Tumgik
#which i am only just barely going to be able to renew because i finally got the documents notarized to have a copy of my birth cirtificate
whim-pr0ne · 5 months
Text
SEASON FINALE SPOILERS
we were robbed.
you could tell they had to cram 3 episodes into the season finale. I thought maybe they would throw us a bone and make it at least an hour long but when I saw it was only 30 minutes I knew it was going to be rushed to shit.
they've also written it in a way that if it doesn't get renewed for another season then it still had an ending that made sense.
it hurts my heart that we didnt get three full episodes.
one exploring stede and eds separation.
one where Ed comes back and realizes how in love he is with stede- how much he regrets leaving on a whim. how badly he needs to find and rescue stede. (the look on his face when he sees the Republic on fire and he realizes that he wasn't there to protect stede like he has been doing since the beginning)
finally tying it up with the final episode where they are reunited and have to go through escaping the English, saving their family, losing izzy and finding themselves as a couple again.
it was so rushed when we were told it was supposed to be taken slow. I wanted to watch them fall in love again. Stede still doesn't feel like Stede where as Ed seems to finally have found himself as Edward instead of blackbeard. Stede hasn't hit that part where he realizes he can just be Stede as well. he's still trying too hard to be a pirate instead of his own brand of gentleman pirate as he saw it before. I mean we hear Ed say he loves him (for the first time out loud unless I'm forgetting somewhere before) and Stede says I know instead of i love you too (although I did read a good take on how that wasn't what Ed needed to hear in the moment, but by not saying it-- he doesn't feel like Stede if that makes sense) he's not the man from the beginning of the season. killing ned really set him into this manic episode and I don't think he's over it yet or that Ed realizes he's still going through it.
don't get me wrong the good parts were good. they gave us a lot of closure it just didn't do it the justice it deserved. I'm going to have to rewatch this episode a few times just to try and process everything happening so fast.
i really hope that we get another season and its slow and domestic and Stede is able to find himself again with Ed.
but also excuse me while I WEEP over izzy calling him Eddie and dying knowing he found his family 😭
anyone else just fucking sobbing when Ed is reading the letter from Stede and then just bursting out laughing at the "YOU WROTE ME A LOVELY LETTER"
and excuse me they TATTOOED EACH OTHERS NAMES ON THEMSELVES???? AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN GOING TO SHOW IT???? Bruh (edit: I have been informed that the line could be referring to the act of grace contract and not literal tattoos but I REALLY HOPE IT'S LITERAL TATTOOS)
also the part where zheng is listing off their titles and she barely pauses between her title and Ed still makes me giggle because it sounded like "The Great Pirate Queen Blackbeard" which is totally accurate.
when they rest of the crew left after izzy told Ed they were his family and they loved him 🥺 just for Ed to stay back with Stede and Izzy on shore
he's not ready to be with that family just yet. just the two people he considered to have actually known him
THE WAY ED LOOKED AT STEDE DURING THE WEDDING VOWS PL E A S E.
ugh I could go on forever I am BROKEN
we better get another season or two 😭 I don't want this to be the end. it feels rushed and unfinished
10 notes · View notes
welcometothememeteam · 3 months
Text
I have received a vision while catching all the starters in the new Pokemon dlc and so it must be shared. It's time forrrrrr.....
WHICH POKEMON STARTERS EACH OF THE BALDURS GATE 3 CHARACTERS WOULD HAVE
I am basing this off the final evolutions of each starter, for example infernape instead of chimchar
1. Wyll: I believe in my heart of hearts this man would be best fucking friends with an empoleon. Not only would empoleons steal and water typing make it very effective as a shield for the week, especially against demons, but empoleons personality generally is very proud and upstanding. Like Wyll, it is proud but not prideful, not full of arrogance or superiority, but the pride of responsibility and leadership. I feel like they both represent something more than they are.
Also I think both Wyll and Empoleon are extremely cool and swag. Thats just me tho
Tumblr media
2. Lae'zel: I think Lae'zel would love a Feraligatr, and not because of any fucking jokes about what githyanki look like! I think she would deeply appreciate the ferocity and power that feraligatr has, with its incredible bite force and powerful legs. there isn't a lot in the pokedex about its personality, but I like to imagine it as a creature with a lot of loyalty, it sticks to those it has grown close to and will fight by their side until the bitter end. I think they would "spar" (read: play fight) often, with Lae'zel trying to give it more formal training, especially since totodile is known for having little control of its incredible jaw strength. I don;t think she would like that uncontrolled strength.
Tumblr media
3. Karlach: Karlach is the genesis of this stupid idea. I caught a tepig and thought, 'man, karlach would love an emboar' and I am fucking correct. Karlach obviously needed a fire type, and nothing suits her more perfectly than one of the Fire/Fighting types. Emboar not only fits her personality, but also her fighting stye, with its Black and white 2 pokedex entry saying "A flaring beard of fire is proof that it is fired up. It is adept at using many different moves." literally perfect for 'set my engine on fire and i am a master of killing diffderent varieties of demon' karlach. Not only that, but its original pokemon black entry has the line "It cares deeply about its friends." Emboar is Karlach the pokemon.
Tumblr media
4: Gale: This man needs a Delphox in his life fucking immedietly for a multitude of reasons. First of all, psychic types are genrally supposed to be smarter than your average person, so hopefully another companion like tara who would be able to keep with his smart ass. Speaking of his intelligence, we all know, despite this man's vast fucking intellect, he does not have the best foresight, making decisions that seem good in the short term, but not so great long term. Delphox can fix that! According to its X entry, it can literally see the future! let this man know if fucking with strange magic will go well or not. Also, its hidden ability is magician and its basically a witch. All in all, solid companion for Gale/
Tumblr media
5. Shadowheart: This one was a bit harder, but if we are talking about early game, still devoted to shar shadowheart, its got to be incineroar because it dont think any other starter matches incin for sheer drama value. Its literally and on fire cat that is also a pro wrestler. Also the secondary dark typing and edginess fits. If we are talking late game, Selunite shadowheart, Meganium. Maganium's whole bit is renewal and healing, giving life where it was previously taken away. The only starter that could be better at healing is primarina and that doesn't fit shadowheart as well as meganium does. I think the whole evolution line fits shadowheart pretty well as well. Starting with Chicorita, a barely sprouting flower, through Bayleef, where you can finally see the beginnings of the vibrant flower that is Meganium. I think that is somewhat mirrored in shadowhearts process of growing into herself throughout the acts, as she finds who she is without shar.
Tumblr media
6. Astarion: I think this one was the hardest for me, but I think it has to go to Decidueye. A ghost type archer whose signiture move is about taking control the battlefield by locking their opponents down? seems to fit with Astarion pretty well. The dex entry holds pretty true as well, stating that "Although (Decidueye is) basically cool and cautious, when it’s caught by surprise, it’s seized by panic." I am unsure if Decidueye is the perfect fit for astarion but the only other one I could imagine him with is greninja, but i dont think it fits as well as decidueye.
Tumblr media
Anyway! thats the main six. I might do additional ones later. The Shadowheart and Astarion ones are definitely the weakest, but I think they are still pretty good
2 notes · View notes
Tw: emotional and physical abuse, I guess.
I'm looking for advice.
I've been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years, since I was 18.
I've known the whole time but didn't know what to do about it. I've wanted to leave since 2021. I don't know how.
Everytime I try, the abuse gets worse. I barely have friends anymore. At least, friends I can be honest with since he reads all my text messages and anyone I'm "too honest" with, he blocks. I've lost over a dozen friends like this.
He always...rotates. He's nice for a while but after a few days, I can see the niceness cracking until...I finally mess up and he blows up and it's all my fault. It's always...all my fault.
If I can't keep up the act of being exactly how he wants me to be, the abuse gets worse. Whenever I try to leave, he tells me that I can leave...with none of my belongings, including the clothes on my back, my ID/wallet and my phone.
How am I supposed to leave? I've been wracking my brain on how to pull it off without him coming after me. I'm not even allowed to have a job anymore and whenever I talk about hypothetically getting a job, he gets incredibly stressed out and tells me ridiculously specific parameters for how I'd have to do the job "for my health" meanwhile the only time I'm stressed out is when he is directly abusive.
I'm scared I'll never get out and I'll never get my friends back, if they even want to be friends when I get out. I'm really scared they won't want to be but I'm trying not to let that stop me. I just want to be at peace.
Hi anon,
I'm so sorry about what you've been going through. You don't deserve to be treated this way.
I'd like to share with you this diagram of the cycle of abuse.
Tumblr media
This basically explains the cycle of abuse: the first stage is tensions building (personally I think the first stage is really calm because of the frog in hot water analogy but) where the victim may feel the need to placate the abuser. The second stage is incident, which is essentially the point where abuse occurs. The third stage is reconciliation, which may involve love bombing, excuses, blaming the victim, or gaslighting the victim. The fourth stage is calm, where the incident is brushed under the rug and the honeymoon phase initiates. This is a constant cycle in abusive relationships.
When I was in an abusive relationship, I also saw it as oscillations, which are basically waves with a pattern of high and low points. Somehow it always goes right back down to rock bottom, even when everything originally seems fine. It's frustrating, it's defeating, it's painful, it's exhausting, but most importantly, it's unnecessary. You don't have to go through this anymore.
I understand your fears around if your friends would want to resume their friendship with you when you're able to leave. As someone who was also isolated from friends during the abuse, I can say that some stayed and some didn't. But that really came down to who understood what I was going through and who chose to remain ignorant. If some people don't want to renew their friendship with you, while that's their right, it's probably for the best if they aren't willing to be there for you or understand what led you to distance from them for a while.
Leaving is hard, you're not alone in that. It took me multiple times to leave too. My idea is, if your abuser won't allow you to leave with your belongings, then you may try to find a time where you're alone to gather your things and leave (police can also escort to a shelter). But I would ultimately recommend looking into this resource which can help with establishing a safety plan, among other things.
If anyone else has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.
-Bun
3 notes · View notes
sensibledecay · 10 months
Text
dear mom, 
i haven’t written you a letter in a really long time, but i feel like there’s just so much to say. this year has been a significant one for me, and that is in large part thanks to you and the changing nature of our relationship. for the first time since i was a kid, i want to call you the minute something good happens. i want to ask you for advice when something scary or difficult comes up. things aren’t perfect, and i still need to learn how to ask for help and how to let go of insecurity, but i finally feel like we’re talking. i think a lot of this shift has been thanks to my aging, which has been scary, i can’t lie. i’m twenty-one, and that feels daunting and intimidating. i am no longer a teenager, though i joke that “i’m just a teenage girl in her twenties!” aging has come with a reckoning for me, especially as a woman. i feel like my youth, and in turn, my coolness and value, are slipping through my fingers. this has come with a renewed sense of fear and a surprising uptick in empathy. i look at you differently now than i once did, especially as i approach the ages when you experienced particular milestones. i’m the same age you were during the war, and that feels horrifying. i can barely handle the daily pressures of feeding myself and cleaning, let alone the seismic pressure of surviving when an entire country of people want you dead. 
i’ve been thinking especially about our relationship as it relates to age. i know things weren’t perfect, but i can finally absorb how young twenty-six really is. you were twenty-six when you got married, which doesn’t sound absurdly young, but to immediately have a child sounds like a terrifying nightmare. i can’t imaging moving across the world and taking the leap to get married, only to immediately have to handle the pressures of motherhood, alone. you were only twenty-seven when i was born. i just took a class with a bunch of twenty-seven-year-olds. these people seemed older than me in that they were more academically advanced, but that’s about it. i can’t imagine a single one of them having a child. 
furthermore, i’ve been mourning my childhood a lot recently. i grew up without kids in the neighborhood, without trees to climb, without block parties or family cookouts, without walking down the road to the store. this isolation was hard for me, and has socially affected me to this day. but, i never really thought about how this isolation would feel to raise children within. you and dad never had friends or family or any support system. i look back at some of our worst moments as mother and daughter, and as a family, and see a girl in her twenties losing her fucking mind because she’s all alone in a house, not even able to drive to the store, probably suffering from ptsd, her family across the globe, and unusually sickly children. you were living a goddamn nightmare. i can’t imagine how it must have felt. sure, i can levy critiques about how you should’ve gone to therapy and taken better care of yourself and built a support system, but it makes total sense why you didn’t do those things at the time. i think if you could do it all again, you might’ve taken those steps. 
all of this is to say, i think i’m finally beginning to get it. you did some crazy shit, and i have my fair share of issues, but god were the cards stacked against you. not to mention you had to do all of this in alabama. dad is a good person, but he can’t understand this the way other women can. and now that i’m a woman, approaching the age you were when you had me, i can’t imagine going through the same thing you did without totally losing my mind yellow wallpaper-style. 
it’s mother’s day, so i won’t blather on anymore about sad things (though that seems to be all i can write about these days, go figure). i really just wanted to say how much i love you, and how grateful i am for where we are now. thank you for listening, and changing, and loving me when i’m a cunt. thank you for sitting through my stupid decisions and mean-spirited rants and for watching me grow. thank you for supporting my writing. i can’t emphasize enough how much that means to me. thank you for teaching me how to be strong. i hope i’ve been able to teach you some things too, even though i’m still learning how to be a person. 
i love being bosnian. i love being a woman. and i love being your daughter, even when it’s been hard. i’m sure i will see things differently again and again as i grow up, but i think we’re on the right track for once. i’m still trying to learn to love myself and believe in myself and feel beautiful and feel valuable, but it really helps that i finally feel like you see me and understand me. womanhood is painful, and difficult, and nuanced. womanhood often leaves me feeling like sisyphus. i’m just pushing the rock of patriarchy up the mountain over and over again. but i feel like you understand what i mean when i talk to you about it.
 i’m watching you come into your own and start to care about your happiness in a way that you never have since i’ve known you, and i’m so proud of you. i’m rooting for you to find things that you’re passionate about and finally have all the fun you sacrificed for so long. you deserve to breathe fresh air and feel calm and happy for once. i hope you can transition into the next phase of your life with happiness and peace, and i hope i can help make that happen for you. i’m still not sure if i’m going to send this to you even as i’m writing it, but either way i hope you know how i feel about you. happy mother’s day or whatever. i hope we can keep becoming friends and that you won’t feel like your identity is limited to just motherhood. you are smart and capable and beautiful and so fucking interesting, so go out there and be greedy for happiness. take all the happiness you can find. that’s what i’m trying to do, and being able to talk to you about it has been so much fun. i hope i can make you proud and that we can keep getting closer and that i can keep writing things you like. i’m so excited to come home and see you and take you out to lunch and give you a hug. i love you, mom. happy mother’s day
ella <3
p.s. sorry this is in all lowercase, this is how i write in my google doc journal
0 notes
koffinrott · 3 years
Text
Somehow my aunt is trying to rope me into karaoke at a bar in a public place, which for most people is fine I guess, but like... I'm not vaccinated yet.
3 notes · View notes
hey luv, can i request some simple, domestic fluff with jonathan crane? like maybe jon having a casual heart attack from seeing reader in one of his shirts, trying their best to cook them both breakfast or feeding his crows, doesn't matter. i'm just in need of pure fluff with this rowdy stinkman garbage boy
Oh pure fluff, that's what I need now and seeing this request of our favorite but oh so terrible "God of Fear" made me determined to write it!!
Thank you for the request and I am sorry for taking so long to do it!
Tumblr media
Being one of the most known and wanted Villains of Gotham can be stressful for to only Jonathan but to his beloved as well since the batman knows of his relationship with (Y/n). Whenever he escapes arkham the first person the Batman would interrogate was her, thinking that the scarecrow would go to her first, or that she might know of his hideout, which she doesn't since he never took her there to begin with, and because he is a "hero" he never took her into custody sense she never really participated in any of his schemes or his escapes. Of course, he could have taken her for not reporting him whenever he was in her home, or going out on dates, but again he was a "Hero" who never harm civilians.
That was the only thing he was grateful to the batman for.
And despite his commitment to his life as the infamous Scarecrow, he had his other commitment to (Y/n) as Jonathan. It was difficult trying to balance between gasing the city and planning a romantic night for his hardworking Darling. So after escaping Arkham again and laying low for a few months until the batman was distracted with Joker again, to inform his henchman that he will take a couple of weeks off and they should do the same, with every few days one making sure that his lab wasn't burning.
He surprised (Y/n) with a getaway to out of Gotham to a Rural area, his childhood home to be exact. Despite is being a great mansion that has been past to generations Jonathan loathed the place but seeing how it has a lot of space and no-one dares to come near it of fear it being hunted, he renewed the home from the inside so he can use as a second area to escape to, in case Gotham no longer was safe for him, but now with his Darling that place became their home. So after making some adjustments he brought his (Y/n) to their now second home.
It was heaven for him, waking up and sleeping together, being in the same table in all three meals, and engaging into cute couple activities that he only saw on TV or read in books. It was really tempting to just forget his career in gothem and start a new just for the sake of experiencing this bless everyday for the rest pf his life.. But he knew it was impossible, so he wanted to enjoy these few days as long as possible.
Jonathan was forced awake when the sun light that seeped from between the heavy curtains assaulted his eyes. He groaned and turned around stretching his arm to your side in order to cuddle you until noon, but his brows furrowed when he was met with an empty cold space. He forced one of his eyes open and saw that you were no where to be seen. He knew that there was no reason to stay in bed if you weren't there with him, and so he stretched his limps before standing up and picking up his clothes that was discarded on the ground from your... Previous night "intimate activities", just the thought of it made grin like an idiot. He paused when realizing that his white dress shirt or missing, maybe it was somewhere in the halls, lost in your moment of passion no doubt so he shrugged it off believing that you wouldn't mind him walking around with only his pants.
"Now, where could you be?" He asked himself as he looked at your empty side. He didn't need to think more for his answer came in the form of wood cracking lightly from above him. "There you are."
He walked out of the room and made his way through the halls to the stairs that lead to the attic, which was quite spacious so he made it into a special room for his pet crows. He remembers the time he introduced (Y/n) to them, she was quite scared at first, which was very adorable to him, but with time the fear turned to simple nervousness and from that to adoration, which was some time troublesome because he doesn't seem to be able to keep her away from there, always wanting to feed and pet those dark creatures. Finally reaching the attic's door Jonathan had this mischievous thought of scaring you, the attic was mostly dark having only one big window that allows that sun light, many pillars he could hide behind without you directing him, I mean he did that many times with the batman and he was only able to catch glimpse of him, so he doubted that you would be able to even know he was around, confident with his plan he opened the door slowly and carefully to it won't make as much as a creak as he sneaked in. However, the entire plan was thrown at the window when he finally saw.
You stood there legs and feet bare, your hair a mess not brushing it after waking up probably, the only item covering you was his missing white dress shirt which was too big on you. Jonathan's eyes where wide in both shock and fascination, he could feel his heart hammer against his rib cage as you giggled from of of the crows feathers tickling you cheek. He must have made a sound some how for you turned around to look directly at him, and caused his heart ache to rise, for the top buttons were undone which showed a generous amount of you cleavage, and with the sun light bathing you, you literally shined in his. Poor Jonathan wanted nothing more than to fall on his knees for you.
"Jonathan." You called breaking him out of his train of thoughts.
You came towards him causing the crows around you to fly away to their nests. You had such a look of concern as you came closer.
"Hey, are you alright?" You asked as you titled your head to the side.
No able to hold it back anymore, Jonathan wrapped his arms around you bringing you closer to him, his nose buried further in the crook of your neck and his hummed in content when he felt your own arma wrap around him as you pressed yourself further against his body. You stood like that for what felt like hours, before you had to pry yourself away from him enough to look to his face.
"Someone woke up in a good mood." You stated with a smile that he returned.
"I did." He replied not letting you go, no that you tried anyway.
"And may I ask what is the reason professor?" You asked sounding intrigued.
The two of you started swaying with each other, until it looked like you were slow dancing to no music.
"Oh my dear it is a simple reason really." He said with a spin and he took you hand into his, his other hand resting on your waist while your own was on his bare shoulder.
"Is it now?" You continued to ask earning a him of approval from him.
He slowly stopped your small dance before taking your hand and kissed it tenderly but didn't pull it away from his lips enjoying the feeling of your skin.
"The reason my dear... Is because I seem to find myself smitten by you all over again." He confessed.
He could see a soft blush starting to show on your cheeks, embarrassed by his words, but you didn't allow it to show.
"Are you know?"
"Oh yes." He quickly said. "You fill my every thought even more than before, every minute I spend away from you feels like hours and the hours like days and the days to weeks and so on so forth."
"Then I guess nights spend scheming were terrible for you?" You asked enjoying his words and craving for more.
"Tormenting!" He almost exclaimed as the hand around your waist brought you close again." And the nights locked up at Arkham were agonizing."
"I did offer to visit you." You reminded.
"And risk the batman lurking over you even more or the cops sniffing after you?.. Never! I'd rather spent a thousand night and a day alone with the blissful thought that you were safe rather than drage you down with me."
He declared and you knew he was sincere. You pulled your hand away from his body only to bring them again to cups his face.
"Then what about me?" You asked with a pout. "I can't stand living those thousand night and a day knowing where you are but can't reach you. I'd probably go mad!"
You said as you dropped backwards dramatically but he caught you with a chuckle bringing up again to meet his blue eyes.
"You would go mad without me?" He asked with a grin.
"Of course." You answered with mot hesitation. "You aren't the only one smitten badly here, how do you think I felt when you same here all shirtless and messy?"
He raised a brow at your words the grin never leaving.
"You like that I look like a mess now?" He asked in a fake bewilderment.
"Well, yes, after all, everyone knows the uptight, serious and organized professor crame, but only I get to see the hot mess of a man Jonathan Crane." You said with a giggle.
Not able to resist anymore, with his arms still locked around you, Jonathan pulled you close to him as he leaned down to press his lips against your own and you kissed him back. The rest of your world was lost against his lips. The kiss was gentle and careful but it wasn't enough, greedy for more you sneaked your arms around his neck before running your fingers through his hair and gently clenching it as you pulled him harder against you. He groaned softly, low in his throat, and then his arms circled under you back gathering you against him and from the ground, causing you to let out a surprised yelp, breaking the kiss. You'd always be surprised at how truely strong Jonathan can be. You looked back to him, your eyes lost into his blue ones, you were about to lean down to continue the kiss but the moment was interrupted by your stomach growls.
You were suprised by the loud sound and because your eyes were locked on Crane's, you saw the exact moment his eyes slightly widened at the sound as well. Embarrassed and having no where to hide you buried your face against the crook of his neck. Your lover just laughed as he rubbed your back in comfort, finding the situation funny, his laughter eventually died down, but the grin was still there.
"How about we go to the kitchen for breakfast, and then... " he pressed his lips against your ears. "We can continue this after."
Lifting your head slowly to meet his eyes, you saw that the lust was still there and he could have just ignored your what he heard and continued to slam you against one of the wooden pillars so your moment of passion was not gone, but to him your needs are a priority... including food. So he slowly put you back down and with your arms locked together you made your way to the kitchen.
Yes, jonathan had some awful memories in this house, but with his darling new memories were made as the old once are being forgotten.
---
I hope you enjoyed this fic and that you don't mind the bit of spice in the end.
682 notes · View notes
Text
Burn like the Sun
Tumblr media
Rating: General
Relationship: Reader/Kyojuro
Summary: “Simply knowing you are safe is a plentiful reward in itself.”
As a survivor of the Infinity Train accident, the reader seeks out the man who had saved them to try and offer some sort of proper thanks. And while he is severely injured -- enough to have to lay down his duties as a Hashira -- Kyojuro is nonetheless happy to know that his actions had protected someone.
Tumblr media
"Is this the home of Kyojuro Rengoku?"
The question pulls the attention of the young boy standing outside the front of the gate of the vast home behind him, who had been sweeping diligently before your approach.
His bright, firey-colored hair is striking, but it is dwarfed immediately by the sharp red of his eyes as they move up to look at you. The resemblance to your savior is striking -- so much that you are sure that this is the right home before he even opens his mouth to speak.
"I-It is, yes," he says, voice oddly timid. "May I ask uh, why you are looking for him?"
He can't be older than twelve or thirteen. You try to offer him a comforting smile and gesture with your chin down to the small, cloth-wrapped bundle in your arms.
"I was one of the people he saved from the train accident a few weeks ago. I heard he was badly injured because of it and I..." you let the words trail for a moment as the boy (his brother? his son?) stares at you with a look that is not at all accusatory, but sharp all the same.
You clear your throat and speak, tone renewed, "I wanted to show him my appreciation and wish him well for his recovery."
At first the boy doesn't say anything in response. In the growing silence, you almost feel foolish. It had been hard enough to learn the man's name in the first place after the accident, but something about his presence had left a moment of terror and hopelessness instead with such warmth and comfort that the simple prospect of gratitude seemed the least you could offer.
Lost among your own thoughts and worries, the sound of the boy's voice rings out and drags you back into the moment.
"Let me go ask him first, if that's alright."
You're barely able to offer but a syllable of a reply before he's already slipped past the front gate and out of sight into the grand house beyond. It is as large as you were told, though you can't recall any prominent businessman nor politician with the family name of Rengoku. Some of your contacts had called him a swordsman -- had his family once served as samurai?
The possibilities proffered more questions than offered answers, leaving you to simmer in your own curiosity for several minutes until the young fire-haired boy emerged from the house and hurried towards you.
"He says you can see him -- he's also happy to know you're okay."
The boy -- Senjuro, you later learn as his name -- quickly explains how to get to Kyojuro's room, though you're too lost in the warmth in your chest from the too-simple notion 'he's happy you're okay' to pay all that much attention past the first two turns. But you thank him all the same and shuffle towards the house, leaving Senjuro to continue sweeping up with only the slightest, softest curiosity in his eyes.
Once inside the house, you’re taken aback by how… empty it feels. You’d expect a home as large as this to be busy with people — whether family or workers tending to it. You find neither, greeted instead by silence and an unnerving amount of peace.
It doesn’t take long to start trying to recall the directions that the young Rengoku boy had given you. A turn down the left hallway, past the third door and then… ah?
You couldn’t quite recall after that. Left or right? Was there another hall, or was Kyojuro’s room along the outside? One question bumbled into another until your unsureness twisted itself up into a ball of knots. Despite the confusion, you didn’t want to seem even more foolish by moving back to Senjuro and asking for directions again when he had gone out of his way to describe them once already. So you stand there, frozen by your own indecision at the edge of a corner-
Until someone suddenly turns it, running straight into you with enough force to leave you stumbling backwards. You would have fallen on your ass if it wasn’t for the fact that the same offender reached out suddenly and grabbed your arms, which were otherwise holding with a vice grip on the wrapped bundle still against your chest.
“I’m so sorry!” a bright voice offers, soft but merrily. “I didn’t see you standing there. Are you alright?”
It takes a moment for your thoughts to straighten and your gaze to fix upon the person who had both run into you and kept you from toppling backwards.
Blonde hair with firey tips, eyes brighter than rubies and sharper than a fine point. Though his face is covered in bandages and there’s a patch over his left eye, the recognition feels like icewater dumped over your head.
“K-Kyojuro Rengoku?” you ask, embarrassed in the stutter of your own voice.
“Yes?” the man tilts his head. You’re not able to say anything further before he suddenly winces, pulling his arms back against his body and drawing your gaze down over the rest of his body — as well as his multitude of injuries. Broken bones and layers of bandages seemed to but scratch the surface for all that he is dealing with, which made you feel the heavy weight of gratitude twice, no, three times over in his saving your life.
“Shouldn’t you be laying down?”
Kyojuro merely laughs. Though the sound must pain him, it doesn’t muffle the blossoming warmth of the noise as it fills the air around your ears. It’s strange, in a way; does the sound of his voice often have this effect on people?
“I’m well enough to walk,” he finally says, pain and aches hidden so dutifully behind his eyes that you have to second-guess yourself whenever his lips press together in a brief, but tense line. A smile, however, quickly moves across his face. “I thought it would be easier if I met you halfway so you didn’t get lost! You are the one who came to visit me, correct?”
You nod.
“Y-yeah. I’m uh. One of the people you… saved. On the train, a few weeks ago. I wanted to thank you and… maybe get to know you a little bit.”
The man watches you silently as you explain yourself, but not for a moment does a sense of judgement press on your shoulders from his attention. He simply listens, politely waiting for you to finish before responding.
“It must have been hard to find me,” he comments almost idly, some mixture of amused and impressed. “How did you manage it?”
The question is filled with an odd sort of praise, so you lower your head down until your eyes are on the ground and your mind is a shambling mess trying to piece words together.
“I uh. I have some friends in high places, you could say.”
“Well!” he chuckles. “That almost sounds like a threat!”
“Oh no, no no no no-” flustered, you immediately raise your eyes up and begin waving one hand about frantically as if to dissuade the notion entirely. “I promise I didn’t mean that as a— I mean, my family—… I…”
Your broken explanation is cut short when Kyojuro reaches up a hand towards your face, index finger curling ever so gently beneath your chin that you barely feel the heat of his skin against yours.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and for a moment you feel your heartbeat go still. “I promise I meant it only as a jest. You went to great lengths simply to see me, and you certainly didn’t need to.” His hand slowly lowers, but your gaze is held to his as if bound by unseen threads. “Simply knowing you are safe is a plentiful reward in itself.”
“I- I uh. It’s not-” the words fall broken and useless from your lips like shards of glass with no hope of coming together to make a cohesive sentence. Perhaps it’s for the best, since you’re not even sure what you can try to say in response to such an earnest notion of safety from someone who didn’t even know your first name.
And that is what finally pulls your thoughts into clarity.
You step back, providing just enough space between yourself and your savior so that your mind can clear and your heart can stop beating so damn quickly. Once you regain a sense of sensibility you all but glare at the man.
“My name is-” you say, brows knitted and stance firm as you all but aggressively introduce yourself to the man who had sacrificed so much of himself for your safety. For the safety of hundreds.
And Kyojuro watches, and listens, and then he smiles.
“That’s a nice name,” he says, then chuckles again, then bows his head for a moment. “Though you seem to know already, I am Kyojuro Rengoku. It’s quite the pleasure to meet you then! Properly meet you, at least. One less train involved.”
As the words settle humorously in the air, you watch Kyojuro turn and make a gesture to follow behind him. For a moment you’re confused, but he turns his face back to you and nods in the direction of the hall a few steps ahead.
“You wanted me to rest, yes? We can do so overlooking the back garden. I figure you’d like to sit and talk for a while-” and then he pauses, as if a moment of realization is just now moving across his thoughts. “…unless there is somewhere else you need to be?”
Bashful instinct presses at the root of your tongue to agree, perhaps even to make up some silly excuse for why you couldn’t stay for long. But then your eyes catch and hold onto a gaze that seems like brilliant rubies, and his voice echoes so warmly in your ears. And then you remember noting how empty the house felt when you stepped inside of it, devoid of anyone but what might be the last few members of the Rengoku family.
How lonely.
A shake of your head and motion of your legs happen before you can even think.
“O-oh no, I… have the day free. Though of course I didn’t assume you yourself had the time to entertain anyone, with you… healing up, and all.”
Kyojuro smiles for a moment before leading the way down the hall, his motions a bit stilted by injuries, but proud all the same. You held a deep respect for the man and his willpower despite knowing so little about him — and you certainly wanted to know more.
“I actually enjoy the company,” he says, just as you move in-step beside him. “And you are the first person from that accident to try and find me — perhaps the only one! So, if you’ll humor me for a bit of your time… I would like to learn more about you as well.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him smiling. Despite the countless injuries that undoubtedly leave him in pain, some perhaps permanent, the man continues to smile as wide and as bright as the sun itself.
And you are glad to have met him.
252 notes · View notes
daloy-politsey · 3 years
Link
On my first date with Yehoram, I offered him a sip of my prosecco at the hip Tel Aviv bar I had brought him to. He tensed, paused and quietly replied, “I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know if it’s kosher.” I immediately recognized his confession for what it was: a coming-out. I told him that it’s fine, that we can ask the waitress if the wine has a certification, that I grew up in an observant family too. He finally breathed.
I already knew that Yehoram is female-to-male transgender. In fact, it was the only thing written on his dating profile. Over the course of our year-long relationship, and then our seamless transition into friendship late last year, he explained to me that the queer community will often accept that he is trans but not that he is religious. But the same is not always necessarily true of the religious community – and particularly of his family.
There are many preconceptions about his family. The matriarch Mazal, 74, and patriarch Yehiel, 78, were both born in Sana’a, Yemen, and immigrated to the newly-declared State of Israel in early childhood. (Haaretz is honoring their request not to publish the family name.) They are visibly Haredi: Mazal wears long skirts and tucks her hair into modest black caps; Yehiel trims his salt-and-pepper beard, and wears a uniform of crisp dress shirts, black pants and a black velvet kippa.
They speak with heavy Yemenite accents – which have been at least partially adopted by their seven children – and their speech is seasoned with religious aphorisms and allusions. People are surprised to learn that Yehoram, 32, is accepted and supported by his parents, to a degree that is rare even in the secular homes of Tel Aviv.
At their kitchen table in a town near Rehovot, central Israel, Mazal has set out water, juice and a homemade cake. Yehiel has set down a voice recorder of his own, to make sure he isn’t misrepresented. They have a story to tell about being the parents of a trans son, and they have decided that I am allowed to tell it.
Before we begin the interview, both are apprehensive. After much deliberation, they decide that I can publish their names but not their images. Yehiel is a respected figure in religious circles: he serves as his synagogue’s main cantor on the High Holy Days, is a mezuzah scribe and kashrut supervisor for the Chief Rabbinate. He spends his free time poring over religious texts, with Yehoram often alongside him. His son no longer attends the local synagogue in which his father plays so large a role; the congregation knew him before his transition, and it could hurt his family’s reputation.
If someone goes to the rabbi with this article in hand and tells Yehiel that he’s out of the fold, “at our age, there’s no fight left. There’s nothing you can do,” he says. “It would destroy me.” When he thinks I cannot hear him, he says that he suspects that one of his contracts as a kashrut supervisor was not renewed for this exact reason – because of his unconventional family.
But if getting his story out shows religious parents that they can embrace their own LGBTQ children, he wants it published. “I want to help,” he says.
Mazal chimes in. “Both of us do. You hear these stories about parents throwing their children out ... I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how you throw out your child.”
She recounts going to the shivah of a friend of Yehoram’s – the transgender queer activist DanVeg, who took her own life in 2016.  “I saw them all in the living room, with their heads on each other’s shoulders. I started to cry. I wanted to hug them all, to go one by one. And they came to me; they saw the look in my eye. There was a man who had become a woman, who came to hug me. And a young girl, and more. I couldn’t take it,” she says, wiping away tears that are coming faster and faster. “More and more of them told us that they’re alone, abandoned by their parents. How can you throw out your child? The child of a human being!”
I get up to hug her, and she cries into my back: “Why? Why would you throw your child out of your house? Why?”
They say they never suspected that Yehoram was different before he came out to them, if not unconventionally, as queer at the age of 18, some 14 years ago.
He did not employ the usual lexicon: “I told them, this is how I am – I’m wearing pants from now on and I’m not interested in men,” he recounts. In Yehoram’s absence, Yehiel recalls it as well. Yehoram sat his parents down in the living room and said his piece, and then asked his parents for a response.
“We got up immediately, as if it were coordinated,” Yehiel says. “We hugged [him] from both directions … and we told [him], ‘You have nothing to be afraid of, no need to worry. You’re our daughter, it doesn’t matter what you do.’” Yehoram then opened his backpack to show a couple days’ clothes inside. “If you didn’t accept me, I would have killed myself,” he told his parents.
From there, they worked to make sure that their son wouldn’t, for one moment, forget that he is loved and cared for. They also made sure that he could live a normal life. “It was important that he be self-sufficient, have a respectable career, be able to build a life without us,” Yehiel explains. “Every day, I’m afraid that he won’t be here. I think about how he can build his life so he’s not dependent on anyone else.”
Mazal and Yehiel tend to refer to Yehoram with female pronouns when he isn’t in the room, and occasionally slip into them when he is. To her, Mazal says, he will always be their daughter. “It’s hard for me,” Yehiel concurs. “[He] should be patient.”
Mazal calls him by his chosen name – an anagram of his birth name – to make him happy. “And to connect with [him] – what can you do? We love [him] either way. [He’s] our daughter.”
There have been difficulties in accepting him along the way, she concedes. But like many parents of LGBTQ children, they are mainly rooted in concerns that he will be able to live a safe, fulfilling life.
No one should mistake their acceptance for liberalism – they repeatedly note that the Pride Parades, with their scanty clothes and glitter, are unsightly. “The left brings it in,” Mazal says. “Non-Jews from abroad, with all their tattoos and whatnot.” However, their embrace of their transgender son and the many queer people who have passed through their doors does not come in spite of their firm religious beliefs, but is the direct result of them.
Yehiel, a lifelong religious scholar, has poured over sources biblical, talmudic, rabbinic and kabbalistic. The kabbalistic concept of the soul provides a simple explanation for the transgender phenomenon, he believes.
“We have the knowledge that Jewish souls can be reincarnated into anything – into non-Jewish families, into animals, even into food,” Yehiel explains. “We were taught that the soul of a man can be reincarnated into a woman, in order to remedy something he had done in a past life.”
When Mazal was pregnant with Yehoram, she had already given birth to five daughters and was hoping for a son. The couple went to a respected rabbi, who told them to buy a bottle of wine for the circumcision ceremony and to come see him 40 days into the pregnancy. Yehiel says that when the time came, it was hard to get hold of the rabbi to schedule an appointment, and they were only able to see him eight months in. The rabbi gave them the blessing regardless.
“The body was already formed female,” Yehiel says, but the prayers had worked: “The soul was male.”
And there is scripture to back up the existence of LGBTQ people within Judaism. “You’re not different, you’re not strange,” Yehiel says. “This [phenomenon] has always existed. It’s in the Torah, and it’s in the mystical sources.” Mazal adds: “It’s a shame that we don’t lay this out these days, to have everything written up and organized to say that it’s all there in scripture.”
At 26, Yehoram told his parents he was transitioning. He underwent top surgery – a double mastectomy – without informing them. “On the one hand, it hurt us,” Yehiel admits. “For us, it meant that’s it – it’s sealed. If he’d told us in advance, we would have told him to wait. Maybe the situation would change.”
But what’s done is done, Mazal says. “What hurt me is that [he] underwent the surgery and I wasn’t there. That ate at me.”
Both loudly agree that the important thing is that he is happy and healthy. “We hope just for success – and thank God there are many successes, so everything is alright,” she says. “I’m just waiting for children,” she laughs.
Yehoram, who has taken a seat next to her, smirks. Mazal jokes about him coming home pregnant one day. He’s slightly irked, but jokes along. A couple of years ago, he froze his eggs through Ichilov Hospital’s fertility clinic for transgender men, and hopes to one day become a father, no matter how he has to do it. His parents strongly supported the move. They have 31 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
Yehoram asks a question of his own: Whether his parents want to talk about the time they took him to an esteemed rabbi in Tel Aviv, after he came out at 18.
“After he told us everything, we consulted with a rabbi,” Yehiel relays. “I remember that he got angry and yelled at him. I didn’t like that. He hurt him, and I couldn’t stay any longer, so we left.”
“The rabbi told me that I had lapsed, deteriorated in my spirituality,” Yehoram explains. It’s clear that he remembers it vividly. “That I had fallen.”
After that, the rabbi told him to leave the room, and for his parents to stay. “I heard shouting, and then you left the room,” he says to his parents. “You didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything. We were quiet all the way home.”
No one discussed the incident for days after, and they barely spoke at all. After three days, Yehoram says, he asked his mother what had happened after the rabbi told him to leave the room.
“I didn’t know what happened, I assumed the worst. You told me that [Dad] got very angry and told [the rabbi], ‘How dare you hurt and belittle a Jewish soul?’ You said you had to give him however much money, and that you just threw a small bill onto the table and left the room,” Yehoram tells his mother. “It really surprised me. I thought you were on his side, and then I suddenly heard that you were on mine.”
When he is with us in the room, Yehoram sometimes seems agitated by his parents’ insistence that their acceptance has always been complete. He tries to direct them toward other instances, other rabbis they don’t or won’t recall. It is often difficult for parents to acknowledge the pain or discomfort that their actions caused their children, even if they were accidental. Mazal brings out a picture from Yehoram’s bat mitzvah, of them embracing the young girl he was. They look almost exactly the same, 20 years later, beaming. Young Yehoram, in a long-sleeved, high-necked dress, is smiling, but the smile does not reach his eyes.
Elisha Alexander, co-CEO and founder of the transgender advocacy and information organization Ma’avarim, says that even though Yehiel and Mazal’s acceptance of their son may seem unique, he would like to think it’s more common than we assume.
“There are religious and even ultra-Orthodox people who accept their trans family members, but it’s usually in secret. The main problem in these communities is the leadership,” he says.
But if more of them realized that embracing their children was a matter of pikuach nefesh – the Jewish concept that saving a life supersedes most religious commandments and norms – they would be more inclined to find a halakhic solution to integrating transgender people into these communities.
There is also a misconception that acceptance is a binary choice: That any parent who does not kick their transgender child out of the house or disown them has, by default, accepted them. “This could not be further from the truth,” Alexander says. “Accepting your child means accepting every aspect inherent to them, including their gender identity, pronouns and so on.”
When parents refuse to do so, their child may seek acceptance elsewhere. He adds that studies show that acceptance within the family drastically reduces the suicide rate among transgender people.
Knowing this, Yehiel says that any parent in his position must continue loving and supporting their child. “This child can fall,” he says. He does not mention it, but he is aware of the stories and statistics: trans youth who find themselves on the street face high rates of abuse and exploitation. Thirty to 50 percent of transgender teens report suicidal thoughts and behaviors – a rate three times higher than for teens overall. But that figure falls to 4 percent when families accept and embrace them, says Sarit Ben Shimol, manager of the Lioness Alliance for families and transgender children and teenagers.
Yehiel adds that it is the duty of parents to give children the support they need to thrive. “As a parent, it is your responsibility to tell your child: You are my child and you are my life. My life depends on you. Watch over me so that I can watch over you,” he says.
As we get up from our seats, Yehiel looks at me for a moment and asks, “If it’s not too personal – since we already opened up the topic – what is your relationship like with your parents?”
I tell them that I talk to my parents, and especially my mother, almost every day. That it was difficult for them to come to terms with my sexual orientation as well, and that sometimes I have an inkling that it still is, even if they won’t say it outright. But I try to be patient.
“Good,” Mazal says. “It’s important to be patient – they’re learning too.” She embraces me again, and Yehiel rests a hand on my shoulder. They invite me to come again, whenever I like. “After all, you’re like our daughter, too.”
228 notes · View notes
extasiswings · 3 years
Note
44 please ma'am the serotonin I need it
#44 "You've always felt like home." On ao3 here.
Eddie finds words difficult.
Most people assume that’s because he doesn’t know what to say or how he feels, that he’s deliberately holding back—but that’s not usually the problem. Sometimes, yes—words are difficult because they mean too much, because he feels too much, because cutting himself open for someone else to root around inside of him and risking them finding him wanting is terrifying. But usually—usually it’s that words aren’t enough. They so often feel inadequate on his tongue, insignificant. Besides which, words alone can be so easily tainted.
I love you, I need you, I want you—phrases composed of straightforward sets of three little words. Phrases that he’s said before, but gradually stopped. Because they’re not so straightforward in practice. With Shannon, as years went on, as they broke down, words became qualified.
I want you...but not all of you.
I need you...but I can’t trust you.
I love you...but it’s not enough.
Eddie doesn’t know how to say those things again without those connotations bleeding through. So he doesn’t.
Actions. Actions are clearer. Actions are solid. He prefers actions, prefers symbols, because he’s not limited by the boundaries of vocabulary. And yes, sometimes he still has to find words to use in addition, but it’s easier when there’s something concrete to ground them.
“There’s no one in the world I trust with my son more than you.”
“I forgive you.”
“That’s not going to happen to us.”
“You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong.”
The problem is, he can’t seem to find the right combination of actions and words to get Buck to understand his real meaning. The problem is, even if he could fall back on one of those little three-word phrases, he’s not sure Buck would believe him. After all, he gave Buck the most important piece of him, Christopher, legal and notarized and wrapped up in an official bow, and Buck still only seems to accept the bare minimum notion that Eddie wants him around.
So, Eddie sits with his feelings—with love and want and need, desire and trust and faith—he sits with them for months after the shooting while he tries to piece himself back together and Buck dates Taylor. He sits with them when he backslides a bit after they respond to a call with a gunshot victim, when Buck breaks up with Taylor and doesn’t explain why, when Buck goes back to being there with him, with Christopher, all the time, his own apartment more of a formality.
Sometimes, usually late at night when they’ve been drinking, Eddie will look over and wonder if he shouldn’t just close the distance and kiss him. Pull Buck down the hall to his bed and strip him bare, put his mouth on every inch of skin and press love into him until he’s wrung out and gasping. It would be easy.
But. Buck—Buck has spent a long time as an object of desire, believing himself to be good for little else than whatever his body can give to others. And he’s gotten better about that, Eddie knows, but that doesn’t mean Eddie wants to risk sending him back to that kind of thinking. He doesn’t want to give Buck any reason to ever question what he wants from him.
So, no. It can’t be a seduction. Not unless Buck initiates it, and even then he has to handle it right.
It has to be right. Buck deserves that.
In the end, though, it all comes back to the shooting. Which seems…fitting.
***
Buck doesn’t know why Eddie’s suddenly decided to be cryptic as anything. Of course he can have his own plans and they’re not joined at the hip, but Eddie usually does at least tell him things, especially when he’s asking him to watch Christopher. But instead, Eddie’s been vague, on two different occasions just saying that he has an appointment and vanishing for several hours. It’s weird, but when Buck hesitantly asks if Eddie’s back in therapy, Eddie shakes his head, gives him a small smile, and assures him that he’s fine.
So, then, Buck wonders if Eddie’s dating again. And the thought of that—well.
He’s been doing better, is the thing. He knows he belongs, that he has a life in LA and a place with Eddie and Christopher and that Eddie’s not going to show him the door if he gets another girlfriend. Buck knows that. He’s come a long way.
But the idea still makes him feel…sick. Like he missed his chance. Because he’s been waiting and waiting and waiting to be better, to be able to think about being with Eddie in the way he really wants without panic closing his throat as his mind takes him back to standing on a street covered in blood. He’s been waiting for Eddie to be in a better place too.
He thought they had time. He thought he had more time.
He doesn’t know how to ask though. So he doesn’t, just lets it grate at him, itching under his skin. At least, until he happens to look over in the locker room at the right moment a month later to see—
“What’s that?”
Eddie turns his head as he shrugs his uniform shirt on.
“What’s what?”
“That—” Buck can’t help himself from closing the space, tugging the unbuttoned fabric aside to get a closer look at the large swath of black and grey over Eddie’s upper chest.
It’s a sunflower on a diamond backdrop, the stem growing up from the bottom point. The style of the petals makes them look almost three-dimensional and the center is ever so slightly raised, a byproduct of working Eddie’s scar tissue into the design. Buck swallows hard as he stares, his hand lifting unconsciously to touch because he knows what’s there, he knows it’s a scar, he knows because he watched it happen, held pressure on the wound. But Eddie’s not bleeding now. It’s just ink. Ink painting over scars and skin alike and shading the reminder of one of the worst moments of Buck’s life into something beautiful.
“When did you do this?” He asks, only to realize immediately. “Oh. Your secret appointments—”
“Yeah,” Eddie replies quietly. His eyes are soft. “It wasn’t really secret, I just…I was going to tell you when I figured out how.”
Buck blinks. When he figured out how? He glances down again and clears his throat when he realizes his palm is pressed firmly to Eddie’s skin, his fingers splayed over the tattoo. But he doesn’t pull away.
“Why—um. I mean, it’s your tattoo, it’s not my business, you didn’t need to tell me—”
“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says. He looks nervous, glancing away, his fingers leaping to his hair. And for some reason, that makes Buck’s mouth go dry.
“Why?” He manages again. Eddie’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips and Buck can’t quite stop himself from watching.
“Because it’s for you,” Eddie admits finally. “It’s you.”
Buck goes still and meets Eddie’s eyes.
…and of course, that’s when the alarm goes off.
***
It’s a long, hectic shift, with very little time to talk. Which, for once Eddie is grateful for. It’s a conversation he’s prepared to have, but not in public. Not at the station. So when Buck lingers in the locker room as they’re changing to leave, shooting him glances, Eddie bites his lip and looks back.
“Meet me at home?” He asks. And Buck sucks in a startled breath, his gaze searching for a moment before he nods.
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll meet you…at home.”
Christopher is still at school so they have a little time once Eddie walks through his front door to Buck sitting on the couch, staring at his hands and lost in thought. Eddie doesn’t say anything at first, just goes through the motions, slipping his shoes off by the door and dropping his keys in the bowl next to it. And then he sits next to Buck on the couch and waits.
“You said…it was for me?” Buck says finally.
Eddie’s tongue traces the edges of his teeth as nerves shake up his stomach.
“Yeah.”
“You haven’t covered any of your other scars,” Buck points out.
“I know,” Eddie replies.
“So…why?”
Eddie bites his lip and shrugs. “Because I hate that one. And so do you. And because the best part I remember from that day is you telling me that you had me and that everything would be okay. Because I believed that then and I believe it now. Because I wanted—”
He cuts off and clears his throat. He doesn’t know where that sentence goes. He wanted something permanent? Wanted the symbol?
Buck finally looks up from his hands.
“You asked me to meet you at home,” he says. “But you didn’t say…your home. You just said home”
Words are difficult. But these ones are easy.
“You’ve always felt like home,” Eddie replies. “Wherever you are—this place—”
“I’m in love with you,” Buck blurts out, and Eddie’s heart skips.
Finally. Finally.
“Well that’s convenient. Since…I am, too.” Those words are easy and Buck surges forward and kisses him. Eddie presses into it, relief coursing through him.
“Your lease is up soon, isn’t it?” He asks breathlessly when Buck pulls back.
“Yeah,” Buck replies. “Why?”
Eddie kisses him again. “Don’t renew it,” he mumbles against Buck’s lips.
“No?”
Eddie shakes his head. “No. Stay.”
Some words are easy.
187 notes · View notes
amyscascadingtabs · 3 years
Text
give you my wild, give you a child
"stupid numbers, think they’re so great. i'd love to see numbers give you a baby."
inspired by that one line in 8x08 renewal, because he really did give her a baby.
read on ao3
It's been three days and Amy can't stop crying.
 Sometimes she thinks it's stopped, that she'll finally have a stable moment to talk to her husband or eat a meal in peace or facetime some of the twenty or so relatives on her list, but it feels like it’s never more than minutes before her emotions swim to surface again and something new brings out the vibrating sobs that have seemed to characterize this day. As it turns out, even newly pregnant Amy has got nothing on three days postpartum Amy.
 That she cries about the big, life-changing things doesn’t surprise her. When she wakes up after a night of minimal sleep and sees Mac in the bedside crib next to her, she cries because she’s so grateful; that everything went well, that their baby is finally here and that he's perfect beyond words. Then she cries because she thinks about what could have happened if it hadn't gone well, because she gave birth in a makeshift birthing suite in a police precinct, and so many things could have gone wrong it’s a miracle nothing did. When she gets out of the shower, she cries seeing herself in the bathroom mirror, because she's proud of her body in a way she's never experienced before. Then she cries because she also barely recognizes the person staring back at her, still looking six months pregnant except with hospital underwear and nursing pads in her bra. When she has breakfast after feeding Mac and tries to read the newspaper, she cries because so many terrible things are happening in the world all the time, and she doesn’t know how she’s going to protect this child from a world that sometimes seems to be getting more and more cruel by the day. Then she cries out of guilt for feeling that way, because she’s supposed to be enjoying this baby bubble, and what kind of mother even is she for daring to think about anything but her baby right now?
  As the day goes on, however, her reasons for crying begin to feel increasingly ridiculous. She cries because she’s so relieved to be drinking regular coffee again, then because it doesn’t taste the same as decaf and she’s gotten so used to it that the caffeine tastes weird now. She cries because the coffee goes cold anyway when Mac begins to whimper and suck on his fingers in the way he seems to do whenever he’s hungry and she has to drop everything to feed him another time. She cries when Jake turns on the television and a commercial for diapers comes on, because she can’t believe they get to buy them now. Then she cries when Mac has finished eating because the red flannel she borrowed slash stole from Jake won’t button properly, and she realizes one of the buttons has gone in the wrong hole and she has to redo the whole thing. When Jake offers to help her with it, that makes her cry too, because the way he’s not laughing at her right now but patiently trying to solve her problems is making her feel so loved she doesn't know how to thank him.
  The thing that makes her cry most of all, though, is watching Jake and Mac together. She always knew that sight would drive her crazy, and it’s part of the reason she wanted to have kids with him so much in the first place, but not even in her most indulgent fantasies about their future could she have pictured this. As grateful as she is over the fact that she gets to be a mom, getting to see Jake be a dad is a close second. He loves their son so much, and Mac so clearly loves him too, and Amy has to remind herself of the nine months she's spent carrying this child by herself in order not to feel jealous when Mac stops fussing the moment Jake picks him up. He looks so tiny when Jake holds him, the back of his head fitting perfectly in Jake's palm, and the care with which he’s handling him keeps making her emotional. He's always talking to him, sometimes whispers she can't hear and sometimes praise for her which she can, and that makes her cry too. He even chats to him when he changes his diapers, which Amy hides behind the door frame just so she can hear, failing to stifle a giggle when he asks in a fake interrogation voice what Mac has to say to his defense for making such a mess. He wakes up with her in the middle of the night when she has to breastfeed to get her endless glasses of water and granola bars when it makes her feel starving, and then he lets Mac burp him in the face and spit up on the back of his shirt before he falls back asleep curled up on his chest. He leans his chin on the top of Mac’s head to smell that perfect baby scent, running his finger over those cute neck rolls, and the smile on his face when he looks back at Amy makes her completely lose it, because this is what she dreamed of all along.
  This is what she imagined when they visited her brother Christian’s new baby shortly before they got married and Jake spent the better part of an hour making funny faces to the child in his arms. This is what she panicked over when he said he wasn't sure if he wanted kids, because she had always thought. This is what she thought of those nights after another timed round of unenthusiastic sex, trying to keep the hope alight until that single line would once more tell them not this time. She had felt it in his teary smile when she showed him that first positive test, in how hard he'd squeezed her hand at their first ultrasound when their baby’s heartbeat had filled the room, in the absolute joy on his face the first time he’d managed to put his hand on her stomach just in time to feel their son kick, and now it's right in front of her and almost too much for her heart to take.
 She's so tired, and she's sore and overwhelmed and worried about a billion different things, but she's never felt so grateful.
 That's what makes her cry floods at three a.m. when Mac seems to have finished eating and she comes back from the bathroom to find Jake still sitting up with him in bed, holding him with a hypnotised look on his face. He doesn’t even seem tired, even though he must be, is just looking at his son like he’s holding the entire world in his arms and doesn’t ever want to let go. She always knew seeing him with a baby would be incredible, those surprisingly toned biceps curling around a fragile little human and those heart eyes focused on one thing only, but maybe she hadn’t expected not being able to watch it without breaking into tears.
 “Jeez, Ames,” he says when he looks up, the expression on his face changing to one of concern. “Are you okay? Honestly?”
“Yeah,” she sniffles and dries her eyes again as she sits down on the bed. The skin on her cheeks is stinging at this point. “I just can’t believe this is my life.”
“Why not?” Mac’s pacifier glides out of his mouth, and Jake puts it back with two fingers before he can notice anything. “We’re right here, babe. We’re very much real.”
“Sometimes I thought it was never going to happen.” She hiccups. “All the times we’ve been apart. The months we fought to have him. How freaking long and exhausting being pregnant was. And now I have him, and you, and I’m just so grateful I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“That’s why you’re crying?”
“I think I don’t even know why I’m crying anymore. I’m so sleep-deprived.”
“Yeah.” Jake smirks. “But I get it. I’m really, really grateful too.”
 Mac makes a short gurgling sound that Amy takes to mean he agrees. She reaches out so his hand can wrap around her ring finger, feeling him squeezing it tight in the cutest grip. The grey striped pajamas has little mittens on it to keep him from scratching herself, but Mac gets upset whenever they pull them down, so Amy figures they'll just have to keep filing his nails instead. Their son is already both opinionated and stubborn, and she loves it about him, because she loves everything about who he is. He's perfect, and he's hers, and she still can't quite believe it even though he's right there in Jake's arms. It's all her dreams coming true, and it's making all the hard things feel so worth it.
 “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for giving me a baby,” she whispers. She’s too tired, barely even knows what she's saying anymore, but looking at the two of them, all she can think about is how incredibly lucky and thankful she feels.
Jake blinks in disbelief, grinning at her. “Wait, I gotta make sure I heard this right. Did you just thank me for giving you a baby?”
“Uh-huh?”
“And you're serious about this?”
“Well… yeah.”
“So you mean after nine months,” he says, still wide-eyed, “of you telling me, minimum a couple times a week but pretty much daily toward the end, that I could never understand what you're going through, and then you shouting some lovely descriptions at me whilst you were literally pushing him out, and also earlier this evening when you cried because I can't breastfeed him for you – you’re thanking me?”
“Some of it was a team effort,” she insists. “You helped.”
“Oh yeah, my nards sure are loving the credit.”
“Don't be gross.”
“Sorry.” He smiles, a little bashfully, stroking his fingers back and forth over Mac’s forehead instead of looking at her. “But Ames, c’mon. It was a pretty limited effort compared to what you did.”
“Maybe they’re not the same thing.” She leans her head on his shoulder. Mac is still holding on to her finger, but his grip is getting looser now. “But you were part of it too, babe.”
“Really?” He’s blushing. “What did I do that was so special?”
“Let's see. You didn’t laugh at me when I kept crying at everything the first weeks. Rosa made fun of me on a daily basis, but you just hugged me and told me everything was going to be okay. You let me sleep in when I had days off, even though I pretended I wanted you to wake me up. You fixed food for me without telling me what it was, and put it in front of me before I could feel sick thinking about it.” She shakes her head at the memory of those, few but complicated, weeks, and how hard they’d had to work around it. “You kept telling me I looked great even when my body kept changing and it all felt weird, and helped me pick out maternity wear when I didn’t want to do it on my own. I don’t know that I would have taken barely any bump pictures if you hadn't made me. You listened to all my research about the best strollers and pacifiers and cribs, and you did those courses and read all those books with me, and you came to almost every scan and held my hand so tight every time. You came home with onesies and hats because you thought they were too cute not to buy, and you gave me massages whenever I wanted them, and you even slept on the couch a couple nights at the end when I got angry at you for snoring. You barely even complained about it.”
“I complained a little,” Jake mumbles. “When you couldn’t hear me.”
“Fine. And lastly, you rode a horse through the city to get to me while I was in labor, and you didn’t even act like seeing him be born was gross.”
“I mean, it was a little bit gross.” Jake lifts Mac so he can kiss his forehead when he whimpers. “No offense, bud. I mean you looked perfect, I didn’t think you looked like a slimy alien even for a second, didn’t cross my mind, et cetera.”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Point is, babe, you were there. You're here now. I know I did the actual work, but you were the one who made sure I could. I don’t know how I would have made it through without you. So… thank you.”
 He doesn't give her any witty comebacks for that, only a shy smile.
“I love you,” Amy all but whispers through the tears that fight their way through her determination to keep them in. “Both of you. So much.”
“Love you, Ames.”
She kisses him, putting her hands on each side of his thighs so she can reach over Mac. Kissing is a lot more complicated than usual when both his hands are busy and none of them wants to risk crushing their son, but it's still nice, feeling his soft lips on hers and squeezing his lower lip between both of hers for just a moment before pulling apart.
“It's hard to kiss you while you're holding a baby,” she says, and Jake grimaces. “That might be the only bad thing about it.”
“My bad. I’m just going to put him down so we can make out all night.”
“Don't you dare. He currently doesn't have a boob in his mouth and he's still not crying, you're not doing anything to risk that now.” Amy pulls the comforter up to her chin. “Wake me up when he needs to eat again and not a second earlier.”
Jake chuckles at her as she turns out the light and snuggles up close to him, but he makes no move to put Mac down or even protest, and she didn't think it was possible to love him even more. Her heart has definitely grown with becoming a mom, much like everyone told her about, but most seem to have forgotten to prepare her for how much it would also grow when it came to her partner.
 “I still think I’m the one who should say thank you,” Jake whispers just as she closes her eyes, and Amy can't help but smile. “If we're talking about who gave who a baby.”
“Jake, just accept the praise.”
“Oh, yeah.” She doesn't need to see his face to know that he's grinning. “I’ve locked it in a little box in my brain and I’m gonna keep it as gloat material forever, bringing it up when you least expect it.”
“That's great, babe.”
“Mm-hmm. We both know the truth, though.” Jake's left hand strokes over the top of her head, and Amy has to look up to see that Mac is still resting safely on his right arm and doesn't seem to have noticed a thing. Another tear fight its way down her cheek at the thought of how safe he must feel with him. This time, she doesn’t even bother to wipe it away.
 ~
90 notes · View notes
stolen-pen-name23 · 3 years
Note
13 for the prompts? (If it hasn’t been done yet) with obi wan and qui gon because yes 💜
I sure can! Thank you for the prompt! // From these prompts.
So I think I'm going to actually write a prequel chapter (or 2) for this fic later, so keep an eye out for that!
Anyway, here ya go:
---
As a Jedi connected to the Living Force, Qui-Gon has greater respect than most for life — human or otherwise. So for a practitioner of the Living Force, it is a little unusual for him to feel this homicidal.
No, Qui-Gon has rarely felt rage quite like this.
Of course, he does not want the people… No, wait. "People" is too kind of a word for them. He does not want the vermin slavers who did this to his Padawan to die. He just wants them to suffer for a bit. Suffer like his Padawan is currently suffering — and maybe a bit more after that.
“Let me go!” Obi-Wan screams, pulling on the restraints holding him in place on the bed. Neither Qui-Gon nor Vokara Che had wanted to do this — not after Obi-Wan had just been freed from chains — but he was clawing at his skin and objects around the room had started floating with every aimless gesture of his hands. “Please, Master, let me go,” he begs, his voice raw from screaming.
“Soon, Padawan, soon,” Qui-Gon soothes. “The drugs just need to work their way through your system.”
The logic was lost on Obi-Wan. The young man before him, just barely 18, looks as though he has been betrayed.
“Let me go. Please let me go. I need to stop it, I need…”
“Stop what?” Qui-Gon prods, hoping that humoring his padawan will help him work through it faster.
“Stop him.”
“Who?”
“The man!” he says it plainly like it is a well-known fact who the man is.
“What man?”
“The man with the scar on his eye.”
Qui-Gon tries to think through everyone he knows. He can’t think of a single person with a scar on their eye.
“What is the man’s name?”
“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, frustration mixing into the fear that hangs potent in his Force presence.
“Why do you have to stop him?”
Obi-Wan stops straining against his bonds and his eyes clear momentarily. The sudden stillness feels heavy — like something lying in wait.
“He will tear everything down,” Obi-Wan turns to look at Qui-Gon and his eyes are clear and certain. “Everything.”
A chill runs down Qui-Gon’s spine.
Then the fog returns. Obi-Wan strains against his bonds once more.
“Let me go. Let me out. I’m not supposed to be here!”
“You are exactly where you need to be, my Padawan.”
“No no no no no.” There is a crazed look of hysteria in his eyes. It is so unnatural an expression for his Padawan, Qui-Gon almost cannot bear to look. But he looks anyway because he swore to stand by his Padawan’s side through all things, even this.
“Stop!” Obi-Wan screams. “Stop it! Please! I don’t want to hurt you!”
Qui-Gon shifts uncomfortably. “Who are you talking to?” he asks.
“You were my brother!”
What?
“You… Obi-Wan, you don’t have a brother,” Qui-Gon stutters. Who is he talking about?
Obi-Wan tosses his head to the side and then tosses it again until he’s looking at Qui-Gon.
“Let me go!” Obi-Wan yells.
“So there’s been no change huh?” A female voice cuts in.
Qui-Gon jumps. His attention was so fixed on Obi-Wan, he didn't notice Vokara Che slip into the room.
“What the hell did they drug him with?” Qui-Gon growls, his anger threatening to spill over at just the thought of the slavers and what they did to Obi-Wan.
“We’re still running tests on his blood. But we narrowed it down to some sort of hallucinogen.”
“I could have told you that,” Qui-Gon mutters.
Vokara fixes him with one of her strongest glares.
“Apologies, Master Che,” he amends. “I am just concerned for him.”
“I know,” Vokara says. Qui-Gon is grateful that she does not tell him to release his anxieties to the Force. He is not quite ready to part with them yet.
“Do you have any idea how long this will last?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping this nightmare will end soon.
“It’s hard to say. It depends on his body and how fast it works through the drugs. Hallucinogens can last six hours or they can last as long as fifteen hours.”
“It’s only been three hours,” Qui-Gon says, feeling sick at the possibility of his Padawan enduring this for twelve more hours.
Vokara squeezes his shoulder in sympathy. “He’s a strong boy,” Vokara said. “A strong young man, I should say,” she adds on. “He’ll make it through this. I can’t say for certain without knowing what exactly is in his system, but most hallucinogenic drugs don’t cause any permanent damage.” “Most?”
“What I’m saying is that I think your Padawan will be okay. I have him on an IV so he won’t get dehydrated, which is usually the biggest concern with hallucinogens.”
Qui-Gon turns his attention back to Obi-Wan. Sweat has matted his hair and his skin is a sickly pale color. His screaming has turned into sobbing.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries. He pulls at the restraints. “I don’t like these.”
“We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Vokara says calmly. She runs a scanner over Obi-Wan’s body and looks at the readings. Whether it is good or bad, Qui-Gon is not sure. Her expression gave nothing away.
“If anything changes, please come get me,” Vokara says.
Qui-Gon nods. “Of course.”
Vokara takes her leave and Qui-Gon gives his undivided attention to Obi-Wan.
“Let me go,” Obi-Wan begs again.
“I can’t,” Qui-Gon says. “You heard Master Che. It’s for your own safety.”
Obi-Wan groans. “What is happening to me?”
Qui-Gon’s heart feels like it is breaking open in his chest.
“I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says “You’ll be okay soon.”
“But what’s happening?” Obi-Wan asks. Qui-Gon is hopeful that this moment of partial clarity lasts. Obi-Wan has been giving him false hope over the past few hours. Moments of clarity, all chased away by delirium.
“You’ve been drugged,” Qui-Gon says.
“Oh. I feel weird. I feel… not good. Hot.”
“Do you want some water?” Qui-Gon asks.
Obi-Wan looks like he’s going to answer, but his eyes glaze over and he is no longer looking at Qui-Gon.
“I keep seeing…”
“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks.
“I see…”
“What do you see, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping he’ll be able to help Obi-Wan realize his hallucinations aren’t real.
“No!” Obi-Wan screams.
Qui-Gon’s hope vanishes. With a sigh, he begins stroking Obi-Wan’s sweat-drenched hair, smoothing it out from all of his tossing and turning.
Hours of begging and screaming and pulling at restraints pass until it seems Obi-Wan’s body is exhausted beyond its limits. His howls turn to whimpers. His sobs turn to hitched breaths. And finally, he passes out. Qui-Gon sighs a breath of relief and prays to the Force that when his Padawan wakes up, he will be his Padawan once more.
***
Qui-Gon can sense Obi-Wan coming back to consciousness before he even notices him stirring. He squints at the bright light of the room and groans.
Obi-Wan tries to move his arm but is held back by the restraints still keeping him down. Panic sets itself in Obi-Wan’s widened eyes.
“Why am I… M-Master?” His chest heaves with growing panic and he starts pulling at the bonds with renewed vigor.
“Hey, hey, Obi-Wan. It’s me. You’re alright,” Qui-Gon says, moving into his line of sight. Obi-Wan stares at him, unblinking and terrified. “What do you see right now?”
Obi-Wan hesitates. “I see you. I… I see this room. There’s not much in it.”
“Okay, good. Can you take a few deep breaths for me while I got get Master Che?”
“You’re leaving?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice going an octave higher.
“Only for a moment. You need to get looked over before I can let you out of those things,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing to the restraints with disdain.
Obi-Wan eyes the restraints and nods his approval.
Qui-Gon races out to find Master Che and she follows him back to Obi-Wan’s room.
“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Vokara says in greeting. “Are you feeling better?”
He nods glumly but does not offer her much else.
“All right, well I’m just going to perform a quick examination okay?”
Obi-Wan nods his consent and Vokara gets to work.
“I’m going to take these restraints off of your hands and ankles all right?”
He nods vigorously and Vokara undoes the buckles. When his hands are freed, Obi-Wan rubs his wrists. They’ve been chaffed raw and the skin is an angry red.
Vokara does not judge. She does not say a word about the welts. She simply takes a jar of bacta gel and rubs it on Obi-Wan’s wrists.
“Those should feel better in a few hours,” she says. Vokara follows the gentle administration with a blood sample. She runs a scanner over his body.
“Your vitals are normal, which is a good sign,” Vokara says. “I’m going to run your labs, and after that, we can see about letting you go home to rest.”
No protests, no haggling, no complaints come from Obi-Wan at the prospect of staying in the halls of healing even longer. Even Vokara raises an eyebrow at this.
“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” she asks. “Any nausea? Headache?”
“A little,” he says softly. Vokara exchanges a glance with Qui-Gon at the admittance.
“That’s pretty normal,” she says. “Is there anything else bothering you? Any other pain?”
“Just tired.”
“That’s to be expected after what your body has been through.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m going to run these labs, but let me know if your headache gets worse or if you feel like you need to throw up.”
He nods obediently.
Vokara leaves Qui-Gon alone with his Padawan.
Obi-Wan’s face scrunches up in concentration.
“What is it, Padawan?”
“There was something… something important…” Obi-Wan starts. Some of his earlier panic starts to return and his chest begins to heave. “I saw it. I just… I don’t know...”
“Hush, it’s alright. None of it was real,” Qui-Gon soothes.
“No!” Obi-Wan says forcefully, and for a moment, Qui-Gon worries the drug has not completely left his system yet. “It was… it felt…”
“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks.
Fear, sorrow, and anguish all flash across Obi-Wan’s eyes. His fingers dance in a nervous tapping pattern on the frame of the bed.
“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks again.
Obi-Wan stops tapping his fingers.
“Like the end of all things.”
The young man is still, as though he is afraid that the next move he makes will set his visions on a path to fruition.
“You need to stay grounded, Padawan. Stay in the here and now.”
Anger flared in the Force — white-hot and foreign.
“Oh yeah? You try to stay grounded after you get kidnapped by slavers and then drugged with some unknown substance that makes you question everything you see and feel,” Obi-Wan snaps.
Qui-Gon gives him a moment. He needs a moment.
Obi-Wan’s face crumples and he buries his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled by his own hands. His shoulders shake. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s alright, Padawan. You’ve been through a lot in the last 48 hours. I will not fault you for taking a tone with me.”
Obi-Wan offers him a strained laugh and he wipes at his eyes before looking back up at Qui-Gon. “I just…”
“Tell me, Padawan. Anything.”
“Is this real?”
“Yes, Obi-Wan. This is real.” Qui-Gon grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and squeezes it. “Feel this?”
Obi-Wan nods.
“That’s because it is real. You and I. Here and now. We are real.”
Obi-Wan takes in a shuddering breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Qui-Gon reaffirms.
Obi-Wan nods. “Okay.”
“Good.”
Qui-Gon reaches over and tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid.
“Hey!” Obi-Wan exclaims, rubbing his scalp. “What was that for?”
“For scaring me,” Qui-Gon says, giving Obi-Wan a faux look of reproach.
“Apologies, Master,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Obi-Wan grins at him before yawning.
“You should get some rest.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head, but he yawns again.
“You are obviously tired,” Qui-Gon says, unimpressed. “Why don’t you want to sleep?”
“I don’t…”
“Yes, Padawan?”
“If I fall asleep, will you stay?” Obi-Wan finally says, his voice quiet and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds on. “I just. I don’t want to be alone and I’m still not sure if any of this is real and I want it to be real, but I—”
“Of course I will stay,” Qui-Gon says. “You’re real, I’m real, and I’m staying.”
“Thanks, Master,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes fluttering closed.
Qui-Gon stays and keeps guard over Obi-Wan’s dreams.
90 notes · View notes
sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years
Text
The Sacrifice Part 6: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader
synopsis: you have to give to get. But are you willing to do what it takes?
wc: 1.5k
tw: none
masterlist
You’re sitting across from the Rain God, his face stern and unmoving.
“Geto, I assume you have brought me here to discuss the reason why I have withheld rain from this woman’s village.”
“Yes,” Geto begins, bringing the noodles to his mouth. “That, and I need you to explain to her how to renew your favor with them.”
“Making love to a human can breed ill-effects,” Yuta murmurs, his lips connecting with his cup, but his eyes never leave your face. “You know this as well as I do, your Holiness.” Your head turns towards Geto, but the strange words from the god are not explained to you. Instead, Geto laces his fingers together and nods.
“Indeed, your Graciousness, but I am asking you to give y/n some insight, that is all.” Yuta runs his tongue over his teeth, then scoots his chair back.
“Why do you care so much about the people who tried to have you murdered, y/n?” he wonders, and you hang your head slightly.
“I’m not so heartless that I would wish everyone dead because of one person’s actions, your Graciousness.” Yuta huffs out a laugh, then leans forward on his knees, eyeing you carefully.
“One person’s actions can cause a whirlwind of consequences. Your General Commissioner has done quite a lot for a man his age.” You sigh, pushing your hair back behind your ears as you feel deep disgust for the elder’s crimes. First, he killed the Dragon God’s sister. Then, he angered Yuta somehow. What else had he done?
“Tell me, what did he do, and what must I do to make it right?” Yuta skillfully dodges your question, waving it away with his hand and sighing.
“Unfortunately, Gakuganji made a pact with the God of Death long ago, before he enraged me or Geto. What would make it right could very well endanger your own life. And I’m sure the Dragon God will not allow anything of the sort, will he?” The man’s eyes slide to Geto, who is clenching the armrest with a white-knuckle grip. “It’s either that or…” Yuta places his head on a propped-up fist. “You can give her to me for a week.”
“A week?” You stand, shaking from outrage. “No.” Geto sits still, eyes cast downward. “No!”
“Only a week?” Geto wonders, still not looking at either you or Yuta.
“Just a week. Compared to eternity, it’s nothing.”
“You’re seriously considering this?” you ask Geto, and he finally looks up at you, his black eyes full of worry.
“It’s better than going against Toji. I trust Yuta will be nothing but honorable while you are with him.” You flinch at this admission, and back out of the room slowly, unsure of what to say other than a string of curses you wouldn’t be able to take back. Yuta’s dark blue eyes follow you, a smirk playing across his face as you turn around, marching off to your room in silence.
_____________________________________________________________
“Y/n, you have to listen to me.”
Clymenestra is staring at your face in the mirror, the tears scrubbed away from your appearance before she had the nerve to enter the room. “If I had to choose between Toji or Yuta, I would choose Yuta in a heartbeat. Facing the wrath of Toji could be the end for you. Either way, he’d get what he wanted, which is more souls to reap and bargains made.” You shake your head, hoping there’s another way for you to save your city and get rid of Gakuganji without having to deal with any other gods.
“Toji has the upper hand,” you note, fiddling with your fingers. “What good will staying with Yuta for a week do?”
“Yuta is one of the older gods,” Helen murmurs, and you look over to her in confusion. “Compared to Geto, he looks younger, but he’s eons older than him. And he might have some insight into what you can do to help get rid of Gakuganji.”
“Why haven’t any of you wanted to stop the General Commissioner?” you wonder, turning around in your seat, and the girls look away with varying levels of sheepishness.
“I was so thankful to be free from that place that I never once considered saving a single soul from there.” Cly offers, shrugging. “And I couldn’t save them now even if I wanted to.”
“But what about next year? We’ll have another girl torn from her family and brought here, where she may never be able to rejoin them, even in death.” None of the girls respond, and when you realize they’re just as selfish as Gakuganji, you push back your chair with force. “Have none of you thought of anyone but yourselves?” you yell, just as the door to the room swings open, revealing Geto and Yuta.
“Clymenestra, pack y/n a few things. She’ll be coming with me to the Realm of Rain,” Yuta announces, but you shake your head.
“There has to be another way to get some answers.”
“There isn’t,” Geto states, looking at you sternly. “If you want to save your people, then you’ll go with him.” Everything in you wants to rebel against his words, but then you consider the alternative.
Toji Fushiguro was not just feared by you, but every single immortal being in the room - except Yuta. If Yuta could give you a way to make things right without having to make a bargain with Toji… wouldn’t a week be the least of your problems? Silently, you give in. There were only two options, and by the looks of it, you would be less ashamed if you took the one Yuta offered.
As you walk towards Geto, he holds his hand out, then takes yours and presses a soft kiss to it. “If I leave with you, I will never depart from your side,” he whispers, and you nod twice. “It won’t be long. Just a few nights is all he’s asking for. I'll be here waiting for you when you return, my love." He pulls you in for a deep, loving embrace and kisses you with just as much desire as the night before.
Cly reappears with your things, and Yuta clasps his hands together, which makes you pull away from Geto abruptly.
“Perfect, we should make it just in time for lunch.”
_____________________________________________________________
You arrive on a solid cloud - unlike the ones from the night before - to the Realm of Rain, with Yuta holding his hand up to help you down. You take it graciously and step onto the mirror-like water below, your footsteps barely making the surface move. “Up ahead is my palace. I will have the attendants prepare your room while I give you a tour. Then, your lessons will begin.”
As if previously hidden by a mirage of nothingness, a massive, five-story high palace looms in front of you both. The beige-colored brick is covered with greenery: vines, grasses, and a singular tree at the top of the palace. It appears to be hovering slightly above the water, its presence overwhelming but alluring all the same. You can see little birds flitting to and from the palace windows, and flowers of various colors dotting the greasy knolls on the roofs of lower levels. It all seemed so beautiful and peaceful, but appearances could always be deceiving.
“What lessons will you give me?” you ask him as the castle draws near, and he hums thoughtfully.
“First, you need to know what happened between Gakuganji and me. Then, you’ll need to learn how to avoid Toji in order to kill Gakuganji once and for all.”
“Wait,” you halt. “Kill Gakuganji?” Yuta turns back to you, his dark blue eyes mischievous but unyielding.
“Oh, yes,” he smiles, jerking his chin at you. “And then you’ll deliver his soul to me. That’s how you can make things right.”
“Why can’t you kill him?” you wonder. “Why can’t Geto kill him?”
“Because every immortal is bound by the pacts given by the God of Death. He’s one of the eldest gods, and his bargains are binding forever. They cannot be rewritten or undone by anyone outside of the two parties.”
“So, if I get Gakuganji to break his bargain, then I can kill him?”
“Yes and no,” Yuta begins, looking over at you as he steps under the archway that leads to the entrance. “You can get Gakuganji to break his bargain and he will die, but Toji will come and collect his soul immediately. You need to get him to break his bargain, but somewhere where Toji has no domain.”
“The God of Death has domain everywhere,” you whisper, and Yuta shakes his head.
“Yes and no, again,” he replies, pushing open the door. It’s only then that Yuta turns around to face you fully, hands spread wide. “If you get him to become a sacrifice, then Toji has no domain over Geto’s property. That would effectively break the bargain and aid you in delivering his soul to me. Think you’re up to the task?” You raise a brow, then smirk at the god with confidence.
“Of course.”
_____________________________________________________________ TAGLIST: @sunfloweroranges @jibe-gajima @jotazinha @brownskinnedgirll @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something @kontentious@missbonekitty @fyotituti @honouredsatoru @sandyscastle @flare-on @sasahime @ggotgame @just4readingfics
109 notes · View notes
genshin-scenarios · 3 years
Text
A/N: Tysm @ramannnn for commissioning me!! I had a fun time writing this >︿<
CW: Angst - this is set in the past when Xiao was still working under his cruel master, way before Zhongli freed him. The reader is a male servant working for the same boss.
The sky was gray that evening. Alatus might’ve described it as murky, even, if his body was in a state to observe the scenery around him.
It hurts; moving hurt, but the yaksha knew that if he didn’t, he’d be subjected to even worse later on. He needed something to soothe his body, he can’t remember the last time he’s eaten--
It was only when Alatus leaned against his polearm for support that his eyes focused on the ground. Something in his mind clicked.
...Snow. 
Water.
Even if it was only like this, it was better than nothing. He wasn’t sure when he’d let his knees give way, but a moment later Alatus found himself closer to the snow. It was the closest thing he could get to sustenance right now, thus he dug into it and raised a handful to his mouth.
The cold bite of it stung his teeth at first, delivering a shock to his system as his mind gradually began to clear. Alatus kept shovelling at the snow, vaguely recognising his own state within the numbness of his body.
This was fine. It wasn't the first time.
-
When you were little, you used to think that snowflakes were pretty; you heard stories of how they were woven in unique patterns so that no two were alike. It was a charming notion, one that filled winters with a serene light, especially in mornings when daybreak would touch the snow.
But right now, with your current position… Appreciating the weather was the last thing on your mind. Rather, you were occupied with doing your job to a satisfactory level, where like any good servant, your presence would be barely noticed. You’d do well to stay away from the eyes of your master.
You were an oddity amongst the staff; a male servant without a trace of divine energy. Generally, the master liked recruiting those that used to thrive with promising power; a cruel habit where he enjoyed seeing warriors become his puppets, and scholars nothing more than servants doing mundane chores.
A few of your co-workers used to have visions, even. But their blessings are nowhere to be seen now. This knowledge sets an unpleasant feeling in your chest, but you pushed onward with what you could do; survive. And hope that one day, you may all be freed.
Over-optimistic as the thought may be, it’s the same idea that’s helped you through hard times throughout your service; that wouldn’t change anytime soon.
Exiting the back door of the building to gather firewood, you almost dropped your axe when you noticed a movement out of the corner of your eye - was it an animal? Surely one wouldn’t approach the base, which was kept lit with lamps all around?
You cautiously took a few steps in its general direction, ready to lunge back if whatever it was decided to leap at you. You weren’t vulnerable, sure, but who knew what might be lurking in the darkness?
The first sound you registered is shovelling. Was an animal digging into the snow? But its silhouette seemed too large to be…
You swore as a twig snapped under your feet. It’s the faintest noise, but the creature snapped its head toward you, and you froze at the sight of golden irises.
Those… Are not the eyes of a beast. Your gaze trailed to the rest of their body to identify that this was instead a man. Now that you were closer and your sight adjusted to the darkness, you were able to make out a spear laid next to him as he stared you down, gaze seeming to pierce through you.
Yet… You weren’t as afraid as you should’ve been. What was he doing here, right as the moon raised itself into the sky? It was dark out, and there wasn’t a fire around…
“Do you want to come with me?” You asked, lowering your axe. “You’re going to get sick if you stay out here in the cold.”
He didn’t answer, though the man did get up - swinging his spear in a casual, deadly motion. His eyes stared you down for a few moments before he began to turn and leave.
Not even a ‘no thanks’? You smiled wryly to yourself. You could let him escape now, but something tells you that he might not be that disagreeable if you tried a little harder.
“I need to collect some wood.” You partly called out, though you had a feeling he could hear you just fine without that. He didn’t feel mortal, exactly. “If you help me do it quickly, I can heat up the leftovers we have in exchange.”
Would he accept the deal? You smiled at him as he sighed, fixing you with an unreadable look. It was as close to an agreement you could muster out of the stranger, you guessed.
Walking a little ways to pick up stray branches and cut down smaller pieces of wood, you might’ve been tricked into thinking you were alone - yet one glance behind and you’d see the man a few feet away. The both of you proceed to collect the material until you deemed it was enough, rounding back with renewed energy as you trekked back to the base.
He still hasn't talked so far. When you open the back door to enter the building, the man stood in the doorway as if unsure what to do with himself.
“You can put the wood away with me,” you smiled as he followed, nudging the door close behind him. 
It shut with a rough thump. You winced a little, hoping that no one would come down to check on the noise; you weren’t normally this loud, but they’d likely assume it was you since there were only so many servants here.
The others… They were moved somewhere else. Some were with the master, but you did not know about the rest.
Shaking away the thought, you dusted off your hands as you stoked the kitchen fire. The rest of the wood was stored safely in storage, which means…
“Here,” you pushed a bowl of soup toward him. “Take this first. The rest will take a bit more to cook.”
“I thought you said they were leftovers.” Under the light, you noticed his dark hair had a hint of teal to it. 
Definitely not mortal.
You tried to ignore the surprise from finally hearing his voice, tilting your head in the guise of offhandedness. “I got a little hungry, so I’m adding some ingredients to make more. You don’t mind, right?” The question was answered by the purse of his lips, and it seemed that he would speak no more, until--
“You are a servant of the Master.” The man finally said after you’re done with your food. You’d gestured for him to take the rest, and so he helped himself to seconds reluctantly.
You finally recognised who he was, after a while. As someone that was limited to working indoors most of the time, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet the warriors under the master’s command. Though Alatus was infamous for being the ‘favourite’, you held more pity than envy for him. Even as a mortal, you were well-aware of just how cruel the god could be, and with his sadistic tendencies…
Alatus was said to be a ruthless battle-machine, one that even devoured dreams.
But the person before you… Mostly seemed like someone that needed an ally. It was clear that fate had not dealt him a fair hand. Though that could be applicable to all that was under the master’s authority, it was even more true for his case.
“That I am.” You returned, the curve of your mouth becoming a regretful one. “Though I am luckier than others, I think.”
You weren’t sure what Alatus thought of that; his expressions were quite mild and subtle, though you suppose you couldn’t blame him.
“You’ll get in trouble if they find out.” He was done with his food, putting the chopsticks down quietly, as if he wasn’t to leave a trace of himself here.
“It’ll be fine.”
“You could die.”
“I assure you, I won’t. Because this’ll be our little secret.”
Your brightened expression earns the raise of a brow from him. Alatus’ apprehension is only slightly quelled when you raise a finger to your lips.
“I won’t tell a soul about you being here. And I can start leaving leftovers on the roof if you’d like.” You reached to grab your drink, motioning to tap it against his. It was only water, but it’d have to do. “Please take care of me in return, Sir. It seems we’re partners in crime now.”
When he frowns at the title, you let out a laugh.
He was kind of funny, you considered as you observed him. Getting to know him wouldn’t be so bad.
75 notes · View notes
ignisnocturnalia · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
Variks x Reader Relationship HC's
Gonna write you as a new light, apologies my God-slaying siblings
News of the Pyramids over Europa reaches far and wide, as does stasis
With this discovery, relayed by a veteran guardian, also reveals news of the Eliksni who instigated the riot at the Prison of Elders
Being freshly revived, there's not much you can make out of the hostility the other Guardians offer the alien
Curious about him, you make a bold request to be stationed on Europa to "monitor" him
Of course, Zavala denies your request and speaks of how important your guns would be here at home
While you say you understand, you're secretly trying to find your way around it
The Drifter
You heard about his escapades to the frozen planet, reasons unknown, but still able to slip through Vanguard sanctions
As usual, a Guardian siding with the Vanguard approaching you with a purpose usually isn't a good thing
"Somethin' you want, kid?"
His tone is carefully jovial, bordering neutral, but you're not foolish enough to think he actually trusts you
"I need to get to Europa."
He stares at you for a solid minute before sizing you up, an inquisitive glare settling on his face
"What's in it for me?"
Having been on Strike detail for months on end, you've got a sweet heap of glimmer and nothing to use it on; you know he doesn't care a lot for the currency, so you offer up your weapons alongside it
He gives you a lopsided grin as he takes the arsenal, waving off the glimmer and taking you to his ramshackle ship
Unsurprisingly, it's a quiet ride, your own Ghost unsure of your actions
Drifter gives you little warning before transmitting you off the ship, leaving you to fall flat on your ass in the deep snow
Despite being a little upset about this, you finally see your goal, the very Eliskni that brought new questions to the ice planet
Every step you take lands your foot in a fluffy sheet of snow, sounding out with a crunch you had never heard before
Soon enough, you've completely deviated from the reason you came to the planet, completely obsessed with the snow under you
The entire time, Variks has been watching you from the window of his base making a fool of yourself
Distantly, he realizes that he thinks you're cute like that
"Here to help, yes?"
You are COMPLETELY caught off guard, turning quickly on your heel before slipping on the ice and landing flat on your ass
A shadow falls over you as you look up to see the well spoken Eliksni towering over you, and you're immensely thankful for the helmet hiding your blush
He offers you one of his real hands, helping you up and you can't help but notice how his hunched form is hiding a solid 8" from his height
Bringing you inside, you slowly decompress from the outside chill and Variks formally introduces himself
You quickly take note of how each of his sentences are punctuated by insect noises, which are quite fun to hear
You explain your circumstances and even though you can only see his eyes, you can feel the confusion in the air
"You left the Tower.. to see me? Variks does not know who you are; you do not know Variks, yes?"
You're slightly disappointed but not surprised by his suspicious behavior, after seeing how other Guardians harped about him
You then remember something very important
"I don't have a ship to get back."
Your ship still sat in the Hangar, locked down until it was needed for use
Variks stood in front of you quietly before also noticing something unusual about you; your weapons were missing
"Stay. I will contact your Commander."
You immediately spring from your seated position, grabbing at his shoulder before he can reach the comms
He seems to understand your plead
You spend the next few days eating freeze dried food, along with MRE's supplied by another curious party on Europa
Variks doesn't join you until he's finished eating in another room, and the conversations you can strike up are limited
You ask him to teach you Eliksni
He appears shocked at first but eagerly obliges, now showing up to eat with you
It's been a good couple of weeks, and you've got a few phrases and words under your belt
Nothing translates directly, everything is interpreted based on the small word choice
Variks didn't know, but you had spent the last 3 days trying to figure out what the closest thing to "I love you" was in Eliksni
That night, when you both settle down to eat, you eye Variks with a renewed purpose
The fuzz in your brain dissipates as, astoundingly, he moves to take off his mouth cover
You can't help but stare at his revealed face not noticing how he fidgets a bit under your intense stare
"Apologies, (y/n). I did not mean to ruin your appetite."
It was now or never
Moving over to sit next to him, you shyly looked up to see he had yet to put the mask back on, instead looking at you with uncertainty
"Yu ne ze." You are my gift. I love you.
The Eliksni's eyes widen and his body stiffens and you worry for a second that you've made a mistake before he turns fully and leans into your face
"Ma yun ne."
His mandibles are often used to caress your face
You find yourself with gifts and trinkets waiting in your small room in the base
He has you spot check his weapons, testing them out and generally having a blast with them
Other Guardians have seen you on occasion, but very few have approached you to ask questions about the mysterious Eliksni
Variks loves it when you hold his hands, even more so when you pet his face
When you find out he can purr, it's one of the most sought after sounds during your intimate moments, and sometimes he will purr simply to indulge you
Even if you're an undead warrior, Variks still piles furs on to your shoulders to make sure you don't get cold during outings
You have had to fend off assassins, often at the cost of your life
This pushes you to accept the deceptive whispers of the Pyramid, carrying you all the way to the Exo Stranger's den
She reluctantly agrees to teach you because of your inexperience, and although neither of you say anything, you and Drifter make quick eye contact
Variks can smell the Darkness on you and is very disappointed, but he doesn't tip off that he knows
Instead, he uses it as an excuse to put you under house arrest
He catalogues every single symptom you have that could barely begin to resemble a sickness, encouraging you to stay inside until you're better
During the nights, you notice he holds you much more tightly against his body
You apologize for your zealousness regarding his safety
Your lessons in Eliksni continue, and soon enough you can hold your own in small conversations with him
Whenever you or Variks look at each other trying to figure something out, you both always ask about the question in your mind
Whoever is asked ends up sitting in the other's lap, but you've found that it's much more convenient to sit in his own
This exploration leads to daily petting or grooming sessions, giving way for more risque activity to take place
Nsfw 👁👄👁
Variks orients himself as a switch, but you can tell he enjoys being on the bottom a little more if his rapid breaths are anything to go by
Brushing and lightly scratching segments on his exoskeleton are immense green lights for him, especially adding just enough force to push into the seams between his limbs
He's very gentle with his teeth, but the red marks he leaves on your body are generous from the amount of fondling he carries out
He's perfectly fine with both of you being bare, so long as a heat source is nearby
This level of exposure allows you to feel every rumble, trill, and moan straight from his chest and you can't deny just how hot it is to have an entire alien making these noises because of you
He delivers plenty of foreplay, always giving you the option to back out of it
With your size difference, you have to work to move up and down his body when you're both laying down
One of his favorite things is when you drag your teeth along his neck or chest, no real threat of harm but an undeniable thrill for him
He may start slow, but towards the end? You're better off simply letting him take care of you the next day
Fluff
After particularly tedious days, you will pull him into your shared room and pepper his face with kisses
Whenever he wants to nap, he selectively chooses your lap so you can massage his back or his forehead
Following the official announcement of your relationship, Zavala finally submits and gives you full permission to stay stationed on Europa, at the price of lengthy field reports at the beginning of every month
Variks, of course, teases you while writing these papers
He'll correct a mistake you made way back in the paper, laughing quietly in the back of his throat as you fume at the obvious inaccuracy
Besides Vanguard papers, you've taken it upon yourself to make him a new arm
You decide to gift it to him once the Dawning starts
Note: I leave some of my handcanons open ended for more ideas, and yes, I am aware they are more like one shot/hc hybrids, but hey, take it as an invitation to ask me to actually write out the whole thing. I will not write out explicit nsfw unless asked, and if I am asked, it will always be gratuitous and extremely detailed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Finals are eating my timbs tho, so I'm currently attempting to study for these hellspawn
203 notes · View notes
moiraineswife · 3 years
Text
Not A Single Lecture - A Shallan & Jasnah Fic
Hello! ‘Tis I!! Again!!!! Two posts in one week, hoo boy, I’m exhausted. Don’t get used to it. 
Title: Not A Single Lecture
Rating: T? Bc I never know how to rate these. but there’s discussion of murder so u know. Content warnings: mentions of attempted assassination
Summary:  Shallan was disappointed by the way her reunion went with Jasnah in Oathbringer after her miraculous return from the dead. So I gave her a better one. Or, rather, a more private and personal one.
After her arrival at Urithiru after being thought dead, Shallan visits Jasnah and returns one of her most precious possessions to her personally.
Teaser: ‘“I know that servants delivered the trunk I managed to rescue from the sinking,” Shallan said, and Jasnah nodded.
“That was greatly appreciated, Shallan,” she said, with a small smile and a grateful nod, “Although I do note that some terrible fate befell its lining?”
Shallan blushed slightly, then noted the twinkle in Jasnah’s eye and smiled back, “It gets really cold up in the Frostlands, Brightness,” she said.
“I can imagine,” Jasnah said drily, reclining in her chair. “I am sorry for what you went through, Shallan. I should have taken greater precautions to prevent such an eventuality, I-”
“Brightness,” Shallan interrupted, finding a flicker of boldness in herself, “If you’re about to apologise to me, again, for someone trying to assassinate you, please don’t.”
Link: AO3
Shallan stood outside Jasnah’s chambers in Urithiru feeling like an acrobat standing on the precipice of a platform, preparing to leap from it, hoping they would be caught instead of crashing to the floor and making an unsightly splat. 
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, It’s only Jasnah! You’ve faced down chasmfiends and Voidbringers, for the Heralds’ sake! You can do this. 
If only those kinds of thoughts worked to quiet her anxieties. If they did, she supposed, then she wouldn’t have any anxieties in the first place, so that was kind of a stupid line of reasoning. Jasnah wouldn’t have been impressed by it. 
Storms. She had grieved for this woman! She had felt pain almost daily after her death, renewed again when she’d brought news of it to her family on the Shattered Plains. 
She had been thrilled to hear that her mistress had survived the terrible events of that night - for which Jasnah had apologised to her. As if she was to blame for someone stabbing her through the chest and- 
No. She was not going to think about that again. Not now. She had another task, another reason for being here. 
While her reunion with Jasnah had, upon reflection, gone exactly as it probably should have, there was a part of her that wanted something closer to the fanciful imaginings her mind had conjured up. 
She hadn't expected tears and fond embraces - from Jasnah? That would just have felt strange. But she did want something a little more than what Jasnah had given her. 
Taking a deep breath, paper crinkling against her chest where she held it pressed with her safehand, Shallan reached up and knocked. 
“Yes?” Jasnah’s smooth voice replied, and Shallan pushed the door open. 
“Brightness?” she said, peering around the door, feeling like a chull peeking out of its shell to check if the storm had passed and it was safe to emerge, “I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment? If you’re too busy that’s fine, I can come back later, or never, if that's what you want, but-” 
“Not at all, Shallan, please come in,” Jasnah said graciously, gesturing at one of the chairs beside the desk area she had set up for herself already. 
Shallan walked in, forcing herself to walk and not creep, and took the chair, looking around. 
The chambers were utilitarian, without ornamentation or artwork on the walls. Just the required furniture. Very Jasnah. 
It was an internal chamber without a balcony, or even windows. That made Shallan shudder, just slightly. It made her feel closed in and trapped. 
She would have thought, after what had happened below decks on the Wind’s Pleasure, that Jasnah would have wanted to be able to see the open sky and outside world. She certainly did.
Apparently the woman felt more comfortable in this sealed box of a chamber. Only one entrance or exit. It was all very practical, but Shallan didn’t think she could live that way. Not again.
“What can I do for you, child?” Jasnah asked, actually putting down her pen, a sign of great respect, from Jasnah, and clasping her hands in front of her, surveying Shallan over them. 
The sound of her voice recalled Shallan from her vague analysis of Jasnah's living space, and she remembered abruptly why she had come.
“I know that servants delivered the trunk I managed to rescue from the sinking,” Shallan said, and Jasnah nodded. 
“That was greatly appreciated, Shallan,” she said, with a small smile and a grateful nod, “Although I do note that some terrible fate befell its lining?” 
Shallan blushed slightly, then noted the twinkle in Jasnah’s eye and smiled back, “It gets really cold up in the Frostlands, Brightness,” she said. 
“I can imagine,” Jasnah said drily, reclining in her chair. “I am sorry for what you went through, Shallan. I should have taken greater precautions to prevent such an eventuality, I-” 
“Brightness,” Shallan interrupted, finding a flicker of boldness in herself, “If you’re about to apologise to me, again, for someone trying to assassinate you, please don’t.” 
Jasnah smiled again at that, tapping the tips of her fingers on the table the way she did when she was considering something.
“Yes,” she mused finally, “It does sound a little ridiculous when set out that way, doesn’t it?” 
Shallan nodded firmly. 
“Very well," Jasnah said, as though reaching some grand philosophical conclusion she'd had to wrestle with for some time, "I will not shift the blame for someone attempting to murder me, and catching you in the crossfire, onto myself in future.” 
“Good,” Shallan said, and Jasnah smiled again. 
She did have a nice smile. It was small, and subtle, barely a tugging at the corners of her mouth, but it suited her. Shallan took a Memory for later sketching. 
“So,” Jasnah said, in a more business-like tone, “Now that we have that squared away, I assume there was something you wanted with me, Shallan?” 
“Yes,” she said and, feeling unaccountably nervous, she leaned forwards and set the paper down on the desk between them. “You see, the servants returned all of your things to you but I,- Well I found this among them while I was travelling, and I put it with my things. I thought, now that you’re not dead, you might like it back.” 
She watched Jasnah lean forwards and pick up the paper delicately and examine it, expression unreadable.
It was the sketch that Shallan had done for her as a gift when she had confirmed her as her ward back in Kharbranth. The one she’d been so startled to find kept safe with the things Jasnah considered most precious. 
Jasnah stared at the piece for a long time, then set it down very carefully and smiled, more widely this time. Still gazing down at it, she brushed a finger lightly over the lacquered surface with what Shallan could have sworn was fondness.
“I looked for this among my things when they were returned to me,” she said, quietly. 
She’d looked for it? Really? Shallan found herself startled. Surely there had been more important things she'd wanted to see to than a silly picture?
“I had been sure it was in the trunk with my notes, but when I couldn’t find it there, I assumed it had been lost," Jasnah continued. 
Her fingers traced the delicate lines pressed into the paper, looking at it as though it was an ancient map leading to treasure within Urithiru.
“I was surprised to find it in there,” Shallan found herself saying, “I kind of assumed you would have just thrown it away.” 
Idiot! What in Damnation did you say that for!? She scolded herself, while Pattern buzzed in a way that sounded almost...Judgemental. 
Jasnah looked up, finally, at those words  “Why would you assume that?” she asked, brow creasing into a slight frown, sounding truly bemused. 
Well, there were probably only a few people on Roshar who could say they had genuinely bemused Jasnah Kholin, so yay for that! 
On all other counts, Shallan found herself blushing. That was nothing Jasnah hadn’t seen from her before, but storms, she’d been getting better at not doing that every time someone so much as looked at her. Mostly. 
“I just,” she stammered, stumbling over the words, “You never seemed that interested in the visual arts, or in my sketching. I didn’t think you would find that much worth in it. I- I was pleased that you kept it, obviously! Just...Just surprised.” 
Jasnah sighed at that, and her shoulders seemed to slump for a moment, before she automatically reasserted control over her posture and expression. 
“I fear I may have disparaged your skill in drawing far too much, early on, Shallan. You have my deepest apologies for that,” she glanced up and met Shallan’s eyes, seeing her open mouth and added swiftly, before she could speak, “Yes. Again. And this time I will not be reasoned into retracting said repeat apology,” she said firmly
Shallan blushed some more, because why not commit to it now she had started? But she smiled slightly as well. It was just so very Jasnah. 
She hadn’t realised quite how fond she was of her until this moment. It was familiar, reminding her of the times they had studied and connected together in Kharbranth. She had missed that more than she could say.
“Regardless,” Jasnah continued, glancing back down at the sketch, “This was something you gave me as a gift. Something that you obviously poured a lot of time, and love, and skill into. Even if I did not appreciate what you created - which, for the avoidance of any lingering doubt on the subject, I do - that alone would make it worth treasuring to me.” 
Shallan opened her mouth but, for once, found that she couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Witty or otherwise. 
Genuine emotion was not something you saw very often from Jasnah Kholin. She wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it. 
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Pattern decided to intervene, “Mmm, that was very kind, Jasnah,” he buzzed happily, dimpling the paper under her hands and making her start, “I am glad that you did not die!” 
Shallan burst out laughing at that, unable to help herself. 
She should probably have felt mortified at his intrusion into their conversation. But, well, it had broken the tension nicely. And it actually summed up her own feelings on the matter pretty well.
“I am rather thrilled by that as well, Pattern,” Jasnah replied drily, as though that had been a perfectly reasonable thing to say.
Pattern hummed more happily than ever, spinning around on the desk top like a drunk cremling. 
“Thank you,” Shallan said quietly, pulling her attention away from her incorrigible spren to focus on her former mistress. 
Jasnah nodded to her. Shallan reached across the table and gently gripped her hands. She seemed a little surprised at the contact, but did not pull away, so that was something.
“And for the avoidance of any doubt,” Shallan added, with a wry grin, “I’m glad you didn’t die too, Jasnah.” 
“Life is much more interesting around you,” Pattern chimed in, apparently thinking their favourable reaction to his earlier comment had invited him to join in this conversation in full, “Such a fascinating human," he hummed happily, "It would have been such a waste if the stabbing had been permanent!” 
Shallan covered her face with her hands in embarrassment, but was relieved to see that Jasnah looked amused, rather than affronted, by this assessment of the situation. 
“I am glad you find me such a curious specimen for your research, Pattern,” Jasnah said, smirking as if she knew exactly what she was tempting with that comment. 
Pattern buzzed happily, and began to reply, but Shallan slapped a hand over him to stop him, “We have to meet Adolin,” she said firmly, cutting across him and getting to her feet. 
She did not want to hear Pattern’s thoughts on Jasnah as a specimen. Not in front of Jasnah, at least.
“We do?” he asked, his buzzing sounding amusingly muffled, as though her covering him with her hand actually effected his ability to project sound, “But I thought-” 
“You thought wrong!” she interjected, hurriedly. 
Then turned to Jasnah and gave her a little flustered bow, of all things, “It was good to see you, Brightness.” 
“And you, Shallan,” Jasnah returned, looking as regal and poised as ever, but also vaguely entertained. 
Shallan hesitated, dithering on the spot, then, before her nerve could fail her, she darted forwards and gave Jasnah a quick hug. The woman tensed at first, but relaxed into it graciously and patted her on the back. 
With that, Shallan turned, blushing yet again, and hurried from the room, feeling more satisfied now that she’d had a better reunion with Jasnah. And not a single lecture in sight. 
***
FEED ME. feed me: ur thoughts.
23 notes · View notes
amelialincoln · 3 years
Text
We're Still Standing
She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until she was being shaken aggressively out of subconsciousness. Amelia opened her eyes drowsily and realized immediately how cold she was. It took her a minute to adjust to the dim light illuminating from the lantern that hung beside the swing on the porch.
“What the hell are you doing? I was worried sick.” Her boyfriend’s familiar voice rang from above her and she felt his warm, oversized jacket wrap around her shivering frame. Amelia blinked at him, trying to recall why she was on Meredith’s front deck. Oh shit.
“I’m so sorry,” she slurred, shaking her head out of its daze. “I drove to Mer’s out of habit and I must’ve passed out.”
“We’ve been living in the apartment for two weeks.” His tone was firm and he stretched out a hand to pull her off the uncomfortable wooden swing. “Did you--” She knew what he was going to say before he had the chance to finish.
“No, no, I’ve actually barely been thinking about it since I started working again. I think my body is just still adjusting to the long hours.” She accepted his hand and glanced at her dim phone screen. It read 2:50am. No wonder he seemed so shaken up. She bit her lip, trying to hide her guilt.
“Oh, really?” He paused, trying to find the right words, cautious as always. “You seemed like you were struggling with it a bit while we were living at Mer’s.”
“I haven’t taken that much time off work since I was an intern, other than when I was using,” she explained as he opened the car door for her. “My sobriety depends on being able to fill my time with things I’m passionate about. I’m just getting back to feeling like myself again.”
“Okay…” Link replied, shutting the door gently and climbing into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of Mer’s driveway and waited until they were on the freeway. “So this has nothing to do with the conversation we had last night?” She was almost taken aback by how well he knew her. After spending almost every second together, over the last couple of months, she could barely keep anything from him without Link somehow noticing when something was wrong.
“It's just kind of a lot to put on someone,” she muttered.
“What do you mean?” He asked, glancing at his girlfriend who was twisting pieces of her chocolate brown hair nervously.
“It’s just that the expectation of me to be popping out your babies all the time is a bit overwhelming,” she glanced out the window as Link merged into their usual exit. “I just got back to work, Link.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just getting excited. I didn’t mean like now.” He placed a soft hand on her thigh and felt her relax slightly. “We talked about having other kids a lot while we were at Meredith’s. I’m sorry if I jumped into the future too quickly.”
“Meredith’s was a different time. I was really hormonal and barely had time to actually process what was happening.” She forced a grin which made him raise an eyebrow.
“Well, how many of our conversations and decisions were made when you were hormonal?” He turned to look at her and watched her gaze fall. “All that stuff about marriage and houses and massive backyards?” He was dancing around the four kids that she had specifically outlined to him as her preference.
“Link, you and Scout are enough for me. I don’t need anything else.”
“Don’t need or don’t want?” He asked as he pulled into his apartment’s parkade. “Those are two very different things, Amelia.”
“Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m not thinking straight right now,” she answered honestly.
“Yeah, whatever you want.”
[][][]
Amelia was awoken the next morning to Scout being placed on her bare chest. Sun streamed in through the shutters of their third story bedroom and the glittering light from the ocean reflected like shards of glass on the white walls of the room. Link’s apartment was utter perfection, with a perfect view of Elliott bay and situated on a central, but not too busy, street close to downtown. It made her question why he was itching to move out so fast and start building the house he’d been fantasizing about for the last couple of weeks.
“Hi baby,” she smiled as Scout’s blue eyes stared up at her sleepily. He was always the most cuddly in the morning and she shifted to a position where he was able to wrap his pudgy arm around her neck. “Where’s your Dadda?” As if on cue Link strolled into the bright room, his long hair was disheveled and his face wore a hint of exhaustion. Probably from being up all night searching for her, she realized. He held two steaming mugs of coffee and the scent hit her forcefully as he held it under her chin for her to take a small sip.
“He’s been missing you a lot lately.” He lowered himself onto their bed gently and placed both of the mugs on the side table. “Ma ma, ma ma, all day long.” She laughed at his decent impression of Scout’s latest attempts at talking. “You think with all the time he’s spent with Dadda,” he spoke the word loudly at his giggling son, “He’d start liking me at least half as much as you,” Link joked.
“Mama’s boy.” Amelia shrugged, pressing a kiss to the top of her baby boy’s head and suppressing a yawn.
“Bailey texted you not to come in because neuro is slow today but she put you on call. I turned off your alarm. Thought you might need the rest.” He explained, his voice free of judgment. “You also got a call from our health insurance place. Our plans are ending in a week and we’ve still got some credit so I called the pharmacy to renew your birth control prescription. I noticed your pack this month was almost finished.”
“Oh,” she turned to face him, suddenly reminded that she needed to take her pill. “Yeah...thank you.”
“No problem.” He shrugged. “I can probably pick it up sometime today.” He handed her the cup of coffee, reading her thoughts before she could even ask for it and watched as she swallowed the tiny pill down.
“Link, it’s--” “Fine,” he shrugged. “I don’t have any expectations of you, Amelia. I know you went through a lot with Owen,” he made a face she didn’t recognize before taking a large gulp out of his own mug and clearing his throat. “I don’t want to make you feel trapped or obligated to fulfill my own selfish desires. It’s your choice and I’m not going anywhere...unless you want me to,” he paused, allowing her space to speak if she wanted to before continuing. “I was an only child and it was tough. It would’ve helped to have a sibling to lean on during my parent’s divorce and I guess that’s my own stuff that I should probably work through instead of pushing you into a situation that you don’t want to be in. I’ve seen you go through hell with your sisters and I understand where you are coming from. Most of all, I’d never want to force you to quit the thing you love doing the most. I also think that would be doing a disservice to the world because my girlfriend is a freaking superhero and she’s got hundreds upon hundreds of people to still save. So can we just pretend that everything I selfishly said to you didn’t happen? Cause I usually don’t like to talk everything out but I was up all night trying to put how I was feeling into words and I still feel like I did a shitty job.” “Now you know how I feel all the time,” she laughed, slipping her hand into his and wishing she could erase the stress that was radiating from him. “Screwing up while trying to get my point across is my specialty.”
“That’s not true, you’re one of the most well spoken people I know.” Link rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his coffee and looking a little bit more relaxed.
“There’s a lot of people who would say otherwise,” Amelia joked, pulling their duvet up to Scout’s shoulders as he began to fall asleep on her chest. “You weren’t being selfish,” she finally sighed. “If anyone’s not being fair it's me. I feel like my mind is switching up on me a hundred times a day. Since I’ve had the tumor I find myself constantly second guessing myself, trying to figure out what I want. Some days all I want is to be a mom. I feel like having Scout has made me become a better person and a better surgeon and I wouldn’t change that for the world. I don’t regret having him for even a second. Every single part of me loves him...and you. To the point where when I am at work, where I am usually at my happiest, I still find myself missing the both of you. Which scares me because there’s never been a doubt in my mind at work that I’m not exactly where I want to be. And I know for a fact that if we were to have another baby, or two or three, that I would find myself not being able to compromise between my love for operating and my love for my family. I know I would have to choose. And I don't think that I can. At least not right now.” Link nodded his head in understanding. “But when I can, you’ll be the first to know,” She laughed, causing him to grin.
“Well, I would hope so.” He rolled his eyes, pulling her closer to him gently, careful not to wake their sleeping son before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, Mia, and I'm not going to force you into anything. So for the love of god, stop running and just tell me how you feel because it's going to take a whole lot more than not wanting another baby right now to scare me off."
28 notes · View notes