avatar by volbeatic on tumblr. a storage system, for things that i've not posted on main, for various reasons. also a sideblog, so i can't follow back from here.
Because this is what people do. They get tired of her and they leave.
So shoot her, she thought this group was different. She thought Caleb was different. Every time he’d switched into Frumpkin’s vision, he’d put a hand on her shoulder. When he told the group about his childhood, about Ikithon, he’d leaned on her like he’d needed her strength. And she liked him. He was an ass and thoughtless, sure, but he had a strange sense of humor and was happy to talk to her about anything and everything, and he watched her back, just like she watched his.
And damn it, she’d thought that meant something.
She’d been ready to fight for him, too. That’s the part that stings. Three horses had appeared along the Amber Crossroads, right as the sun was setting, lending the sky the color the same as the road, and Caleb had frozen on the horse just behind her, his arms tensing around her waist. She’d turned and whispered, what, and he’d said, nothing, but his hands had been shaking, and one hand had itched at the wrist of the other, and she had looked up and counted three, and she’d been ready to fight.
She’d been ready to fight as she swung off her horse, called everyone to a stop, even as she dragged a protesting Caleb off their horse. She’d been ready to fight when the three of them approached, and Ikithon had stepped off his mount with a fluidity of movement more snake than human. He had introduced himself, and Beau had seen it: even as her hands tensed around her staff, she’d seen Nott’s go for her crossbow, seen the spray of saltwater as Fjord summoned his falchion, the brief flash of light as Jester gripped her Traveler’s talisman, sunlight bouncing off Molly’s blade, tinted amethyst from Caduceus’s staff. They’d all been ready to fight.
That was what she told Caleb, all those months ago: that they were his friends, and damn it, that he would fight for them.
They’d been ready, all of them, right up until Caleb stepped forward, stopped before Trent Ikithon, and bowed.
“I am glad that you are here,” he’d said then, and Beau’d done a double-take, not just because of his words but because there was only the faintest of accents in his voice, which did not shake, at all. “I have much to tell you.”
Ikithon had started to laugh, but Caleb had only lifted his chin. And Beau — who was still hoping at this point, that Caleb had a plan, because it never occurred to her that Caleb would turn on them, not him — Beau had watched.
“Look,” Caleb had said, so softly that Beau’d had to strain to hear it. “See for yourself.”
Ikithon had cocked his head, smooth and unnatural. At his side, the two other Zemnians had swung down from their mounts, watching with interest as Ikithon planted a hand on Caleb’s face, palm on his cheek, fingers arched over his temple —
They’d both gone still, eyes closing. Nott was shaking, furious, her trigger finger itchy, because just like Beau she’d still thought Caleb had a plan, that his plan involved saving them, but they were both wrong, in the end.
Because when Ikithon had opened his eyes, he’d nodded with a small pleased smile. The Zemnians clapped him on the shoulder, the woman’s hand lingering, and Ikithon had said, “Welcome back, Bren.”
So anyway, she should’ve fucking known. Someone else got tired of her and left. And that would be fine, Beau’s used to it, except it’s not just her this time, it’s the rest of the Nein, too. And she’ll never forgive Caleb for that.
Their cells aren’t wanting for accommodations. They’re spacious, and clean — practically pristine compared to the backwater jails where Beau’s spent many nights lounging — stocked, even, with little candles stuff full of nice scents and comfortable furniture and a bed for each of them. It’s practically an expensive inn room, and maybe Beau would enjoy it were it not very much a cell.
Across the way, the other cell is a goddamn luxury. Three beds, all vast and comfortable-looking, which Jester gave Beau no end of shit for, back the first couple days they were here, before she’d gone mostly quiet except for a few words with Fjord. There’s even a small stock of paper and pencils, which Jester mostly uses to pass the time, Yasha peeking occasionally over her shoulder. No wards around the cells, either; they can talk freely. No visible guards, either. Their first few days are full of jokes and commiserating before they more or less run out of things to say, so far apart.
There are anti-magic barriers around the whole place, though. Beau’s checked. Her fists are magic and when she smacked Nott, who’s pretty hardy, the damage felt...normal. Unaltered. Fjord’s across-the-way Eldritch Blast did pitifully little against the full-wall windows, either.
She’d like the damn place better if it at least felt like a prison. Then she could stew in hatred and be justified. But Nott, see, the problem is that Nott hasn’t given up faith in her boy, so she keeps saying things like:
“I’m sure Caleb has a plan.”
Just like every other time she’s expressed her faith, the mood in the room tightens. Because, circumstantial or not, the evidence against him is pretty damning.
He’s not in there with them, for one. For two, when they’d dragged Beau out of her cell — dragged, more like politely escorted, it itches furiously under her skin — he was the one seated behind the desk, conducting an interrogation.
She’d lurched forward to punch him in the face. He hadn’t dodged, but a hand had caught hers before it made contact, and when she turned to swear the air blue the male Zemnian only gazed back at her impassively. Fuck that guy. Fuck all of them.
The dodecahedron. That was what they — what he — asked about. Stuff they hadn’t talked about, back in the privacy of camp.
Although now that she thinks about it, so much for fuckin’ privacy, huh. Anything they said at camp Caleb — Bren — would have overheard and then would’ve run and told his master. If not directly, then indirectly.
Beau saw Ikithon plaster his hand over Caleb’s face. She recognizes mind transferrance when she sees it. She knows that he knows, and that he knows them well.
She’s beyond scared. She’s furious. She put her faith in the wrong person and now they are all well and truly fucked.
Because once Bren runs out of questions, once they’ve all told him everything they remember of their time in the dodecahedron, there’s no reason to keep them around any longer. And Beau is familiar enough with the tactics of the Assembly to know that if they’re killed when their use has run out, they should be grateful.
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This is my secret santa gift for @inkedinserendipity who asked for some taakitz angst with an happy ending! I based this little comic on an amazing fic created by @believingbrook which you should definitely check out ;0 !
lady-potato-ninja replied to your post “It’s late and still, the sort of stillness in which Kravitz doesn’t...”
Hi! I’ve really liked this fic and how vivid and real your writing feels! I wanted to know if it would be ok for me to draw fan art based on this for a secret Santa ? Of course I would credit you but I understand if you don’t feel comfortable about it ☺️
aw heck yeah, for sure! as long as you credit me, i’d be absolutely delighted to see it. please at me in the post. thanks!! <33
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Same anon from before like always because I live for your writing- happy random day of the week! That little addition made my day. I couldn't stop smiling. Your fics are wonderful. You are wonderful. Have a great day and don't get headaches.
Ayy, thank you!! I really appreciate it, I hope you have a great day too!!
Kravitz turns, clutching the raven to his chest. He wipes his eyes defiantly. “‘m not crying.”
The woman before him is tall, skin pale as white snow, and when she kneels before him her dress — simple, long, with thousands of threads — ripples about her ankles. “But you are, little one.”
“I’m not.” Kravitz hiccups. “Mom — my mom said we don’t cry for the dead because they’re somewhere better now.”
“A wise woman,” the stranger murmurs, and holds out a hand. “May I?”
Kravitz bites his lip. He’s not supposed to mourn, he knows this, his mother always told him not to shed tears for the dead, but he doesn’t want to give Paya up yet, even though he stopped moving and his wing is broken because Kravitz knows he’s probably — he’s probably gone but he isn’t sure and he doesn’t want him to be.
But he finds himself drawn to this strange woman. Trusts her, even though he does not know her name. There’s something about her that Kravitz can’t quite identify; a deep sense of rightness, the cool calm before daybreak.
“Okay,” he whispers, and hands her Paya’s body, fighting back fresh tears. He still isn’t moving. Kravitz misses him.
The woman hums, folds the raven into her arms. “You loved him.”
Kravitz nods. “Yeah.”
“There is no shame in grief, young one,” the woman says, running her hand through the inert feathers atop Paya’s head, just as Kravitz himself has done. “For those who go beyond, death is far fairer than life; but it is not so for those who remain behind. Do not mourn for the fallen, Kravitz, but mourn for those left alone.”
“Me,” he whispers.
The woman smiles, just a touch of affection, and something sad within her eyes. “You.”
Kravitz bites back more tears, setting his shoulders stubbornly. “Can I have him back?”
“Of course,” she says, and hands him the body back. He tucks it close to his chest, shutting his eyes against a fresh round of sniffles.
“Why do things have to die?” he whispers. “It — it wasn’t even his fault, they just wanted him dead ‘cause they didn’t like me and they don’t like my mother ‘n they say ravens are evil but he hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Sometimes there isn’t a good reason,” the woman says, resting a gentle hand on his head. He looks up at her and feels — better. “This is the way of things, Kravitz. But take comfort in this: there is balance in death. That which is lost can always be found again.”
“I’ll see him again?”
“Someday, perhaps.”
Aila butts at his ankle insistently, and Kravitz chuckles around a sob, bending down to pick her up. “Sorry, Aila,” he murmurs. He looks up at the strange woman, a raven tucked beneath each arm. She’s watching him fondly, sadly. “Who are you?”
She hesitates. Then she lifts her hands and braces them over Paya’s head. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, a silvery wisp follows her palms into the open air.
“Paya!”
“Indeed.” He chirps, as though from far away, and flitters around her head once before perching on her shoulder. Then he cocks his head, looks at Kravitz, and crows.
“He’s okay,” Kravitz whispers. He holds the body tighter. “He’s okay.”
“So he is.” She rests a hand on his cheek and smiles, a full smile this time, not the fledgling thing Kravitz saw earlier. “Fare well, young Kravitz. Grieve, but not for long, and revel in the time that you have.”
The words disappear and so does the light touch of her hand upon her skin, and on the tail end of a blink she disappears.
“I suppose we didn’t put that in the welcome packet, did we.”
Kravitz taps the end of his scythe on the ground thoughtfully. “I read nothing about familiars, my Queen.”
“And no doubt you read every word.” His Queen smiles, a wry quirk of her lips, and whistles once. There’s a great rustling behind him, and moments later, two taloned feet alight on his arm.
“Paya!” He stares at his old, old bird, awed. “How — you died!”
“So he did,” his Queen says. She stands. “A little over forty years ago.”
He runs a hand through Paya’s feathers, delighting in the excited chirp the movement earns. Eventually he gets impatient — a trait carried over, Kravitz remembers suddenly, from his life — and flaps around Kravitz, butting his head against Kravitz’s cheek. He laughs, swats Paya out of the air and curls him between his arms.
“It is good to see you smile, my emissary,” the Raven Queen says. When Kravitz looks up at her, she’s shifted from her godly form to something more human, more tangible.
“That was you,” he says. Paya wriggles free from his arms and perches on his shoulder, nipping fondly at the tip of his ear.
“Of course, young one.”
“I’m an adult. Hardly young.”
“I am thousands of years old,” his Queen says wryly. “You, less than your first hundred. When you reach a thousand, perhaps we can talk.”
“I’ll remember that,” he grins.
His Queen sighs, shifts back with a stretch of her wings. “I know you will.”
It’s late and still, the sort of stillness in which Kravitz doesn’t want to sleep.
He can, now. Every day he spends on the Prime Material plane with his newfound body, he can feel himself becoming more and more real - his heart to Taako, his head to Lup and Barry, his lungs to Angus, his lips to Magnus, his hands to Merle. He finds more and more often that he needs it, is discomfited without it. After so long not needing to sleep, once more requiring rest is a change, and a change for the unwelcome, especially when his dreams are so plagued with nightmares.
Taako has taken up meditation. Where Kravitz sleeps more he sleeps less, meeting in the middle in a surprisingly well-balanced combination of rest and life.
For Taako’s sake, he closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. It’s short work to even his breathing, to settle his limbs into stillness, and let his husband read uninterrupted by the dim light of the moon. But even as the calming rhythm of a waft of magic turning the page every few minutes, Kravitz can’t find sleep.
It’s not often he feels like this. It’s not often his doubts accumulate until he has trouble breathing. The worst is - he knows it’s not logical. He knows he’s loved and that he loves, because he has physical proof thrumming inside his ribcage. He feels it every time he closes his eyes and dreams. But during long weeks like these, weeks where his is the last face his targets ever see, struggling children and desperate parents, weeks so desolate he asks the Queen to send their newest reapers toward kinder missions, he doubts.
Who is he to claim a life so brilliant as Taako’s? Who is he to place a damp hold on the whole of the IPRE, heroes of a hundred realities? He is despair and death given true form, instilled with false life and the false hope of love.
His breathing hitches, and Kravitz hastily quells it, praying Taako does not notice. For several long moments Kravitz lies in the dark, waiting for Taako to say something, but after several minutes a page flips again and Kravitz allows himself - well, not a sigh of relief, but a brief relapse in that at the very least, he didn’t mess this up too.
What is he but a failed bard? He’d had dreams, once. Aspirations. Things he’d wanted, things he’d pursued with a passion, and all of that had evaporated in death. No - he’d let it evaporate. He’d let go of his dreams. Practically waved them goodbye. Before this year Kravitz had spent centuries without so much as touching a piano and he’s painfully out of practice, painfully out of tune and painful to listen to.
And Taako - gods, Taako could have his pick of anyone. There had been no deceit in his voice when Kravitz had promised Taako that everyone in reality would love him. They do - this plane, the Prime Material plane, even the Celestial Plane that houses his goddess, filled with admirers of Taako and his entire family. Kravitz is...next to Taako, Kravitz is nothing. So what if he is a Reaper? So what if he is one of the oldest, most powerful of his kind? Next to Taako - bright, alive, brilliant Taako - he is cold and dead.
Sometimes he fears he’s draining that life. And now, feeling Taako sitting in the dark, for - gods, just for Kravitz’s sake, he knows it’s true.
Kravitz curls desperately in on himself, clenching around his core, where that thought settles over him like the weighted truth. He’s draining the life from Taako, and soon there will be nothing left, and that above all else terrifies him. He can’t, he can’t see his husband like him - see him cold and lifeless and dreamless, without aspirations and cut off from the rest of the world, bonds severed and only artificial life flowing through his veins. How - how can Taako stand to be around him?
He doesn’t even realize he’s made a sound until there’s the muted thump of a book closing. For the second time that evening, Kravitz freezes, but he can feel himself shaking and he curses his husband’s darkvision. Maybe - maybe Taako will let it go, and tomorrow he can - he doesn’t know, do something -
“Krav?” whispers that voice, the beautiful voice that conceals and needles and cares. “You awake?”
No, he thinks. No, I’m dead.
And he nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand lands on his shoulder. “Krav?”
Kravitz swallows, hard. “Taako? You, uh, you woke me up.”
In wordless response, Taako lifts a hand and brushes it gently along Kravitz’s cheekbone. Only when Taako’s fingers trail across his skin does Kravitz realize that oh, he’s been crying.
“Shit,” he says, heart dropping. This is it, this is what he does, he takes the joy from Taako and just fucking drains it. “I’m sorry, Taako, I - it was a nightmare. I can go back to sleep.”
“It wasn’t a nightmare, babe,” Taako says, and even in the dark of their bedroom Kravitz can see the horrible concern creased along his face. He wishes Taako would stop looking at him like that.
“It was,” Kravitz insists, because he’s always been terrible at lying, but maybe if he insists hard enough Taako will believe him and he’ll go back to reading, peacefully, not worrying about his husband and his stupid, cold self. He musters the best smile he can, shooting for bright and changing it to gentle at the last moment, because that’s what people do, right, they smile gently during the nighttime, and says, “I’m fine, Taako. Don’t worry.”
“Ain’t nobody tellin’ Taako what to do,” Taako huffs, but his expression doesn’t change from the quiet worry that stretches across Taako’s features. “I’m stayin’ nice and awake until you tell me what’s goin’ on, okay, bubbeleh?”
“Nothing,” Kravitz insists. “Nothing, Taako, I - it was nothing.”
Taako studies him for a long moment, those bright eyes roaming over his face. Whatever he finds it’s certainly not honesty, but he must deem it passable, because he nods. Then he says, “If you don’t wanna talk about it, Krav, that’s cool. Gods know I’m not one to judge you for that.”
Kravitz exhales. “Right,” he says, and then adds, “please don’t worry.”
Taako looks at him strangely. “You’re crying in the middle of the night, my dude,” he says. “Of course I’m gonna worry.”
“That - don’t,” says Kravitz, almost pleading. “I’m not -” worth it, “don’t do that. Just, go back to reading, okay?”
“You’re not what?”
“I’m not upset,” Kravitz lies, surprising himself with the ease with which it comes out.
“Okay, now there’s some real worry up here,” Taako says, the anxiety growing on his face. “Normally you’re, like, good at talking shit out.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“That’s horseshit, Krav,” Taako says, but his voice isn’t exasperated it’s gentle, still, and Kravitz winces at it because he doesn’t deserve it, he’s not worth it. “C’mon, you know you can talk to me, right?” he says, and reaches out a hand toward Kravitz’s shoulder, and Kravitz -
Kravitz recoils, because he can’t stand the thought of Taako touching him and becoming a little more lifeless, a little more dead, a little less Taako.
Then he realizes what he’s done, and that Taako’s staring at him. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “I didn’t - I love you, I just, not right now, okay? I’m gonna go back to sleep and you can keep reading, and please don’t worry, I’m fine. I mean it, I’m okay - ”
Before Kravitz can pull away, before he can do much of anything, Taako has two arms wrapped around his shoulders and one palm pressed against the back of Kravitz’s skull. For a moment Kravitz flinches away, because no, this is bad, he’s cold and Taako’s warm and Taako’s going to wither Kravitz is draining him but his husband is strong and Taako does not let go.
“Krav,” Taako says, voice quiet. “I love you.”
“I - ” Kravitz chokes, hands hovering awkwardly behind Taako’s back, torn between returning the embrace and fleeing, far away from Taako and everyone else he could hurt by being himself. “I’m sorry - ”
“Stop.”
“I - what?”
“Stop apologizing. Fuck, babe, just stop it, okay? I don’t - you don’t have anything to apologize for, far as I can tell.”
Kravitz can’t help it - he laughs, first a snort, then a gasp, and then a sob that he buries in Taako’s shoulder because he hates himself, fucking bleeding sorrow over the most brilliant man in the world, and he doesn’t understand why Taako is here, why Taako is still here after all these years. His shoulders shake but Taako’s arms are warm and steady around him, holding him close. Behind his own ragged inhales Kravitz can hear Taako murmuring quiet nonsense, but more than that he’s humming, and that’s what breaks Kravitz - he’s humming.
He’s humming a song that Kravitz wrote, voice drifting gently over the melody, a perfect complement to the warm hands rubbing soothing circles into his back.
Kravitz clings tightly to Taako and cries.
And Taako, chest vibrating as he sings in a voice far deeper than the one with which he talks, lets him.
This should make it worse. This should drive the point home, really, that Kravitz is leeching off of Taako, an unfillable tap that will just keep taking, but somehow it’s harder to believe with his face buried in the crook of Taako’s neck and two hands clenched tightly in his nightgown, feeling the strong heartbeat underneath. Somehow, the rhythm is soothing - a reminder of what still is, rather than what Kravitz might have taken.
With every breath he feels less like drowning. Taako presses his cheek against the side of Kravitz’s head, like he’s trying to hold as much physical contact as possible, and of course he is, he knows Kravitz and he knows that makes Kravitz feel better, and he drops his own personal bubble for Kravitz because that’s who Taako is; cold to the world, but to a select few, warmer than the sun. And he is so, so lucky to be one of that number.
“What’s wrong, love?” he says, and Kravitz almost breaks down again, because that’s - that’s his pet name for Taako, one he uses because Taako needs to hear how much he’s loved, and Taako only uses it for Kravitz when something is wrong, when he’s at his most concerned, and it does its job: it reminds Kravitz that he’s loved.
“I don’t understand,” Kravitz whispers against Taako’s collarbone, not daring to look up. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”
Taako tries to pull back, to lift Kravitz’s chin, but Kravitz presses his face harder into Taako’s shoulder, silently begging to be allowed to hide, just for a moment longer. There’s a brief pause, then Taako’s arms encircle him again, shielding him from his own dark for just a moment.
“You’re wondering why I stick around,” he says, and Kravitz nods.
Taako is quiet for a long moment, still rubbing absent circles along Kravitz’s spine. His fingers are pads of warmth against his vertebrae. Kravitz squeezes his eyes tight, focuses on the heat from his husband’s shoulder against his forehead, and tries to rope his breathing back under control. That anxious, loathing warning against burdening Taako with his own inadequacies is muted, made quieter by the bubble Taako has created around him.
“There’s not a short answer to that question, love,” Taako says. “Let’s start from our happy middle?”
“Okay?” says Kravitz, not really sure where he’s going with this.
Taako chuckles, quietly, fondly. “It’s something Lup and I used to say, back before the IPRE,” he explains, and Kravitz stills, because Taako doesn’t often talk about his time before the Starblaster. Those are not happy memories for his husband. “We used to say: give us an unhappy beginning, a happy middle and a very happy end.’ It was either a game or a prayer.” Kravitz can hear the small smile on Taako’s face. “We haven’t decided which yet, but I think Lulu would agree it was more a prophecy than anything.”
“This....”
“This is our very happy ending,” Taako says. One of his hands raises from Kravitz’s back to run through his hair soothingly. “You’re my very happy ending, Krav.”
Kravitz squeezes his eyes shut again, denial forcing to the front of his mind. What is he against the heroes of a hundred realities? Gods, what is he against Taako’s family?
If Taako notices the resurgence of tension in Kravitz’s body, he doesn’t mention it. His hands are unceasing against the nape of Kravitz’s neck. “So,” he says musingly, “our happy middle. Let’s talk about the sapphire mirror. Krav, gods, I...” Taako says, and his voice cracks a bit. “The first time you told me you loved me I was so, so happy. You make me happy, Krav. I know you think you don’t, but you do. At the time I didn’t know I loved you too, and it took a little while for me to come around,” he says, snorting, because it took a year and a bit for Taako to say I love you, “but you were fine with waiting. All those months I was just trying to screw my head on right and you didn’t complain once. You never stopped telling me how much you loved me, and it was sappy as shit, but that’s who you are, Krav. Patient, and sweet, and kind, even - even with fucked-up elves who’d lost their entire heart.
“And now,” he says, voice softening further, hands coming to rest on Kravitz’s cheek, “we’re in our very happy ending. And, gods, Krav, I mean this - I’m so glad to share it with you. I love you, Krav. No - no, I’m in love with you, and that’s not gonna change. I know you hate being the last face people see and I know you think you’re - that you’re drainin’ me or some shit, but you don’t. You make me so, so happy.” Taako releases Kravitz and taps his other hand under Kravitz’s chin, forcing his gaze upward. “I want you looking at me when I say this, love, because I mean it. I’m in love with you, Kravitz. And I think I always will be.”
He presses his lips softly against Kravitz’s forehead. For a moment Kravitz sits, entirely still, and then he starts to smile.
“Thank you, Taako,” he says. “I - this is a bad time, I know, I’m sorry - ”
“Nope.”
Taako flicks the bridge of his nose. “Right,” Kravitz says. No apologies. He smiles despite himself, because Taako’s in love with him. He’s so lucky that this brilliant, amazing elf is in love with him. “I’m in love with you too, Taako.”
“I know,” says Taako, and pulls him into another hug, this one less desperate, this one calm and content, the horrified strain of earlier dissipating around them. “Anything else you wanna put on the table, homie?”
“I’m not sure I did much putting in the first place,” Kravitz says, surprising himself with a full-blown grin. “But I am feeling better, Taako,” he says, and is surprised by that too, that it’s true. That his husband has taken those loathing thoughts and beaten them away through the sheer force of his love. Gods, Taako is incredible.
“Good. Can’t have a mopey reaper around the house,” Taako sniffs. “Bad for, like, plant morale and shit.”
“If Merle’s gifts were affected by me they’d be dead long ago, babe,” Kravitz laughs, swipes at his eyes.
Even as Taako says, “Well, we’re lucky he made these things hardy as fuck then, my man,” he cradles Kravitz’s face in his hands one more time. He swipes his thumbpads along Kravitz’s eyes, two smooth swathes of warmth that bring another smile to Kravitz’s face. Kravitz reaches up both hands and holds Taako’s wrists, lightly, reveling in this moment, then turns and kisses the palm of one of Taako’s hands.
“Sap,” Taako says with absolutely zero malice in it. He also makes zero move to reclaim his hands.
They sit like that for a long moment, just watching each other, before Kravitz’s jaw cracks in a yawn.
Taako laughs. It’s still as beautiful as the first day Kravitz met him. “Time for reapers to take a nap, I think,” Taako says, jabbing him in the side.
Kravitz concedes, flopping back down on the bed. Instead of levitating his book again, Taako tucks himself right beneath Kravitz’s chin, letting the reaper curl his arms around the small of his back and hold him close.
So Kravitz drifts, his husband in his arms and the quiet sound of a gentle breeze outside, a warm patch on his neck where Taako’s forehead is pressed up against his chin. He’s almost asleep when Taako says, quietly, “Kravitz?”
“Hmm?” he hums.
“You gotta - Krav, next time this happens, just talk to me about it, okay?” Then, quieter: “I don’t like seeing you get this bad. It scares me.”
Kravitz nestles his hand in Taako’s hair in response, a gentle pressure on the back of his head. “I will,” he promises.
your writing feels like a hug. Theres something cathartic about it thats just reminiscent of that feeling of calm that settles over you after breaking down in someone elses arms before you both go back to your lives without acknowledging it again. A good sort of calm. anyways, thank you for writing
i’m deadass gonna cry this is so sweet, thank you!! that’s exactly what i want my writing to feel like!! big hugs.
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i owe that last anon my life, I love your hanahaki au taakitz so much?? fuck. extremely good. 12/10. bless.
hell yeah thank you!! bless that anon it was a really good idea, and hey, because of that thought i wrote more of that au for the first time in a lil while!
I don't know if this sounds rude or not, but feel free to tell me- would you ever consider adding onto or maybe some short scenes from what happens after your hanahaki fic? I think it'd be fun to see something that happens after with Taako & Raven.
Oh hell yeah, why not? So for some context:
the morning after Kravitz gets better, Taako cooks breakfast, and actually let me just c-p this instead of trying to explain it:
“Raven,” he says gently, shaking her shoulder. “Raven?”
She blinks awake. Then she sits bolt upright. “Kravitz, you should be resting — ”
“Hey hey hey,” he says, smiling. “I’m better.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m better. Cured.” He takes a deep, demonstrative breath. “See?”
She lays two wondering hands flat against his chest, his neck. “Oh my gods,” she breathes.
“Yeah,” he says, and hugs her close. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” She hugs him so tight he feels it in his ribs. “I’m just — gods, Kravitz, I’m just glad you’re — it’s really gone?”
“It’s really gone.”
She exhales a shuddering breath, whole body shaking. He buries his face in her hair.
There’s silence, for a few moments. No tears for me, he’d said, and she doesn’t. When she looks up her eyes are clear and happy. “How?”
“Taako,” he says. Her hands tense briefly. “We talked, last night. Turns out he loved me, but was sort of in denial about it.”
“In denial,” she repeats.
“Yeah,” he says. “Also he’s here.”
“Right now?”
“Making breakfast.”
Raven’s lips tighten. “Please,” Kravitz says. “I know you don’t like him, but just...he didn’t know. I didn’t tell him. That part isn’t his fault.”
“Running away, though?” she bites. “Is that on him?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “It is.”
Raven sighs. “My baby brother,” she mutters, “all grown up. All right, let’s go out and face the beast.”
Kravitz winces. “Please don’t call him a beast.”
Raven scowls blackly in the direction of the door. “You love him,” she says. “I get that, because you’re an idiot and you love everyone basically as soon as you meet him. Me? I don’t.”
“And you don’t have to. Just try to get along?”
She glares at the door for another moment, then butts her head against his shoulder. “I’ll try,” she says. “No promises.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
When they enter their little kitchen, Merle is already sitting, bleary-eyed and nursing a cup of tea, at the table. Across from him, something sizzles on the stove. “Mornin’,” he grunts, waving his prosthetic arm at them. “Good to see you lookin’ better, kiddo.”
“Good morning, Merle,” Raven says, sliding into the seat across from him. “Sleep well?”
While she and Merle catch up, Kravitz leans on the counter across from Taako. He is, as planned, making eggs. “Smells delicious,” he says by way of greeting.
“Best I can do on a shitty gas stove,” he mutters, tense.
“Taako.”
“Sorry,” he says. His knuckles are white around their spatula, which — has seen better days. He takes a breath, opens his mouth, then shuts it again, shaking his head. “They’re almost done.”
Breakfast is awkward. Kravitz talks mostly with Merle, Raven saying little and Taako saying nothing at all. For his part, Merle seems entirely unaffected by the tension in the air. He happily regales Kravitz with stories of his little kids — “my biological ones,” he clarifies, showing Kravitz a low-quality photo of what looks like a mop of red hair — cracking what Kravitz has come to recognize as truly awful dad jokes.
Merle’s taken his last, long sip of tea when Taako says, “Raven, do you — could we take a walk? Or something?”
Kravitz stares at him. He gets the feeling Raven is too. Taako’s fiddling with the end of his braid, clearly nervous, though he stops under such scrutiny.
“Looking to run again, huh?”
“Raven, please.”
Raven scowls at his interjection, but stands. “Fine.” She strides to the door, shrugging on her coat, then turns and glares at Taako. “You coming?”
“Well then,” Merle says into the sudden quiet that follows the door closing. “That’s not gonna go well.”
Needless to say, it doesn’t go well. I don’t know exactly what happens on that walk, but Raven yells at Taako a lot and he yells right back and when they return to the little flat they’ve let off some steam. They’re not friendly, not even close, but they’re not angry and actively simmering at each other. Also Raven’s blown off, like, five years of stress and anger that her little brother is going to die because he’s a dumbass.
So after this, hmm..... Ooh, here’s a scene for you guys.
She’s just packed the last of her CDs behind cardboard skin when Taako knocks on her door.
Raven sighs. “What, Taako?”
“Great to see you too,” he says dryly. He’s not nervous around her anymore. He was good at hiding it, that she scared him, but now he’s not hiding anything at all. She still hasn’t decided which version of Taako she prefers better; the one that was worried she would take her brother away from him, or the one that doesn’t. “Got a question for you.”
Raven turns away, slaps masking tape over the box. “Shoot.”
“So, you’re, uh, gonna go live with Istus.”
Raven rolls her eyes. “Yep.”
“And that leaves Krav, uh...here.”
“He’s fine with it,” Raven says, her voice a little more tense than she means it to be. She’s cleared it with her brother. She’s going with his blessing. He’s happy for them, for her and Istus, and he’s not wistful when he watches them together, not like he used to be, which - that, she’s grateful for. His longing was the worst part.
“Yeah, for sure, cha’boy didn’t mean to imply that you were, I dunno, leaving him behind or somethin’.” Because she loves her brother, Raven bites down a rather unkind remark about Taako and his tendency for leaving people behind. “I know Krav, uh, doesn’t like to be alone, so I, uh...I just wanted to - ”
Raven turns. Then, because Taako doesn’t stumble over his words this much basically ever and she’s got better to be doing, she snaps, “Spit it out.”
“I’m gonna ask Krav to live with me,” he says, all in a rush. His hands toy idly with the brush of rainbow-colored twine woven into Istus’s scarf. “I mean, I want to ask him. I’ve got - there’s this place in the city, it’s near Midhampton, the school he wants to - to his school, and it’s got a gorgeous view of the sunsets, and I know he likes that, so, uh...” Taako trails off, tugs at his scarf, then crosses his arms deliberately. “Wanted to make sure you were, uh, cool with that.”
“The city’s expensive,” Raven says stiffly.
“I know the landlady,” Taako says. “Paloma. Istus knows her too.” She does. She’s mentioned Paloma to Raven several times. Apparently they go way back; Paloma taught her how to knit. “She’s letting us live there basically for free. It’s not - it’s not charity, at least not on my part. I, uh...didn’t want to put Krav in that position. Even if something happens between the two of us, Paloma knows him, so they’ll be...cool.”
It’s thoughtful. It’s extremely thoughtful, and considerate to boot, and Raven sizes Taako up. He’s uncrossed his arms and he’s now fidgeting, obviously without thought, with the hem of his overlong shirt. The cost, the location, that he’s asking her - it’s thoughtful, and despite herself, she’s impressed.
For so long, she worried Taako would take her baby brother away from her.
She was right.
But not the way she feared. Not even close.
So she shrugs. “Fine by me,” she says, and turns back to her CDs. “You two have fun.”
She didn’t say no, which is frankly leagues better than Taako expected.
There’s a tiny relieved grin fledging across his face as he leaves the room. Raven is - they might not get along, and it might be a long fucking time before Raven can stand to be in a room with him for more than half an hour, but she’s important to Kravitz, so Taako’s gotta at least try to put his best foot forward, right? Right.
Anyway, total success on that count, natch. He’s acquired - not permission, but blessing, and that’s important too.
As he scoots through the tiny apartment to the living room where Kravitz is probably poking out an old melody on their shitty, shitty piano, Taako compiles a mental list: he’s gotta talk to Paloma about this, and Istus too, since Istus is deffo gonna want to know that they’re moving in to Refuge. And he’s gotta schedule tours for himself and Kravitz, exclusively those with west-facing windows, and he’s gotta hit Julia up to see if her and Magnus’s special project is done yet because there’s no way they can decorate their living space completely without it...
And he’s got to ask Kravitz about it, of course.
He’s right. Kravitz is playing that old, broken piano. Taako stops in the doorframe, takes a deep breath, smooths his shirt. Then he steps into the room, and despite himself, his face softens as he takes in the relaxed curve of Kravitz’s back, the messy bun he’s tugged his hair into.
“Hey,” he says softly, approaching the bench, and Kravitz rests his hands on the keys and smiles at him, and he can feel his own eyes crinkling in fondness. He loves that smile. “Got room for one more?”
“Of course,” Kravitz says warmly, and scoots over. Taako sits, kicks his legs up in Kravitz’s lap, and Kravitz laughs, slipping an arm behind Taako’s back to help him balance.
“Hey, Krav,” he says, tucking his head against Kravitz’s shoulder, where his forehead fits neatly. “Got a question for you.”
HEY MY DUDE???? THE BLIND FOREST???? WTF????? IM DYING HERE!!!!! AJDFLDJFA why have i not ever seen your writing before? just everything you write is so emotional and??? i don't even know how to phrase it. I am so hype to read the hanahaki au now?? and all your other writings?? thank you for writing!!! i now how something to procrastinate homework on!!!
my dude! holy shit!! this is so flattering? thank you so much, anon. glad you’re enjoying!
oh fam fuck me up i forgot how good that other fic u linked is......... I LIVE FOR THAT SHIT TOO THO, im a slut for any sorta hurt/comfort shit, or like. When one person has accepted their fate and the other keeps fighting for them?? how could they just give up?? -chefs kiss-
yeah shit that’s one of my favorite tropes...when person a just will not let person b give up....and especially when person a is getting hurt for their efforts and person b begs them to let it rest..........like that was the whole premise of hanahaki and i loved writing that shit! fuck!! and convincing a friend/partner that they’re important and are worth something even if they don’t believe it.....mmmm. fuck me up
HEY UHHHHH YOUR TAGS ON THAT LAST ASK??? UMMMM IM GONNA DIE?? i respect u and i can eventually be okay with u not writing more in that AU but im going to die now
honestly that was the part i was most excited about getting to?? listen idk if you couldn’t tell from my hanahaki bullshit but i live (TM) for stuff where one person starts gradually fading and the other is like you stop that
like, when taako tries to summon kravitz and it doesn’t work, it...it kinda destroys him. like, he’s basically cut off lup, magnus is grieving julia, merle was never even able to reach his kids, and now he’s lost kravitz, they couldn’t get angus from the start...yeah. it’s not good like at all.
also, as you probably know, i’m a...hmm. big fan of seren’s work, so. the ending was going to look something like this.
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Ho boy just got done reading that last part of the blind forest. I’m definitely anxiously waitin for you to write more because it’s damn good. Taako’s fury is delicious and horrible and I’m wicked in love with it. Can’t wait to read more from you.
well, here’s the bad news, and unfortunately there is no good news to counterbalance: the last time i wrote more in that particular ‘verse was like half a year ago, so...this is it! what happens next is up to you. it was absolutely going to have a happy ending, though. i will say that. fuck if i remember how, but it was.
hi i would and will die for you. you own my whole entire ass. ask anything of me and I will do it. i love you and your writing and i can't stop thinking about your AUs...........
really? the whole entire ass? pay up. it’s mine now.
