Avery x Aramis drabble that I was supposed to finish by Valentine’s day and um. Did not finish. You know me with deadlines, they just don’t happen.
Sorry if this is crappy LOL first time actually writing something like this.
Hurt/Comfort -ish? A bit of toxicity but they’re mostly being sweet.
og author’s note:
hrmmmmm scientist lesbians that are usually toxic are sweet because i’m sad and need comfort
#hurt/comfort & #yuri THANKKK YEW
is this canon? ermmmmmmm like i don’t know.
late valentine’s writing anyone?
———
Aramis burst the doors open to her bedroom. Every hurried step she took was an extension of her exceedingly horrible mood.
Avery, who had been calmly reading a book on the bed before the disturbance, gazed upon Aramis’s form with a concerned expression.
“What seems to be the matter, love?” She calmly asked, with a hint of concern peeking through. She couldn’t help it when her goddess was in such a foul mood.
“Talk to me, hmm?” She asked, but Aramis paced around the bedroom nonetheless. She could hear the disgruntled botanist’s heels clicking against the tile floor, each step seemingly more louder than the last.
Avery sighed as she pushed herself off the bed and approached her lover. With just a few steps, Avery grabbed Aramis’s waist from behind.
“Can you at least take off your shoes? The sound of your heels clicking are driving me insane.” She said, whispering in Aramis’s ear.
This stopped Aramis in her tracks, bringing her back in to reality.
The warmth that overwhelmed her as she stood still in that moment grounded her.
Someone is there for her. She is not alone. In her sorry life, she could lay claim to the person before her because they are wholly hers.
Aramis took a deep breath. “It’s… nothing. Truly nothing.”
Avery frowned as she nuzzled against Aramis’s back, tightening her grip around her lover’s waist. “I know you’re just saying that, darling.”
Aramis meekly put her hands over Avery’s, lightly squeezing them.
Avery sighed of both frustration and affection. “Of course, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
Aramis turned her head to look at her lover’s. She wore a pained expression, seemingly having a million thoughts in her head and yet not being able to coherently express one of them. Her eyes watered and her lip trembled just slightly.
“I…” She said before biting her lip and looking away from her loved one.
Just then, Avery squeezed Aramis’s hands and kissed the back of her neck.
“Shhh.” Avery replied as she peppered kisses along the exposed parts of Aramis’s back through the dress. “Don’t speak.”
The only thing that could be heard that moment was Aramis’s stifled sniffles and Avery’s continued affection.
The kisses that peppered her back littered sparks of fire along her entire body. It felt as if, if she leaned in too close and embraced the warm and comforting flame, that she could burn away.
This entire situation in the first place is loathsome.
How dare she, a woman who is supposed to embody perfection, break down so easily and fall into the comforts of her most devoted follower?
She should be strong, and show no imperfect emotions such as sadness, anger, or disgust.
She should be perfectly calm, benevolent and dominant to those who worship her.
So why do these affirmations of care and love fill her with so much… joy?
She frowned again as she turned around and disconnected herself from Avery. As she stepped away from this loving figure, she unwittingly clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms.
Aramis cleared her throat as Avery stood there in front of her, staring into her eyes with an observant gaze. It’s almost as if she was test subject in an almost scarily planned experiment, and it made her incredibly uncomfortable.
“I need to take a walk.” Aramis finally said as she quickly turned around and started to leave.
“Would you like me to join you?” Said Avery, who stood in the spot that her lover left her in. She still wore an observant, almost medical, look.
Aramis quietly sucked in a breath. “No. I’ll go alone.” She replied and then immediately walked out of the bedroom, seemingly left more pensive than when she had first arrived.
Avery watched her lover quickly exit the bedroom, and finally walked back to the bed. Upon relaxing, she picks up her book she was reading before and chuckles to herself. “How precious…”
yeah so somewhere i said that i’d make this chapter 1-2 weeks after the previous one?
it is… *checks watch* OVER A MONTH. my bad chat.
i’m still learning how to do good dialogue ugh i’m sorry
i hope you guys like this… at least a little. or not. just don’t tell me you hate it publicly /silly
❝ Si non est perfectum, iam defecisti. ❞
The sound of a gunshot rang throughout the greenhouse, a loud and grave reminder of what Aramis had just done. She clutched the pistol tightly, her quiet anger still boiling deep inside her bones.
This didn’t shake her. This was but a harsh reminder of a truth she had always known.
And just like that, as if clockwork, she could hear the hurried steps of another person running to the greenhouse.
“Aramis? Love, what happened?” A woman with a masculine build breathlessly asked as she pushed open the door to the greenhouse.
The disgruntled botanist simply sighed as she grabbed a cloth from the counter and wiped the experiment’s guts off the gun.
“Take a look at the area around me, hmm?” She replied to the woman, clearly not in a good mood. “Surely I don’t need to tell you myself, Avery.” Aramis frowned.
Avery shifted her stance uncomfortably, looking around the greenhouse before her eyes finally landed on the dead test subject. She pulled her hands behind her back, sensing tension within Aramis.
“This experiment was a failure too?” She asked, immediately regretting her word choice.
Aramis winced at the word. Failure.
She had once again failed to produce the results she was hoping for. Once again, she is a failure. No matter what she does, she can’t help but be the mistakes she makes.
She inhaled sharply, all the quiet anger roaring within her. How incredibly frustrating.
Aramis slammed the pistol onto the counter in front of her, the sound echoing in the greenhouse as her eyes burned with rage.
Sensing that Aramis was about to have another meltdown, Avery rushed towards her, placing her hands on the woman’s back.
“I need you to breathe with me, okay?” She said as she massaged Aramis’s shoulders. “Defectus est gradus ad successum. You will succeed.” Avery kissed the back of her lover’s shoulder affectionately.
Aramis sighed. That’s right. She will succeed. This is just a small hiccup in her plans. Everything she has ever done eventually bears fruit. All she has done has been worth it. This next one, surely. She thought to herself. This next experiment will be it.
She leaned into Avery’s touch, taking deep breaths.
Avery’s touch on Aramis’s skin was loving and almost… reverent. As if Aramis was the most important woman in the entire world. As if nothing else matters in the world except the two of them in this present moment.
“How do you know me so well, love?” Aramis asked, finally breathing evenly. “It feels as if you know me inside and out.”
Avery lowly chuckled as she hugged her lover from behind. “How could I know anything else but you?” She rested her head on Aramis’s shoulder. “You are my everything. Without you, I am nothing.”
In the greenhouse, Aramis Knowles is working on an experiment.
~~~~~~~~~
Takes place at the very last arc of A Botanist’s Obsession. Aramis, who’s fully transformed into a Resonated, is looking for her new scientific breakthrough. Something that is equally as “perfect” as her.
Contains:
Non-explicit gun violence
Aramis’s eyes carefully look over every part of the potted plant in front of her. The way the roots twist and turn viciously out of their enclosure of the ceramic pot makes her brows furrow deeper down her face.
Put simply, this experiment was a mess. The specs of dirt all over her working space made her feel as if there were bugs crawling all over her body. Bugs. Disgusting little runts. That’s what had ruined her perfect plan.
As with all scientific experiments, you start with a hypothesis. Then you test that hypothesis with an experiment. There’s no guarantee that your hypothesis will even be correct. Being proven wrong is the joy of scientific research! Or so they say.
Not for Aramis.
Every word she speaks, every mannerism she makes, everything that a person could even comprehend has to be perfect. There is no other option. Failing to meet those standards merely means you, yourself, are the failure. Which is why Aramis’s eyes bore into the pothos plant with a burning intensity.
See, her hypothesis was this: “If I cross-breed this pothos plant with one of the radiation-poisoned plants, then pothos plant would take on more radioactive behaviors.” Radioactive behaviors meaning, glowing in the dark, having never-before seen leaf patterns, etc.
But here she is, staring at her potted plant with its roots twisting and turning, leaving a pile of dirt wherever it lands up. Its roots act almost like the pothos’s legs, inching it closer to Aramis and her cold, icy gaze. It moves at a snail’s pace, but it stumbles and clumsily cracks its clay pot shell with every movement that it makes that one could possibly confuse it as being something even remotely cute.
Good thing Aramis wouldn’t let anyone make that mistake.
The pothos stumbles closer to her, inching towards the edge of the counter it was placed upon. It moves side to side, almost as if to somehow communicate with Aramis, its supposed mother.
Before its roots could even reach Aramis’s sacred body, she grabs the pistol lying on the counter next to the thing and shoots it dead.
i bow as i accept my reward for being one of the most infrequent bloggers on this app. thank you. thank you. i will now begin my descent back into the shadows of having a life. i know. so sad.
A bright light obscures my vision, its presence looming above me. It blinds me, taking away yet another one of my senses.
When I can’t see or touch or hear or feel, how can I know that I exist? How can I know that this blinding presence is not me? How can I understand anything at all?
First they stripped me of my sight. And I thought, well, that isn’t too terrible. Many great artists and writers and musicians have done great things without needing to see.
How do I know I exist? My sense of touch guides me. I hear the bustling street as I pass by.
I can still live. I am still living. My senses are a testament to that truth.
But can I still live honestly when they took away my right to confirm the facts that lay before me?
After my sight, my loss of hearing soon came after. This time I minded it much more than the last. Surely, this was too much.
But my deprivation of both senses held me from speaking out. How could I hear the voices that oppressed me if I could not listen to the words that come out of their mouths? Surely I was better just keeping my mouth shut.
Maybe then, if I was quiet enough, they wouldn’t deprive me of anything else. Maybe they would just stop and leave me be.
But I could still feel this obnoxious light shining on me, and I could tell their hunger wasn’t yet satiated. Their greed had only begun.
My fear was soon manifested into reality, as they robbed me of my sense to touch and feel.
My firm grip on the ground below me soon dissolved into nothingness. When I no longer had anything to cling to, the despair I once felt disappeared.
I now feel nothing. I am one with the bottomless void. Even if I still had my senses with me, I am now sure nothing would even get better.
Despair is futile. Everything is simply just means to the end. True apathy is what my life has come to.
But I still have a few senses left.
I suddenly get a whiff. A scent that sends chills down my spine. And then I taste something.
It is the most vile, most disgusting, most horrid thing that has ever been in my mouth.
And suddenly I can feel. Suddenly I can touch. Suddenly I have a grip on the ground below me.
But my awakening has come too late. The relief was only temporary. That light comes to blind me again, and I am utterly helpless.
Maybe if I had been less complacent. Maybe if I had not submitted to their rules. Maybe if I had fought back against those who had so cunningly oppressed my freedoms.
I am just a person.
But that statement seems to have changed today.
The apathy takes over me again.
And those mere senses that had let me have autonomous thoughts and feelings are now gone.
I am one with the oppressor. No longer a victim, we stand as one.
As the light closes in on me, my thoughts begin to fizzle away…
