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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 year

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The curse Harry had been hit with wasn’t so bad when he became something cute and small.

At the end of some days he just transformed into a little lapdog, easily squishable, easily manageable, easily lovable. Those days it was easy to curl up on Draco’s lap, to allow his ears to be stroked, soft endearments spoken over him. He’d often drift off to sleep, lulled by the peace and easy contentment of being scooped and cradled in gentle arms.

Some days he became something a little bigger, something with bigger teeth and a bit of a reputation, something that some people might be a little afraid of. But he wasn’t actually dangerous unless provoked, just a bit larger than some might prefer; his bark was certainly worse than his bite. Still it was easy enough to allow himself to be cuddled and held, to be petted and told that he was good. Even if he might feel a little grumbly about it, huffing barks and little growls, the affection and gentleness he so craved with this form was easily accessible. There was always a couch to lay on, Draco’s thigh to press against, his knee to rest his chin on while he was told that he was good if a bit misunderstood.

It wasn’t even too bad on the days that he looked more like a wolf than a dog, when his body was as long or longer than a human was tall, when his teeth were long and sharp, when his throat was possessed by the urge to howl. Even then, it wasn't too hard to transform, to run, to push his body to its limits before collapsing on the floor in front of the fire, sofa at his back. He was, theoretically, actually dangerous in this form. But hands were always gentle, stroking his thick fur, removing any burrs that had gotten caught, offering him water and little treats. The words were still always gentle, soft declarations of love, proclaiming his goodness in spite of how dangerous he might have been.

But nights like tonight were a different story entirely. On nights like these, he transformed into something far smaller than the wolf, and perhaps he wouldn’t have been seen as a threat in this body. Small, frail-looking, and very obviously wounded; everything about this body ached, everything about this body was too much for him to bear. And the woundedness, the pain that left him exposed and broken, made him more dangerous than any of the others. To be pet in this form was to experience pain, even the most gentle hands prompted a reaction; a bite, a snarl, teeth snapping and hackles rising.

On nights like tonight, he didn’t go inside. He didn’t find his way to the chair or the sofa, didn’t find a comfortable place to lay in front of the fire. No, on nights like tonight, he carried himself, limping and bleeding, into the woods and found a place to lie down. The forest was alive with the sounds of creatures around him and even the noise rubbed something raw inside of him.

He found a giant tree, one whose roots had carved out a hollow in the earth between, and laid down in the dirt close to the trunk, gingerly curling his body around itself. The small whines that escaped his throat were inevitable, he was unable to stop himself from whimpering in pain no matter how he tried.

And that was where Draco found him, lying shivering from cold and pain, trying very hard to block out all of the world. A low growl escaped his throat as Draco approached, teeth bared in a snarl, in spite of the way that his presence soothed something inside of his chest.

“I thought I might find you out here,” he said evenly, sitting down a few feet away, giving him space. “I worry for you when you don’t come home, you know.”

He huffed and curled tighter, shifting slightly away from him.

“I brought some things that might help,” he said, taking the rucksack off and flipping it open, “maybe a little water first?” Draco suggested, filling a bowl and offering it to him, “or a snack. You must be hungry from how far you ran,” he added, nudging some food toward him as well.

After a few minutes of careful mistrust, sniffing the proffered gifts for any signs of poison, any ill intent, he took a few tentative sips of water, a bite of food.

“Bandages next,” he said softly, broadcasting his movements as he pulled out ointments and bandages, salves and healing potions. “I know you don’t like this part, but it always helps.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that was true but it didn’t stop him from snapping at his hand when he reached toward him.

“It’s alright,” Draco soothed, not pulling away, not turning back. Gentle hands, hands that had praised and healed before, resumed their task, starting with the most obvious gaping wounds.

The process hurt, he cried and whimpered, shifting restlessly while the wounds were dressed. And when he was done, Harry thought he would leave, thought that was enough, surely, already too much to ask, too much to take.

But instead he prompted, “Let me see.”

He growled, low and dangerous; guarding the deep, festering wounds that he’d purposely kept hidden. They were ugly, dangerous in their own right, the festering was toxic; something that could poison not only his own body but that of anyone he touched as well.

“Come on,” he murmured, soft and encouraging, “show me.”

Pushing back, he found himself trapped against the tree. His hackles rose and he crouched a little lower to the ground but before he could work himself up too much further Draco took a step back.

“You’re alright,” he said gently, “you’re safe, you’re not trapped.” Another step back and his body eased a bit. “You get to choose. You don’t have to let me help, but I want to. I’m here when you’re ready.”

He laid back down, his whole body shaking with exhaustion and a pain that radiated from his chest and throughout his body. And he watched him.

And Draco just looked back at him, not pushing, not expecting him to do anything, not forcing anything on him. But he made it equally clear that he was not going anywhere, that he really would sit there until Harry was ready. The experience of his desire for his healing was almost too much, it set a pain even deeper in his body, all the way down into his bones.

After several minutes of staring at one another, his growl turned into a low whine, soft and pitiful, even to his own ears.

“Come here,” he invited again, holding out a hand and waiting.

He crawled forward on his belly and bumped his hand with his snoot and he carefully stroked his head.

“You’re good,” he murmured as he rubbed his ear between his thumb and forefinger, “you’re good.”

Whining, Harry gingerly rolled onto his side, exposing the wounds on his chest. They were the worst, he knew they were the ugliest, the deepest, the most dangerous.

“Oh,” he whispered soft and aching, “let me?” he asked and Harry turned his head to the side, allowing him to clean them, to work in the ointment that would ultimately heal in spite of how badly it hurt, before bandaging them.

Panting, whimpering, he waited for the sharp pain to dull, to ease.

Draco shifted closer, sitting cross legged near his head, petting him and murmuring soft, gentle words to him. “Come home,” he murmured.

He curled into a ball, settling his body back into the tree roots once more, seeking the shelter of the tree. It was enough, this place, wounds already tended to, water and food freely given; more than enough really all things considered when you saw his ugliness, his brokenness, the way he snapped and growled. It was too much, surely, for anyone to bear.

With a little sigh, he unrolled a mat and started to settle on the ground, like he planned to stay.

Lifting his head he gave a little bark and nudged his hip with his nose.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said stubbornly, “not without you. You either come with me or I stay here, that’s how this works.”

He huffed and gave another bark but when Draco made no signs of moving, he curled up tighter and tucked his head. Dozing off was a matter of necessity at this point, exhaustion made every limb heavy and achy.

When he woke, body stiff and sore, nerves alight with the sensation of sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, he turned his head and found that he was still there, watching over him while he slept. “You’re alright,” he soothed, “you’re safe.”

Whining again, he leaned forward slowly and pressed his nose to Draco’ arm.

“Home?” he asked softly, two fingers tracing over the bridge of his nose.

And he gave in, let himself be loved, be too much, he stood and waited while he rolled his mat and packed up. The walk back was a slow, painful one but he stayed by his side the whole way back, not rushing him, just staying with him.

When they got back he laid down in front of the fireplace and Draco built up the fire, then covered him with a blanket and sat beside him to stroke his head until he drifted off to sleep again.

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The next morning, the sun shining through the windows woke him. He shifted with a groan, stretching his stiff muscles.

“There’s coffee on the table.”

He looked over at Draco where he was sitting looking out the window and sipping his own cup of coffee, before sitting up and reaching for the cup. Leaning against the sofa, he took a sip of coffee before scrubbing his hand over his face. “Sorry,” he finally said, voice coming out rough from misuse.

“I’m not,” Draco replied without missing a beat.

He laughed, a hint of bitter disbelief in his voice, “you had to chase me out into the woods,” he said. “Heal gaping, disgusting wounds.”

“I love you,” he countered, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’ll always come find you. I’ll always want to help you heal.”

He shook his head and looked down at his coffee. “I hate this curse,” he whispered, broken and frustrated.

“It doesn’t have to be a curse.” He stood up and moved over to sit next to him on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with their backs pressed against the legboard of the sofa. “Not if you let me help you, not if you let me see you.”

“It feels like as much of a curse for you as it is for me.”

He shook his head, “I want all of you. You aren’t too much,” he added softly.

He leaned over and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, “I feel like too much.”

“You’re not,” Draco said easily. “And it’s okay that you feel that way. But you’re not too much, your wounds aren’t too much. It’s helpful sometimes,” he continued, “to see how hard your days are,” he kissed the top of his head. “You always want to hide the hurt away from me, but you can’t like this. I like getting to know what’s really going on inside of you.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, rolling down his chin, “what if it never gets easier? What if I never stop feeling this much pain? What if I never stop growling and snapping at you? What if I hurt you?”

“That was a lot of different questions,” he said, kissing the top of his head again. “I imagine that sometimes it will get easier and sometimes it will get harder.”

“Great. That sounds really good,” he muttered.

He laughed, soft and fond, “that’s just life. Sometimes we feel a lot of pain, we experience inordinate amounts of suffering. But you can always growl and snap at me, you can push me as hard as you want but I’m not going to leave. I won’t ever leave,” he promised. “Even if you hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know,” he affirmed. “But even if you do, we’ll make it better. You don’t have to shut me out, you don’t have to try to protect me from yourself. I’m not afraid of you.” Draco nudged him up off his shoulder so he could look at Harry’s face.

For a long moment, he just let him look, let himself be flayed open by his piercing silver gaze, every secret laid bare.

“You are good,” he said. “You are loved, so loved. All you have to do is let me love you.”

“I’m scared,” he confessed.

He smiled and let him snuggle back against his side, head resting on his shoulder once more. “I know. But you’re not alone. I’ll be with you,” he assured him. “I’ll be your safety net, I’ll help.” He rested his cheek on Harry's head, “everything will be alright in the end,” he promised. “You just have to trust me.”

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#drarry #soft #established relationship #gentleness #healing #tenderness #the mortifying ordeal of being known #enjoy the projected woundedness in my ranmblings i guess? haha #love #fluff #we're just having a tough week. things get easier

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starlightandmagic · 1 month

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Where the Spirit Meets the Bones

Kaz's lips thin as he flexes his long, pale fingers, seemingly adjusting to the feeling of being gloveless. "You said you would have me without armor. I can't give you that. Not entirely, not yet. I tried…" he frowns, looking like he's struggling with himself. "It's gotten… well not a whole lot better. I still need the damn gloves most of the time."

Inej feels a pinch somewhere inside her chest. Maybe it's her heart squeezing at the sight of him, angry and bitter like he's always been and yet somehow looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.

So he’s not fit for a conventional relationship, she doesn’t want that anyway. For better or worse and despite her better judgment, no matter how much she tried to fight it in the past, she's only ever wanted him. If the heart is an arrow then, for whatever reason that only her Saints could explain, her target is always Kaz. No matter how far she goes, her compass keeps pointing straight back to him.

Healing has never been an easy journey. But Inej’s aim is always true, and she’s willing to fight for what she wants. ‘Knives drawn, pistols blazing’ he’d said, and she will hold him to his word, because he’s right, they never stop fighting.

Read on Ao3

#kanej #kanej fanfic #kanej fanfiction #kanej fic #kanejedit #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #shadow and bone #post crooked kingdom #grishaverse #inej x kaz #healing is a nonlinear process but goddammit they’re trying #because they deserve to heal and be happy #this is basically kanej and the mortifying ordeal of being known

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jewfrogs · 1 year

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am not against dadrius but why does everyone do it so boringly by pretending that darius would be a perfect parental figure. be real. he was complicit in hunter’s abuse. he treated hunter terribly and only warmed up (slightly) to this traumatized child soldier when hunter “redeemed” himself by behaving in a way darius approved of. he was wrong, and wrong in ways that furthered hunter’s suffering. and none of that means darius couldn’t someday be a good parent to hunter! but he would need to work towards that; pretending that darius is already at that point does their dynamic a real disservice. the redemptive reparative aspect is what’s interesting in their relationship. love! and forgiveness! and being better than who you were!

#which i would say the time skip does well! you can see how much more comfortable and at ease hunter is with him #how much he’s grown and healed and (more subtly) how much darius has #now THAT’S a hunter who would accidentally call darius dad when he was sleepy and be mortified and avoid him for days afterwards #the owl house #ribbits

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faux-fires · 1 year

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(Not-a) Drabble-a-day #5

let us hold a memorial service for the 200 word a day limit because i clearly do not know her. rip my ability to keep things concise at the moment i’m taking anything under 1k as a victory

(h)anders not-a-drabble day #5, prompt, “Naked”, some (relatively) non-explicit sexy times herein

The night had been going great, but it was what happened after they fucked that throws Anders for a loop.

His experience has taught him that fucking is the climax (so to speak) of the evening, followed by a hasty separation lest you get caught. Even in the Pearl he got bounced out after finishing, Madame needing the bed for someone else.

But Hawke wants to cuddle, and Anders, unsure how it works, submits to it with a white-eyed tension that almost undoes all the good work getting his back blown out did an hour before. He's handsy. He keeps kissing Anders, on the face sure but also on the throat and chest and arms; his beard is whisper-soft. And he won't stop petting Anders, stroking his hand along the curve of his shoulder, sweeping his thumb over his ribs, fingers seeking out knots of scar tissue and tracing them with a calm acceptance Anders has no idea what to do with.

Anders knows he can be... intense. He doesn't know how not to be; the emotions are too big for him to keep inside. But he has absolutely no idea what to do with the quiet contentment on Hawke's face, the satisfaction he sees there. Perhaps it's a sex thing? Carefully he offers, "I should be ready for another round in about fifteen minutes," and when Hawke's eyes widen, adds, "Grey Warden, remember?"

"Maker's furry arse crack," Hawke breathes, his reverent tone making his blasphemous words something of a mixed message. "It's like you stepped right out of the Fade," and Anders must have misheard, because he's not - that's not - that cannot be him.

He's mean. He's paranoid. He's crazy. He's angry. He lives in a fucking sewer. He literally almost killed a helpless child not even twelve hours ago, and he feels himself flinch, but before he can open his mouth and say any of this Hawke's eyes go soft and he says, "Stay with me, love."

Anders swallows. "Where else would I go?"

Hawke shrugs. "I don't know," he says, and he rolls on top of Anders, then, in a fluid motion - Anders is aware he's flushing, his skin singing with the ghosts of before, which is ridiculous because Anders once sucked off a senior enchanter under a dining table ten minutes before curfew. He once got fingered by Neria Surana in a laundry closet right in front of a Tranquil, whose only comment was to ask him not to come on the clean towels. He once took himself in hand in the baths of the apprentice dorm with a templar wandering up and down the tubs, and came while making direct eye contact. He cannot be blushing, now, here, because Hawke is lying naked atop him, looking at him with affection.

How humiliating it is, to be brought down not by the amazing sex or the flowery words exchanged leading up to the moment, but by the aftermath - for the gentle touch of Hawke's calloused palms against his hips, the whiskery press of his beard to Anders's throat as he kisses his way along Anders' jawline. He's had so much sex, and none of it ever felt like this - the vulnerability not just of being still abed after the act but in being loved. His breathing is too quick and he's blinking too fast and Hawke doesn't seem to mind, not even slightly, and is instead treating him like something fragile: something to be treasured.

Once Anders got caught in the infirmary after hours with two other apprentices and a well-polished wooden wand, and paraded back to the dorm by Gregoir himself, not allowed time to dress: and he still felt more clothed then than he does now, when Hawke kisses him so sweetly and says, "Would you like that sandwich now, or after?"

Maker's furry arse crack, indeed.

#reikah writes recklessly #anders #hawke #handers #drabble a day #whenever i type anything about anders living in a sewer my traitor brain immediately begins blaring #WHO LIVES IN A SEWER UNDER A CITY? AN-DERS SQUARE-PANTS at mach volume #which lemme tell you #is a real mood killer when you're trying to write mushy romance about healing from ur childhood trauma #anders vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved

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kg-clark-inthedark · 6 months

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If y’all catch me using water as a metaphor any more in my writing please just put me down out back

#clark barks #how did I not see how much I was doing this FUUUUUCKKKKKK NOOOOO #I’ve suddenly become aware of this and am mortified #bout to delete my whole fucking fic lmao #jk I would never do that #but oh god oh GOD I’m so EMBARRASSED #sadness? water #fear? water #death? water #time? water #guilt? water #love? water #healing? water #joy and peace? water #WATER IS BANNED IN MY NEXT CHAPTER I STG #I know water is also a huge metaphor for stuff in dh itself and I drew heavily from that but still damn man I’m so annoying

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the-acid-pear · 9 months

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One of the most beautiful things Deltarune story has is the fact that you cannot remove its tragedy, because it's thru that very same that hope and love is born. You cannot change the past but you can take what you learnt and thru it build a brighter future.

#luly talks #some things are rough and nasty but they need to happen so lessons can be learnt and so one can grow from them #its a game about the importance of mistakes and you see it everywhere #like i tapped on this lightly today in a post about spamton #for as tragic and painful as his fate was it needed to happen #he needed to try it. to try reach heaven #se tenia que sacar el gusto como quien dice KSJGHBNUY #half joke because yeah like.he had to do it and realize thru his own actions that he was reaching for the impossible #and thru that he grew and was like well maybe i can at least do something else #same with the ending of chapter 1 #ralsei had to heal the king to understand that you cannot be good to everyone. even if it costed everyone's lives.#hell EVEN WITH US in one moment i adore in the ending of chapter 2 #when you're talking to catty (katty?) and threre's that dialogue option about family #and i dont remember the specifics but its so normal to pick the ah family is good tho <:) option #bc taht's what we would think yeah. but she makes it very clear that that's not something kris would say #and when i first saw that i was MORTIFIED like omg im gonna get a bad grade in being Kris #but... i think its part of this all too. because we are learning how kris is. how they even were before us.#had we not fucked up maybe we'd have not know that #this is a game about doom and hope both <333333333 #deltarune

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soldier-poet-king · 7 months

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Cried abt steal smoked fish (the song) today at the grocery store so like. That's where we're at.

#the duality of fran #i put it on my astarion playlist and maybe that was a mistake #bc i already listen to it too much and it is this particular peculiar kind of grief and prayer #WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #im literally fine except everything makes me SO emotional ALL THE TIME and its incurable #and i dont WANT it to be Cured #i maybe just want to be coddled and not feel insane #smthn smthn vulnerability and mortifying ordeal of being known. unforch #im making a coffee. again.#would it be enough if i could never give you peace?#i am striving and striving and never getting anywhere #also i want to book a tattoo consult again. and get my touch ups done now that its been a month plus of healing

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pepprs · 1 year

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anyways. i hit tag limit and now im going to go to bed late bc i have to clean the whole kitchen. but the last 48 hours have just been so emotionally intense and exhausting and painful. i relived july 5-29 2022 in 48 hours. and it was better than that ofc bc i wasn’t uhmmmm shut down and unable to express my feelings 😍😍😍😍😍😍 but it was still horrible and the worst is over but im still in so much emotional / mental pain rn and it’s gonna take a while to recover from that and i don’t have the emotional resources i need to do so obviously. yayyyyy 🥳

#purrs #delete later #the MMMMMORTIFYING. MORTIFYING. ordeal. of romy leaving the way she did. and never being able to recover from that so the wound has festered #only for someone else i love and cherish and depend on to leave. LIKE IFS INSANE TO ME. it is so crazymaking. i can’t withstand the pain of #it. but OF COURSE i can like they’re not d*ad or anything god forbid a million times they’re just moving on. but im just taking it so hard.#in ways that are so… unhealthy and abnormal and hard to carry and hard to live through. and again living in fear that it will happen one #more time and i’ll be truly alone then. but then it’s like silly tess pepprs you already WERE alone! because nobody can meet the four needs #except for you… or like a significant other if you could get around your psychic block 🥰 but yeah. i am not functioning well and i #don’t know how to get the relief and healing i need because it’s a process etc etc. i just wish this wasn’t happening. i feel so wounded and #bruised and horrible rn. like my heart physically hurts… ermmmmm 😳‼️#also im namedropping at this point idec. i feel bad about it and i shouldn’t but imgonna give myself and my future self this one today LOL

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mickmundy · 1 year

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ah... mühelos! (text version under the cut!)

“What are you doing here?!” Sniper hissed, trying not to wince as he could feel his injuries beginning to affect him. You shouldn’t be here. You should be with the others, his expression spoke for him as he clenched his jaw, feeling the knife wounds and bone-breaks he’d endured during his previous fight beginning to catch up to him. His heart pounded in his ears and made him feel lightheaded. “You can’t be here, you’ve gotta-”

“Of course I can! I am here, aren’t I?” Medic tittered. Sniper let out a harsh exhale from his nostrils, trying to let the worry seep out of him. Medic knew what the team was doing better than he did, so maybe he could spare a minute of his time here. Sniper looked him in the eyes, searched that mischievous expression for any sign of reluctance. Well, if Medic was comfortable being here, surely it was okay…

“Yeah, guess you are…” He licked his lips, softening his grasp on Medic’s coat and picking up his rifle again, letting out a soft grunt as he furrowed his brow in pain, watching his left hand tremble a little bit from the broken wrist he’d endured from his earlier scuffle. He couldn’t blow this shot. If he missed, BLU could pin them here for the rest of the match, which wouldn’t do at all; Medic had to get back to Heavy as soon as possible.

“And, well, since you are…” Sniper started again, his face flushing as Medic’s expression brightened, a hopeful smile sliding onto his doctor’s features as his brows raised in eager anticipation. “Well, I was wondering if you could…” He swallowed thickly as he gestured vaguely at himself with one hand and glanced at the medigun, clearing his throat before trying again. “Y’know, spare some… healin’,” he finally finished, his chest rising and falling as he released a nervous breath.

The smile Medic gave him knocked the wind out of him all over again. Completely and totally unfiltered excitement. Joy, relief. Sniper wouldn’t have been surprised if the doctor had said It’s about time you asked, dummkopf!, but he didn’t. “It would be my pleasure… Michel,” said a little breathlessly, the name sliding off of his tongue so quietly that if Sniper hadn’t been staring at his lips, he might not have even heard him.

Sniper’s eyes felt heavy as he shivered pleasantly, the life-saving device working her magic and miraculously healing him, warming his bones and making his heart pound even faster as his wounds healed up quickly. “‘Preciate it…” He was almost a little afraid his heart would burst like a wasserballon, as Medic had teased so long ago. Shake it off. “... Ludwig.” Tell him to go, go to Heavy, go where he’s needed. Just because Sniper wanted him here, didn’t mean this was where he should be… right?

#HEHEHEE #dutchwip #thou giveth fever #the mortifying ordeal of being known (asking for healing)#dutchfoolery

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helianthusamoenus · 1 year

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It’s baffling when I realize that the shadow was me all along. The angry voice who wants to see my loved ones suffer so they knew what I went through, the fearful voice who shrieks whenever I dare to do something, the voice who sneers at the minimal demonstration of needing space, begging to not be forgotten or abandoned, wasn’t really a shadow who loomed with its one eye watching me. She was a teenager, enraged version of myself wanting to escape, run and make justice for all the things she repressed her anger for. She’s the one who screams at anyone daring to not reply to my texts, the one who has no patience left, who is sobbing to grab someone’s hand. It’s shocking to let the ‘you’re your own worst enemy’ thought really, really sink in and internalize it. It’s hard to accept that I’m trying to make amends with her, the one who wants me to take revenge on everything and everyone for her cruel stories. She fights with me, and I don’t want to relent, but isn’t it heartbreaking that the darkest part and the most toxic side of oneself has to fight with you sometimes in order to live instead of surviving?

#self introspection #random introspection #introspection #is this a rant #healing #the mortifying ordeal of being known #i’m so tired #shadow ego etc etc #my angry voices have seventeen years and are done w everybody’s bullshit #omori was my therapy in 2021 and this came out of it #aubrey protector #been feeling heavy these days #it’s called anxious attachment girl suffering over an avoidant attachment friend #i am my own worst enemy

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moranjpg · 2 years

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Stories and Healing

The child is sick. The mother carries it to bed and sits down next to it. And then she starts to tell stories. What is one supposed to make of that? [...] We know about healing through stories from the Merseburg Incantations. It is not only that they repeat Odin's wording; rather they tell of the circumstance, the reason that he first used them. What's more, one knows how the story that the sick tells the doctor at the beginning of the treatment can become the beginning of the healing process. This prompts the question of whether the story can establish the right climate and conditions for some curative treatments. Whether perhaps every illness was curable if it only passed down the river of narration far enough – right to the mouth. Considering how pain is a dam which withstands the stream of narration, one can clearly see that it is broken through where the declivity is steepest and everything which stands in its way is being carried into a sea of fortunate forgottenness. The caress forms the bed for this stream.

"Denkbilder", Walter Benjamin and Asja Lacis (Projekt Gutenberg DE) (emphasis mine)

#freaking the hell OUT about this one. oh my god.#own post #literature #reading #contemporary literature #litblr #quote #quotes #storytelling #for your web weaving needs #on stories #on healing #on love #the mortifying ordeal of being known #opening up #walter benjamin #asja lacis

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lietwice · 8 months

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[ walk ] sender helps receiver walk by staying by their side and holding onto them - @jsbashirmd

IT'S A TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT INJURY. If it had been his arm, he could've at least moved from one location to another unassisted. It might've been easier, then, to extricate himself from Julian's care. There's no point in wishing, though. It isn't his arm, and he isn't finding it easy.

GARAK HAS INJURED HIS LEG. Or, rather, someone else has injured Garak's leg. He's just spent over an hour in the infirmary with Julian being treated for the injury, the first round of many he's going to need to repair the damage. Over an hour of nothing more than lying still and being assaulted with the most unbearable kindness.

BECAUSE JULIAN REALLY IS A WONDERFUL DOCTOR. Careful, thoughtful, firm where he needs to be and gentle where he doesn't. And Garak, whose avoidance of clinical intervention has put his life in danger more times than he can count, didn't last two minutes before his traitorous body began to relax under Julian's care. The tiniest things --- Julian's palm on his knee, a single unnecessary rub to the side of his calf --- and this man somehow begins to soothe a hurt that has spent years embedding itself into Garak's soul. Years and years of touch starvation, and Julian thaws the ice with nothing more than an entirely professional touch.

IT'S PATHETIC. Julian is a doctor, and he's been doing his job, regardless of the effect it's had on Garak. He'd do the same for anyone. Anyone at all. Garak is certain of it. It's not special, and it's not born of any sort of love for Garak. And that's what's so unbearable about it, because Garak knows this, and he still longs for more. He should tell Julian to leave, to let him struggle his own way home, unusable leg or not. He could even shout at him, tell him to keep his stupidly soft hands to himself, and get out of his personal space. He could tell him he'd rather take an hour to get to his quarters than let Julian hold him up all the way there. But Garak is a weak man. An extra minute spent with Julian's arm around him is worth the shame he'll feel later when he's alone again.

THEY'RE NOT FAR FROM HIS QUARTERS NOW. Disappointment settles in his chest when he calculates that he has only a few minutes left of Julian's touch. And then, slipping in through the opening made, anxiety. The disappointment is ridiculous, but anxiety? Worry at the thought of being left alone? He really is reaching new lows today. And, he supposes, if he's sunk to this depth already, he may as well make his home here.

GARAK SLOWS. They've been moving slowly as it is, but he allows the pain to affect his movements even further, disrupting his pace. "I do apologise, Doctor... I'm sure you have better things to do than assisting me in walking, but I believe I'm feeling some of those after-effects from the treatment you mentioned earlier."

#this took me ages i'm sorry!!!#it's so hard to come up with situations where the problem wouldn't have just been healed immediately #so i'm saying it was a complex injury he probably got from being dragged on some random mission #also sorry this got so long apparently garak decided to have some weird feelings about julian treating him #answered. ( how mortifying to be the one who remembers. )#medical tw #injury tw #jsbashirmd #verse. ( tbd. )

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vagabondfirelily · 2 years

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The water is cool against his skin, almost chilly, but not unpleasantly so. The waves snake up his shins, soft sand pulling his feet in with every step and then dissipating between his toes. He wasn’t quite prepared for the strength of the ocean as it tries to sway and throw him off balance the further in he goes.

He can’t see the way Essek shifts back on the beach, how he wrings his hands. Only a voice reaches him, carrying over the surface of the water.

“Just be careful! The tide can be quite strong.”

“Are you worried for me?”

“Of course not. But I would hate to have to drag you back to land and present your drowned corpse to the Umavi. It could be rather… problematic.”

Does Essek know how poorly he masks the concern in his voice veiled as a scoff? Does he know that Verin can hear him, that he always has? And that that was the reason his words have always hurt all the more for?

A sudden, bitter feeling threatens to rise from somewhere deep within, lodging itself in his chest like a tightly wound ball. He will not let it out, he refuses to. So instead, he swallows it down and not taking his eyes off the horizon, calls back.

“Do you even know how to swim?”

“I’ve had lessons, yes.”

He fights the urge to turn around and see if Essek’s face matches the indignation in his voice. It makes Verin wonder what kind of story lies behind it. Maybe he’ll ask. Maybe Essek will be in a mood to share.

For now, he traces the line where the starlit water turns into the night sky and simply takes in the never-ending expanse of the ocean. He has to admit, it’s peaceful like this. Just enough to soothe the lingering ache in his heart if he’ll let it.

He wades even further in, both arms outstretched ever so slightly, fingertips ghosting the surface of the water. Sand grips his feet, trying and failing to keep him in place. He stops when the waves reach his waist and closes his eyes.

Perhaps this is what Fjord meant when he said he loved the ocean. Perhaps this is how Essek feels when he tends to his garden in Rexxentrum. At peace.

The waves crash and the water licks his fingers. As the ocean breeze whips his face and fills his lungs, for the first time in years, Verin simply takes his time.

Why did it have to take his brother’s treason to get here?

When he makes his way back out of the water, an hour or a few minutes later, he finds Essek sitting cross-legged on the beach halfway between the shore and the rock face at his back, patiently awaiting his return. With wet clothes sticking to his body, Verin drops down on the sand next to his older brother and reflexively scans their surroundings for any intruders. There aren’t any, Essek would not risk it, but just because they’re safe doesn’t mean it will stop Verin from worrying. And that must be it, surely, him being too preoccupied with a distant threat to notice, because his only warning is an exasperated sigh before Essek enters his space.

“Hold still, your hair is a mess.”

There are fingers in his hair then, trying to smooth out tangled knots and tame flyaway strands blown out of his braid by the wind. The sudden sensation makes him freeze, wholly unexpected. Essek hasn’t touched his hair in years, not since he became Shadowhand.

Not since he decided to push you away, a small bitter voice whispers at the back of Verin’s head.

The familiar tugging and pulling bring him right back to their childhood. Back to all those times when Essek would drag him away to the side, despairing of the state of his wild hair and trying to tame it as best as he could before the start of official ceremonies and family meetings so as to spare them both from the Umavi’s displeased eye. Back to bleary mornings and quiet evenings. To stacks of books and scraped knees when the only company they had was their own.

As if remembering the same thing, Essek abruptly goes very still, his hands halting halfway through the motions. A shadow passes by his face, a flicker of morbid realisation and shame. Verin watches him carefully out of the corner of his eye, not daring to move. Fear floods him for a second – fear that Essek will pull away. He doesn’t. But Verin can’t help but feel the inescapable distance slowly taking shape between them. Touching one’s hair is reserved for family only in the Dynasty and the truth is, whether he wanted to or not, Essek has renounced that privilege a long time ago.

Between the stillness of their breaths and the rolling ocean, Essek swallows and his fingers pick up where they left off after a moment, his movements decidedly more methodical and self-conscious. Verin keeps his head still and lets his shoulders relax as Essek loops the strands of white hair one by one and slowly replaits his braid.

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#i'm back on my bullshit #just kidding i never stopped #the mortifying ordeal of healing and being loved #essek thelyss #verin thelyss #cr fanfic #vlily writes #critical role

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