’ll really fight tooth and nail to get it. He’ll probably still fail, because that’s Lan Qiren and he isn’t one to admit mistakes, least of all when he can argue that things turned out fine for Nie Huaisang, but it doesn’t matter. The apology doesn’t matter. What does matter is knowing Lan Xichen is on his side, and the fact that he didn’t actually fail.

“Don’t go now,” Nie Huaisang demands, pressing himself closer to his husband. “I want… stay with me for now? I don’t care, I really don’t care, just stay with me.”

“Anything you want, my love. I wouldn’t have gone until you felt better, don’t worry.”

Nie Huaisang sighs, and closes his eyes again. He’s breathing easier now, the worst of the shock has passed. Later he’ll feel angry, he suspects. Furious even.

Later.

For now he is at relative peace, in his husband’s arms, loved and protected and seen, the way he always wanted to be, even back when he was a child too shy to dare want anything.

The rest doesn’t matter not really, not when he’s proven his worth in spite of what others say, but…

He didn’t fail, and an old wound he didn’t know he still carried stops itching.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #worst engagement au #yes lxc will have to fucking work hard to get nhs to like him but still #it soothes my soul to write them happy here and there #jau writes #that was a lot of writing today but work really sucked and I needed something GOOD ok?#Anonymous

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renee-writer · 3 years

Text

Julia Chapter 46 Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise

AO3

She folds the little onesies that Jamie has bought ahead of today. As with her surgeries, he uses humor to get through. The tiny clothes have sayings on them like, ‘made with love and science, I survived the ice age and, the little embryo that could.’ They make her smile every time she sees them. That is her husband’s intent of course. To help her stay calm. Today is implantation day.

Jamie had done his part and now there is four fertilized ovum’s ready for implantation. Four little blastocysts that, if God wills, will become at least one child. Jamie comes up behind her.

“Your womb is ready. The wee ones are strong. We have a good chance here.”

“Yes. We do. Three shirts. Are you thinking triplets?” he chuckles against her hair.

“You know multiples are more common.”

“Yes. I am hoping twins. But they could all take. Cricky, could you imagine!”

“Let’s pray for one or two.” She nods.

She holds his hand all the way to the clinic. He runs his thumb over the top, soothing. They are both nervous about this. He tries to not show it to her but she knows. As they exit the car and head inside, she stops him. “No matter if it is four or none, we will be okay and will try again. We can always adopt if nothing else.”

“Aye.” He kisses her. “I love you Mrs. Fraser.”

“I love you.” They walk in.

“Are you ready for this Claire?” Dr. Duncan asks. She nods.

“Yes. I am so ready.”

“Okay. As we discussed there will be a little pinch with each one.” Jamie sits by her side and holds tight to her hand. “Let’s get you pregnant.”

She opens her wide with the speculum. The tiny eight celled fertilized eggs are carefully placed high in her prepared womb. It does pinch with each insertion. She holds still and clings tight to her husband’s hand.

“There you are Claire. Now just rest here for an hour then go home and rest. We will do a pregnancy test in a week. Good luck.”

“Thank you Geillis.”

She lays as still as a statue as she prays for the tiny babies to implant. Jamie is just as quiet, running his thumb over her hand. She knows he is doing the same. After an hour, the nurse comes to get her. She moves carefully off the bed. A wheelchair takes her out to the car.

“How do you feel?” Jamie asks.

“Pregnant until proven otherwise.” She answers with a grin. One hand rests on the place where four tiny ones are hopefully attaching.

“A grand way to think. Let’s get you home and into bed.”

#my writing #outlander fanfic #julia #pregnant until proven otherwise #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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bonnie-barstow-of-flag · 3 years

Text

The Not So Lonesome Knight Ch#18

continued from here X

It’s not foreign to Bonnie. There’s something distinctly unnerving about the Colombian at her side, presently prodding her with his gun. The longer she stared, the greater a sensation like an ever widening void in sinking sand becomes. With every inch deeper the hole became, the worse the feeling gnawed at her. She ought to know him from somewhere! Somewhere recent too. With her extensive memory, she should be able to recollect his name or his voice, without having to try THIS hard. Where had she seen him before?! The question burns relentlessly in her mind.

A questioning glance is cast towards Michael. His own countenance contained a determined scowl. Between his ferocious leerings, his darkening azure orbs boasted a calculating edge. He doesn’t seem to be aware that one of the guys could possibly be an old or new acquaintance. What he was thinking, Bonnie could not hazard a guess to, nor does she want to. Although she does pray that he is formulating some kind of plan.

When Knight caught the brunette’s wondering eye, his entire appearance softened. A half wistful hint of a smile is cast deliberately towards her. He didn’t care what the goons thought or how they’d react when he extended his large hand reassuringly towards her. She is his first and foremost priority.

The act earned him a sharp jab between the ribs. The sweltering bruise was entirely worth it in his book. Michael knew how desperately she needed reassurance right now. His confident and swift stride is tapered down to match Bonnie’s more frightened ones. They were in this together. They always have been and with any luck, they always would be.

His proffered hand is accepted without hesitation. Bonnie’s own delicate porcelain fingers curl tightly around his own. She clings to his hand as dearly as she did life. This too earned her a poke in the side with the barrel of a gun. Unlike Michael who only grunted in pain, she stutter-stepped, nearly folding inwards with agony. If it hadn’t been for Michael’s quick thinking, she might have collapsed.

“Keep movin’. Or I’ll decide to empty the whole magazine.” Growled the Colombian nearest to Michael. The man’s teeth flashed with vehement interest in the promise he just made. The snide likes of which, was just barely discernable as they approached the looming, post-midnight darkness.

Alarm pulses palpably through Knight’s system. It’s not a threat he takes lightly given the circumstances surrounding this case. “Easy, Bon.” Michael gritted between clenched teeth. He refused to let her get shot over something so infuriatingly stupid. “Let’s just do as they say for now.” The former cop knew compliance was the best option. They were severely outnumbered, and the odds just seemed to keep stacking against them. “Maybe we’ll find out where they’ve taken Kent.” He whispers nearly inaudibly. Or so he wishfully anticipated. That is, if this and their present case were connected. Michael had every reason to suspect that they were until proven otherwise.

Bonnie winces, her stiff stance straightens in correspondence with his words. While she’d have been tempted to throw a punch with her free-hand, it only curls into a tightened ball at her side. She hates this! She’s not even afraid to show it. Michael is right. They had no choice but to follow the Colombian’s orders. It is hard, but she swallows down a thick wad of contempt rising in her throat.

Michael’s steps slow even further. This time, the stalling movement was deliberate. Unintentionally, he drops Bonnie’s hand for anxiety caused them to spread wide. The Colombians capitalize on the mistake, putting distance between them.

His azure eyes flash around the dimly lit parking-lot seeking out Kitt’s presence. To Michael’s dismay, the sleek black Trans-am had vanished. There’s no trace or inkling of Kitt’s luminous red scanner piercing through the blackness.

Pins and needles curl down every inch of the FLAG agents skin. Kitt didn’t just go offline or disappear without having a good reason. So where had he gone? Why wasn’t Kitt answering the cries for help over the comlink? He wasn’t prone to systems malfunctions. So why were they failing so spectacularly when he needed Kitt the most? They didn’t just break or die. Bonnie’s work was some of the best in the world. Better than the black-boxes of airplanes, he reminds himself again. What did all of this have to do with the robbery? Furthermore, what did all of this have to do with Kent Steven’s disappearance? Had he been in negotiations with the Colombians? Was this all a set up? Every corner Michael turned seemed to attract a hundred more questions like an endless magnetic train, but no answers. Not even a one. His jaw twitches with frustration as he grits his teeth. He didn’t mind walking into a trap, but doing so with Bonnie at his side made him feel sick to his stomach.

She shivers against the cold prodding of the night’s air against her bare legs. Perhaps, she would have been better off putting on her dirty clothes after her shower than Michael’s shirt. At least they allowed her to put her shoes on. Walking the glass and pebble, strewn parking-lot without them would have been a real nightmare.

Bonnie’s gaze instinctively follows Michael’s about the lot. At nearly the same moment, she realizes Kitt’s absence. Her own mind floods with a trillion similar questions.

Before any efforts could be made to put pieces of this ever warping puzzle together, they are ushered towards a large idling U-haul truck. Other than the faded logo on the side, the truck was fairly non-descript. That was good for the Colombians and very, very unfortunate for the FLAG agents. If one of them would by chance, make it to safety, the only description that could be given would marginally be unhelpful.

The rumble of the engine amplifies with every step propelled towards it.

“Where are ya taking us?” Michael challenged the head enforcer. He gifts his words in a tone that demanded answers. “Come on, man. Ya owe us that much.” He knows that by merely posing this question, he’s inviting the Colombian enforcer’s ire. Pushing his luck one step further, he continues. “Sides what’s your boss Calderone have to do with any of this?”

The large enforcer’s hand meets Michael’s shoulder with crushing force. A gold toothy-grin is his malicious reward. “You’ll soon find out. Yes?” A disturbing air of glee-filled mirth lights up the man’s face.

It was enough pressure to cause the former undercover cop to wince in agony. His eyes squint closed for a minute as he tries to curtail the urge to say something he might regret.

Then shoving Michael towards the empty trailer, he adds, “and I owe you and your lady friend nada. I’m sure Senior Calderone and his mistress feel the same.”

“Get in.” The Colombian guard at Bonnie’s side roughly orders. His own free hand pushes her towards the downed ramp.

Skeptically, her eyes linger in the hollow shell of Uhaul. In the dim street-side light of the Motel’s parking-lot, she couldn’t discern anything the size of Kitt’s presence. He’s not here - either! Her heart sinks with a heavy thud in her chest.

Swallowing sharply, she peers back at Michael. She’s silently observing, bowing to Knight’s lead. Every once of common sense is telling her not to go anywhere with these brutes and yet, it would seem neither FLAG agent had much of a choice. Did they?

“Andele!” The Colombian at her side impatiently instructs. The gun is jabbed in her side again.

She’s stonewalling. He can see the fear coiled in her eyes in even the scant yellow glow cast over the truck. Michael couldn’t blame her. He held the same intense reservations. Yet, the guys with the guns are expert motivators.

Grimly, he nods. He knows she’ll understand the wordless command he offered. When the guard at Bonnie’s side threatens to pick her up like a sack of potatoes, Michael rushes his last several paces to make it to her side. He certainly didn’t need or want her to be more manhandled because of her slow compliance. “Come on, Bons. Ya can sit next ta me.” He chummily remarks offering her once again the comfort of his hand.

She clambers in at Michael’s side. With another glance cast towards her guard, the spell of Deja Vu breaks like the oncoming dawn of a new day over her. She gasps loudly. The sound resonating in the hollow void surrounding them.

Michael tugged her closer to him as they both sat. Worry flashes across his face when she gasps. “What? What is it?” He questions with his alarm swelling exponentially. Whatever she discovered, he was sure that he was going to despise it.

#The Not So Lonesome Knight #Knight Rider 1982 #The Not So Lonesome Knight ch18 #bonniebarstowofflag

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