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kasihyaSo this takes place in the alternate universe where Violet does not go on to become an eldritch abomination following Blade/Peter's sacrifice, but takes one for the team and wakes up with a very alive Blade but also paralyzed from the waist down.
I have no idea I think that this is kind of creepy and also what, Will, what but this is a rough draft and I'm just happy that I have anything at all written for this.
I was going to have this be between Violet and Kai, but I realized based on the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_wiki entry for service that Kai would be more into the control aspects of service than anything else, and that would fall under a different category, so I wrote Will as being an overprotective older brother instead. I think I'm going to have to add more things in here, though, because I think he comes across as weirdly fixated on her, as opposed to 'sleepy and running on automatic because it's six in the fucking morning and I hate high school'.
There are some aspects of this I also really need to check to make sure they're not, like, creepy or fetishizing disabled people? I've never written a character with a physical disability before, and I think that there's a certain amount of 'okay this is how X character would react to suddenly being paralyzed' versus 'dude there are enough portrayals of disabled people that use this trope, and we're not all like that' that I need to educate myself on before I even think about posting this.
BUT I HAVE A DRAFT TO WORK WITH. I WROTE IT TODAY.
Title: Jeeves on Wednesday Morning
Universe: Gallows Hill
Characters: Will and Violet Krikorian
Rating: PG
Words: 1,935
Kink: Service
At 5:55am, Will’s alarm clock goes off with a vengeance, dragging him into consciousness. He presses his knuckles against his closed eyes and groans, but he only shuts it off when he’s sure he won’t immediately go back to sleep again. He used to be able to sleep until six thirty, in five minute bursts punctuated by the snooze button, but no more. These days, he has a purpose, something besides himself to attend to. Shaking off six hours of sleep, he hauls himself to his feet, strips off his pajamas, and pulls on real clothing. It’s still only 5:59, so he stops to put in contact lenses and brush out his hair before he leaves the room one minute later. As he does, the alarm clock goes off in the room on the opposite side of the second-floor landing. Perfect.
Will shuts his door behind him and turns on the hall light to offset the dark grey that still cloaks the world outside the window. He pauses, listening, until he hears the clatter in the other room of the alarm clock being shut off with more force than necessary. He counts to ten in his head and opens the other door, lifting it slightly to avoid scraping the warped wood across the floor when he does.
The shades are drawn and the lights out in the other bedroom, and the sun hasn’t risen to filter in the gaps in the blinds, so Will navigates his way to the bed by the light from the landing that falls in behind him. On the bed, the bundle of sheets shifts very slightly as its occupant turns her head and fixes him with a wide, solemn gaze. ‘It’s Wednesday,’ says Violet.
Will steps over the book lying facedown near her head. ‘Hump Day,’ he mutters. There is a lamp on the nightstand pressed up against her headboard; he turns it on with one hand, using the other to shield her eyes from the full force of the lightbulb. The first day he’d done this, she had covered her eyes and snapped at him for blinding her so soon after she’d woken up, but this way, she has an opportunity for her eyes to adjust.
While he holds his hand up, Violet pushes the blankets down to her waist with a sigh. ‘What?’
‘Riley’s dad calls it Hump Day, like the week is a hill and you’ve reached the peak, you know?’ Her eyes start to move around, taking things in properly, which means it’s okay for him to remove his hand. He drags the covers the rest of the way off of her, moves back up, and slides his hands flat under her back. The thin cotton of her pajama shirt snags a hangnail, but he sees it as a personal test of will to not show his discomfort. If he moves suddenly, she might slip, and then there would be no point.
Violet shuffles around, pressing her sharp shoulder blades against his hands as he lifts her into a sitting position. ‘Ew,’ she mumbles. ‘That sounds weird.’
‘Hump Day, Hump Day, Hump Day,’ he says, sing-song and smiling.
‘No, no, no, too early,’ Violet complains, squeezing her eyes shut, but she’s complaining about him being an obnoxious older brother, not a bad caretaker, so that’s all right. Will watches to make sure that her hands are braced against the mattress before he wraps his fingers around her ankle and swings her motionless legs around to hang over the edge of the bed.
‘What do you want to wear today?’ he asks her, straightening.
‘Electra has a pair of those baggy pants with the tight ankles,’ says Violet. ‘They’re in the middle drawer. And a t-shirt, I guess.’
‘I find it very weird that my friends lend you their clothing,’ Will tells her as he fishes in the shadowy reaches of the dresser for the requested clothing. ‘No, that’s not right. I find it weird that I don’t find it weird.’ He holds up the pants with one hand, letting them dangle. ‘Are you two really the same size?’
‘No, she’s taller, but I don’t have to worry about tripping on the hems anymore.’
‘Okay.’ Will kneels down in front of her and waits until she has leaned back on her hands to start sliding off her pajama pants. He looks down at her knees, focuses on what he’s going to do today — go to school, hand in that physics lab early for extra credit — and not on what this task is accomplishing — helping his little sister get dressed while she adjusts. The pants that she wants to wear look every bit as stupid on her as they do on Electra, but the loose legs mean that they are easier to pull on, and it isn’t his place to dictate his sister’s clothing choices. He sets the t-shirt in her lap and turns his back while she changes. It takes her about twenty seconds to switch, on average, so he counts to himself and ties his hair back into a ponytail to take up time while he waits. When he has counted to twenty-three, to be on the safe side, he turns around again. Violet looks up at him expectantly.
‘You look fine,’ he assures her. ‘Let’s go downstairs.’
‘You’ll remember to bring down my book report too, right? It’s on my desk, it’s not with my bag,’ she says.
He slides one arm around her back, and another under her knees. ‘Sure I will.’ Bring down her book report, bring down her book report, when you’re putting away the breakfast dishes you will remember to bring down her book report, he repeats to himself.
She loops her arms around his neck and leans in, densely curly hair tickling his jaw. He stands, wavering slightly. She’s small, but while he can adapt fairly easily to the rest of their new morning routine, carrying her weight like this is something to which he is still adjusting. She lets go of him with one hand to push the door open wider, and he tightens his arms around her to keep her back or feet from hitting the frame as they pass through. (He’d done that, too, with her feet; and she couldn’t feel it anymore, so she was more focused on the way the sensation of being jolted only started at her waist, but he still felt like he’d kicked a puppy or something.)
A wheelchair awaits them at the bottom of the stairs, just behind the front door. Will bows his head as he lowers Violet into the chair, muscles protesting at his slowness. She lets go of him and uses her hands to help position herself, leaving the air to cool Will’s shoulders where she had held onto him. He helps her get her feet up onto the footrests, and then stands back to let her take the wheels and maneuver herself down the hall to the kitchen. He walks two steps in front of her, head constantly turning to make sure that she doesn’t need him to do anything for her along the way.
‘Good morning,’ says his stepmother as he walks in. She sits at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of her, clutching it with both hands like it contains the secrets of life, but when they enter, she looks up and bestows upon them a sleepy smile.
Violet pushes herself up to the table at the place where they’ve removed the chair so that she can sit. Will grabs two bowls from the cabinet, pours cereal and milk into both, and places one in front of his sister. ‘Can I have a spoon, too?’ Violet asks, after a moment. He pulls one out of the dish drain and hands it to her, feeling like an idiot.
He eats standing up, pausing every minute when he remembers something else that he’s supposed to do before they go their separate ways. His stepmom takes both of their bowls and sticks them in the sink, and beyond his scheduling, he feels a flicker of irritation. Doesn’t she think that he can do that? He’s seventeen; he can take care of his and Violet’s dishes just fine.
Besides, he was supposed to do that so he’d remember to grab her book report from her room with the rest of her things. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he says into the sleepy morning silence, and runs up the stairs.
He gathers up her things first, mostly scattered on the floor where she must have thrown them off her bed in the middle of the night. His own books are stacked on the floor under the bed, and it doesn’t take much time to sweep them into his bag and sling it over his shoulder, knocking against his sister’s, before he returns downstairs. There’s a knock on the door just as he reaches the front hall. He glances into the kitchen, where Violet hits her wheel on the wall in her attempts to navigate its small confines and turn around. Will knocks on the front door to let Riley know that he’ll be right out; then he drops the bags in the hall and crosses the distance to the kitchen in four long strides. He grips the tires of Violet’s wheelchair and tugs them around, leaving little black skid marks on the linoleum that he’ll have to clean off after school, but the important thing is that she doesn’t have to bother making complicated maneuvers in order to roll herself out of the kitchen and down the hall.
‘Thanks,’ she says, and Will glows inside. He bounces back to the front door and opens it on a disgustingly alert, cheerful boy his own age.
‘Are you and the princess ready?’ Riley asks, jingling the keys to his dad’s truck.
‘Riley,’ Violet says, stopping just short of ramming the back of Will’s knees with her wheels.
Will turns away to fetch her coat from the rack in the living room. As he goes, he hears Riley say, ‘Nice pants,’ and Violet giggles. It had worried him, at first, that Riley wouldn’t know how to treat her after the day she woke up from a nightmare without the use of her legs, but he shouldn’t have worried; his friend treats her exactly the same as he always has. That is his gift, that is what he can offer, and Will wouldn’t begrudge him that.
It isn’t Will’s gift. His gift is acknowledging each and every change that has had to happen, and making sure that the changes disrupted her life as little as possible so that her ordinary interactions with other people can continue. Riley babbles at her while Will places her jacket in her lap; Violet tells him in extravagant detail about the book she was reading last night while Will holds her backpack and book report until she has finished putting on her jacket and is ready to take them. He shoulders his own bag and grips tight to the back of her wheelchair while Riley takes the front, and they carry her out the door and down the front steps. Will shuts the door behind them and watches Violet propel herself to the truck at the end of the driveway, letting Riley walk beside her while her voice breaks through the background buzz of the damp autumn morning; then he shakes himself, and runs around to be there when she reaches the truck and needs to be lifted in.
He has a job to do.
I have no idea I think that this is kind of creepy and also what, Will, what but this is a rough draft and I'm just happy that I have anything at all written for this.
I was going to have this be between Violet and Kai, but I realized based on the
kink_wiki entry for service that Kai would be more into the control aspects of service than anything else, and that would fall under a different category, so I wrote Will as being an overprotective older brother instead. I think I'm going to have to add more things in here, though, because I think he comes across as weirdly fixated on her, as opposed to 'sleepy and running on automatic because it's six in the fucking morning and I hate high school'.There are some aspects of this I also really need to check to make sure they're not, like, creepy or fetishizing disabled people? I've never written a character with a physical disability before, and I think that there's a certain amount of 'okay this is how X character would react to suddenly being paralyzed' versus 'dude there are enough portrayals of disabled people that use this trope, and we're not all like that' that I need to educate myself on before I even think about posting this.
BUT I HAVE A DRAFT TO WORK WITH. I WROTE IT TODAY.
Title: Jeeves on Wednesday Morning
Universe: Gallows Hill
Characters: Will and Violet Krikorian
Rating: PG
Words: 1,935
Kink: Service
At 5:55am, Will’s alarm clock goes off with a vengeance, dragging him into consciousness. He presses his knuckles against his closed eyes and groans, but he only shuts it off when he’s sure he won’t immediately go back to sleep again. He used to be able to sleep until six thirty, in five minute bursts punctuated by the snooze button, but no more. These days, he has a purpose, something besides himself to attend to. Shaking off six hours of sleep, he hauls himself to his feet, strips off his pajamas, and pulls on real clothing. It’s still only 5:59, so he stops to put in contact lenses and brush out his hair before he leaves the room one minute later. As he does, the alarm clock goes off in the room on the opposite side of the second-floor landing. Perfect.
Will shuts his door behind him and turns on the hall light to offset the dark grey that still cloaks the world outside the window. He pauses, listening, until he hears the clatter in the other room of the alarm clock being shut off with more force than necessary. He counts to ten in his head and opens the other door, lifting it slightly to avoid scraping the warped wood across the floor when he does.
The shades are drawn and the lights out in the other bedroom, and the sun hasn’t risen to filter in the gaps in the blinds, so Will navigates his way to the bed by the light from the landing that falls in behind him. On the bed, the bundle of sheets shifts very slightly as its occupant turns her head and fixes him with a wide, solemn gaze. ‘It’s Wednesday,’ says Violet.
Will steps over the book lying facedown near her head. ‘Hump Day,’ he mutters. There is a lamp on the nightstand pressed up against her headboard; he turns it on with one hand, using the other to shield her eyes from the full force of the lightbulb. The first day he’d done this, she had covered her eyes and snapped at him for blinding her so soon after she’d woken up, but this way, she has an opportunity for her eyes to adjust.
While he holds his hand up, Violet pushes the blankets down to her waist with a sigh. ‘What?’
‘Riley’s dad calls it Hump Day, like the week is a hill and you’ve reached the peak, you know?’ Her eyes start to move around, taking things in properly, which means it’s okay for him to remove his hand. He drags the covers the rest of the way off of her, moves back up, and slides his hands flat under her back. The thin cotton of her pajama shirt snags a hangnail, but he sees it as a personal test of will to not show his discomfort. If he moves suddenly, she might slip, and then there would be no point.
Violet shuffles around, pressing her sharp shoulder blades against his hands as he lifts her into a sitting position. ‘Ew,’ she mumbles. ‘That sounds weird.’
‘Hump Day, Hump Day, Hump Day,’ he says, sing-song and smiling.
‘No, no, no, too early,’ Violet complains, squeezing her eyes shut, but she’s complaining about him being an obnoxious older brother, not a bad caretaker, so that’s all right. Will watches to make sure that her hands are braced against the mattress before he wraps his fingers around her ankle and swings her motionless legs around to hang over the edge of the bed.
‘What do you want to wear today?’ he asks her, straightening.
‘Electra has a pair of those baggy pants with the tight ankles,’ says Violet. ‘They’re in the middle drawer. And a t-shirt, I guess.’
‘I find it very weird that my friends lend you their clothing,’ Will tells her as he fishes in the shadowy reaches of the dresser for the requested clothing. ‘No, that’s not right. I find it weird that I don’t find it weird.’ He holds up the pants with one hand, letting them dangle. ‘Are you two really the same size?’
‘No, she’s taller, but I don’t have to worry about tripping on the hems anymore.’
‘Okay.’ Will kneels down in front of her and waits until she has leaned back on her hands to start sliding off her pajama pants. He looks down at her knees, focuses on what he’s going to do today — go to school, hand in that physics lab early for extra credit — and not on what this task is accomplishing — helping his little sister get dressed while she adjusts. The pants that she wants to wear look every bit as stupid on her as they do on Electra, but the loose legs mean that they are easier to pull on, and it isn’t his place to dictate his sister’s clothing choices. He sets the t-shirt in her lap and turns his back while she changes. It takes her about twenty seconds to switch, on average, so he counts to himself and ties his hair back into a ponytail to take up time while he waits. When he has counted to twenty-three, to be on the safe side, he turns around again. Violet looks up at him expectantly.
‘You look fine,’ he assures her. ‘Let’s go downstairs.’
‘You’ll remember to bring down my book report too, right? It’s on my desk, it’s not with my bag,’ she says.
He slides one arm around her back, and another under her knees. ‘Sure I will.’ Bring down her book report, bring down her book report, when you’re putting away the breakfast dishes you will remember to bring down her book report, he repeats to himself.
She loops her arms around his neck and leans in, densely curly hair tickling his jaw. He stands, wavering slightly. She’s small, but while he can adapt fairly easily to the rest of their new morning routine, carrying her weight like this is something to which he is still adjusting. She lets go of him with one hand to push the door open wider, and he tightens his arms around her to keep her back or feet from hitting the frame as they pass through. (He’d done that, too, with her feet; and she couldn’t feel it anymore, so she was more focused on the way the sensation of being jolted only started at her waist, but he still felt like he’d kicked a puppy or something.)
A wheelchair awaits them at the bottom of the stairs, just behind the front door. Will bows his head as he lowers Violet into the chair, muscles protesting at his slowness. She lets go of him and uses her hands to help position herself, leaving the air to cool Will’s shoulders where she had held onto him. He helps her get her feet up onto the footrests, and then stands back to let her take the wheels and maneuver herself down the hall to the kitchen. He walks two steps in front of her, head constantly turning to make sure that she doesn’t need him to do anything for her along the way.
‘Good morning,’ says his stepmother as he walks in. She sits at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of her, clutching it with both hands like it contains the secrets of life, but when they enter, she looks up and bestows upon them a sleepy smile.
Violet pushes herself up to the table at the place where they’ve removed the chair so that she can sit. Will grabs two bowls from the cabinet, pours cereal and milk into both, and places one in front of his sister. ‘Can I have a spoon, too?’ Violet asks, after a moment. He pulls one out of the dish drain and hands it to her, feeling like an idiot.
He eats standing up, pausing every minute when he remembers something else that he’s supposed to do before they go their separate ways. His stepmom takes both of their bowls and sticks them in the sink, and beyond his scheduling, he feels a flicker of irritation. Doesn’t she think that he can do that? He’s seventeen; he can take care of his and Violet’s dishes just fine.
Besides, he was supposed to do that so he’d remember to grab her book report from her room with the rest of her things. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he says into the sleepy morning silence, and runs up the stairs.
He gathers up her things first, mostly scattered on the floor where she must have thrown them off her bed in the middle of the night. His own books are stacked on the floor under the bed, and it doesn’t take much time to sweep them into his bag and sling it over his shoulder, knocking against his sister’s, before he returns downstairs. There’s a knock on the door just as he reaches the front hall. He glances into the kitchen, where Violet hits her wheel on the wall in her attempts to navigate its small confines and turn around. Will knocks on the front door to let Riley know that he’ll be right out; then he drops the bags in the hall and crosses the distance to the kitchen in four long strides. He grips the tires of Violet’s wheelchair and tugs them around, leaving little black skid marks on the linoleum that he’ll have to clean off after school, but the important thing is that she doesn’t have to bother making complicated maneuvers in order to roll herself out of the kitchen and down the hall.
‘Thanks,’ she says, and Will glows inside. He bounces back to the front door and opens it on a disgustingly alert, cheerful boy his own age.
‘Are you and the princess ready?’ Riley asks, jingling the keys to his dad’s truck.
‘Riley,’ Violet says, stopping just short of ramming the back of Will’s knees with her wheels.
Will turns away to fetch her coat from the rack in the living room. As he goes, he hears Riley say, ‘Nice pants,’ and Violet giggles. It had worried him, at first, that Riley wouldn’t know how to treat her after the day she woke up from a nightmare without the use of her legs, but he shouldn’t have worried; his friend treats her exactly the same as he always has. That is his gift, that is what he can offer, and Will wouldn’t begrudge him that.
It isn’t Will’s gift. His gift is acknowledging each and every change that has had to happen, and making sure that the changes disrupted her life as little as possible so that her ordinary interactions with other people can continue. Riley babbles at her while Will places her jacket in her lap; Violet tells him in extravagant detail about the book she was reading last night while Will holds her backpack and book report until she has finished putting on her jacket and is ready to take them. He shoulders his own bag and grips tight to the back of her wheelchair while Riley takes the front, and they carry her out the door and down the front steps. Will shuts the door behind them and watches Violet propel herself to the truck at the end of the driveway, letting Riley walk beside her while her voice breaks through the background buzz of the damp autumn morning; then he shakes himself, and runs around to be there when she reaches the truck and needs to be lifted in.
He has a job to do.
