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laskyy · 3 years

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Hey guys! I'm back from my little break! Sorry for talking so long, but now I'm back and that's all that matters! So now let's get to the imagine!

(Btw this is gender neutral)

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You're all that I want

Tw: mentions of food and drinking water, kissing, mentions of making out (let me know if I missed something)

Genre: Fluff

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It was currently 10 p.m. and you were with the boys of P1h on their practice room. You were Theo's best friend and he invited you to come see him practice, because he knew how much you liked to watch him perform.

"Hey guys, what if we played something?" Jiung suggested as he took the final bite out of his food.

The members had already finished practice and you guys were all just talking, eating and goofing around as usual.

"Sure, but what should we play?" Intak asked as he too finished eating.

"Well we could play truth or dare!" Keeho said excitedly as he picked up his water bottle to take a sip.

"Okay, sounds good! What do you think Y/n?" Theo asked while he softly looked at you.

"I'm down!" You said as you becme shy due to Theo's gaze.

"Me too!" Said Jongseob as he smiled.

"Yeah, let's play!" Soul said as he clung onto Keeho.

"Okay I'll start!" Jiung said. "Uhmm... Jongseob, truth or dare?"

"I'm going with truth!"

"Is it true that you think you're better than Eminem?"

"WHAT? OF COURSE I AM!" Jongseob said as we all started laughing out loud at the youngest's confession.

"Okay Jeminem it's your turn!" Jiung said as he wiped a tear that he shed because of laughing.

The game went on for a while and everyone was getting kind of tired and besides that you still had to clean up the place before going home! So you agreed to play one more time and then everyone would clean up, but things didn't really work like that.

"Okay, Theo truth or dare?" Intak asked like an excited puppy.

"I want to go with... Dare!" Theo answered while smiling. God his smile was beautiful.

"Well..." Intak started but stopped when Keeho whispered something that made the puppy like male smirk. "I dare you to stay here with Y/n and clean up!" He said and everyone besides you and Theo started cheering.

"You can't do that! We all agreed to clean up together!" Theo said trying to sound mad, but he sounded quite excited... Did he want to be alone with you?

"A dare is a dare my dear friend! So have fun cleaning up!" Keeho said while smiling.

"Do I not get a say in this?" You asked kind if shocked by the while situation.

"Well... No! Bye bye!" Intak said as he waved goodbye left the room with the other members following suit.

"Jeez! Sorry that this happened!" Theo said while looking at you with an apologetic look.

"It's fine Taeyang! It isn't your fault! And at least we have each other's company while we clean up!" You said as you smiled at him.

"Yeah you're right let's clean up so we can go rest! I'm sure you're tired!" He said as he patted your head softly.

"But definitly not as tired as you are! You killed it during practice!" You said smiling att the blush forming on his cheeks.

"Thanks Y/n, that means a lot coming from you!" He said as you guys started cleaning up.

Your little cleaning session was made up of you guys talking about random events that had been happening and laughing with each other while cleaning the mess on the floor. Once you were finished you went to the door to open it in order to walk home.

"No no no no no no!" Theo said as he pulled the doorknob as hard as he could.

"What's wrong Tae? Why isn't it opening?" You asked as you watched the boy in front of you struggle.

"It's locked! The boys must have locked it out of habit! Oh my god and they're probably already at the dorm!" He said as he put his hands through his hair.

"Okay let's calm down! You can just call one of the boys or something and they can come unlock it!"

"You're right, you're right!" Theo said as he picked up his phone to call Jiung since he was the last one to exit the practice room.

"Hello?" Jiung said.

"Hey Ji, uhm did you lock the practice room door?" Theo asked trying to sound as calm and collected as he could.

"Uhm no I didn't! I even left the key next to your bag so you wouldn't forget to lock it when you're done."

"WHAT? THEN WHY DOESN'T THE DOOR OPEN???" Theo said very distressed and because of that you put your hands on his shoulders in order to calm him down.

"Bro I don't think anyone is is the company at this time! You'll probably have to wait until tomorrow but I'll see what I can do!

"Alright thanks, I guess." Theo said.

"Bye!"

"Bye." Theo ended the call with a stressed look on his face. It's not that he didn't want to be with you, it's the fact that he feels bad that you had to be dragged into this situation.

"Calm down Theo, we'll figure something out! But now while you seem stressed we should distract ourselves alright? Now come here, I can tell you need a good hug right now." You said in a soft tone while you opened your arms for Theo and he gladly wrapped his arms around your body in hopes to relax and feel some warmth. You really loved being hugged by him.

Some time passed and you guys finally let go of the hug while making eye contact with each other, but you broke it off for being too shy to look at him for any longer.

"Uhm.. How about we talk about our first times doing things! Like your first time riding a bike and stuff like that!" Theo said as he still had his hands rubbing up and down on your arms.

"Sure! That sounds fun. Who's going first?" You asked as you both took a sit on the now clean ground.

"I can start and ask you something if you don't mind!" Theo said gently.

"Of course! Go ahead!" You answered while showing a small smile to Theo.

"Okay then, your first time having a partner, like romantically. How was it?" He asked with a teasing smile on his cute face.

"Oh my god! Well it was in middle school I think! The most we ever did was hold hands and then he broke up with me because my hands were too sweaty!"

"Really?!? Oh wow!" He said as he started laughing at your story.

"Yeah, oh well. It's my turn now! Let me think... How about your first kiss?" You asked innocently, waiting for his answer.

"Oh uhm this is embarassing actually, but I've never kissed anyone before." Theo said as he scratched his neck and laughed awkwardly.

"Oh it's okay Taeyang! You don't need to have had your first kiss at a certain age! If you didn't find the one yet, then just wait! It's better to wait to have it with the right person than to just have it to get it over with, you know?" You said reassuringly as you grabbed his hand and rubbed soft circles on it.

"Yeah I guess, but I think I already found someone." He said still not looking in your eyes.

Even though you were his best friend, you had strong feelings for him and the fact that he said this kind of hurt your feelings, but you couldn't just ruin what you had with him. You'd much rather have him as your best friend than not having him close to you at all.

"Oh, that's great Theo! You should tell them!" You said with a heavy heart.

"Well, I think I already made it obvious to who I like, but I don't know if they got the memo." He said as he finally looked at you blushing.

"Do you think the person likes you back?"

"I mean, everytime I display affection, they blush and they always hug me longer, but they might just not want to appear cold, so they reciprocate the affection."

"Maybe you should tell them clearly that you like them!" You said while looking down at your feet.

"But the thing is I'm awful with words!" Theo said while running one of his hands through his pink hair (I know his hair is not pink right now, but I pictured Theo from the image above for this imagine).

"Then maybe a certain gesture, like gift them something, like a letter or whatever." You said hoping he'd let this topic go.

"You're right! I can do a gesture, but maybe I could do something that would show my love to the person through affection... I COULD KISS THEM! Oh wait but I don't know how to do that... YOU COULD TEACH ME!"

"CHOI TAEYANG ARE YOU OFFICIALLY OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?" You yelled as you were shocked he would ask you such a thing.

I mean, sure, you always wanted to kiss Theo, but not just as a one time thing... You wanted him to be yours only.

"C'mon! I trust you with my life and I promise you that things won't stay awkward afterwards! Please! For me!" Theo said as he kneeled in front of you with both of his hands clasped together as he gave you puppy eyes.

You weren't going to accept, but then you thought this might be your only chance to kiss him, and as selfish as it sounds you wanted him just for yourself and for a moment you could have that.

"Fine, but just this once!"

"THANK YOU! YOU'RE THE BEST! I LOVE YOU!!" Theo said as he hugged you so hard you both fell down.

"Y-you're welcome." You said shyly, because of the proximity between you two.

"Can we stand up for this? I think I'm tired of sitting down!" Theo said as he stood up and straightened his back.

"Sure, it's fine! Wow! I never thought I'd be in this position with you!" You said as you both giggled softly.

"Well, but you are! Better make the most of it!" If only he knew.

"Okay now, for this you should be holding the person you're going to kiss in a way that's comfortable with them."

"Okay, since I'm kissing you, what do you prefer?"

"Well you can put your hands around my waist if that's okay with you!" And as you said this, his hands were around your waist and he was smiling sweetly in your direction.

"Right, what's next!" He asked enthusiastically.

"Well now you need to get closer and just do it. You need to move your lips against your partner's in a way that you enjoy, this doesn't have some sort of formula or something, you just have to go with the flow. And you might wanna picture that I'm the person you like so it's more enjoyable for you!"

He got closer to you as your lips were barely touching as he said "I don't need to imagine anything, when you're standing right in front of me. You're all that I want."

You barely had time to process what he said because he looked in your eyes and closed the gap between your lips softly and you felt as if you were on cloud 9.

You guys were lost in each other's lips. For someone who never kissed someone in his life, Theo was amazing. Your lips fit against each other's perfectly.

He moved his lips against yours in a very slow motion, almost as if he was calculating what his next move would be. You mentally gasped when he took one of his hands that was on your waist and put it in your hair as he deepened the kiss. You didn't feel fireworks like they all mentions in the movies and books, but instead you felt warmth, you felt loved, you felt high on his lips, and you never felt this way with anyone ever.

You and Taeyang kept making out. It seemed like you just couldn't get enough of each other. As if the moment you let go, the world would end. But much to your dismay, Theo pulled away from the kiss to breathe and you couldn't get enough of the sight in front of you. Your favourite boy was standing in front of you with his hair disheveled, lips slightly red and a boyish smile on his face.

"Are you sure you never kissed before? Because my god!" You said as he giggled and pecked your cheek softly, a gesture that made you blush.

"And also, what you said before you kissed me... Did you mean it? Do you like me?" You asked as your voice only got smaller. But by the look on Taeyang's face he still heard you.

"I do mean it, I always did! And I should have confessed first and then I should have courted you and only then kissed you. But I just saw an opportubity and took it. But I truly had never kissed anyone before, you were my first!!" Theo said as he smiled at you.

You didn't have words to answer so you just put your arms around his neck and kissed him as passionately as you could. Theo reciprocated the kiss and this time he went all out and even dared to lick your bottom lip, a gesture that surprised you to say the least but you granted him entrance anyway. Your tongues moved in sync as you held on tighter if that was even possible.

You didn't realise how long you guys were making out until you heard the door open.

"Guys we made I-OH MY GOD MY VIRGIN EYES!" Intak yelled as he appeared shocked by the scene before his eyes.

You guys quickly pulled away and soon the members entered the practice room and they rapidly caught on what happened as your guys' lips were slightly swollen and your hair was a mess.

"Theo! I didn't know you had that in you man!" Jiung said as he put his arm around Taeyang's shoulder. "And Y/n, I'm glad you like our Theo back! He never shuts up about you! It's always Y/n this, Y/n tha-"

"Alright! They get it Jiung! Now let's go to the dorm, me and Y/n are tired" Theo said as he interwined your fingers.

"I wonder why you're tir-OW! WHAT DID YOU HIT ME FOR?" Keeho yelped as Theo smacked the back of his head.

You all went out to the dorm and while in the van you and Theo couldn't help but share small kisses to express how happy you were. Not only you got to kiss Theo as he is now your lovely boyfriend!

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Hope you liked this imagine guys! I decided to post it sooner to be able to finish Intak's imagine in time for his birthday! By the way this wasn't proofread so if there are any mistakes I'm sorry! Let me know what you thought of this and please do request something if you want to! Love you guys 💖💖

#p1harmony #p1harmony fluff #p1h imagines #p1h scenarios #theo fluff #choi taeyang #theo p1h #Theo

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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I found my way home

Summary: After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for.

Tags: autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

TW: mentions of ableism, one small instance of ableism & homophobia

Pairing: Gen

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

This was borne from my conversations with @criminalmindsvibez about the lack of autistic spencer fics and her amazing headcanons. While I'm not autistic, Emily is, and helped me to portray Spencer's autism as accurately as possible. That said, please feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong :)

Spencer had made an effort to get into work even earlier than usual today. He’d ridden the metro through the city, dipping his hand into his messenger bag every few minutes to compulsively check that the slim letter he’d received in the post the other day is still in the front pocket where he’d safely placed it that morning. He brushes his fingers over the paper once more as he enters the near-empty bullpen, the letter cool from the winter air.

It’s still so surreal to him that this is where he works. After years of dreaming of working for the FBI he’s finally here, and even though it’s been his place of work for almost two months now, he’s still not used to it. The warm offices are a nice reprieve from the wintry December wind, and he can feel himself relaxing as he heads to his desk. Leaving his coat and messenger bag on his chair, he pulls the letter out of the front pocket and runs his index finger along the edge. He finds himself biting his bottom lip as he tries to work up the courage to go and see Hotch.

Sucking in a deep breath, he marches determinedly up to Hotch’s office, entering as soon as his knocks are answered.

“Reid,” Hotch says pleasantly as he takes a seat opposite his desk, realising belatedly that he probably should have waited until he was invited. “You’re in early. What can I do for you?”

Nervously, Spencer hands him the letter he’d couriered across the city so carefully. He’d taken care to open it neatly with his letter opener but the return address on the back has been stamped at a crooked angle, and it bothers him every time he notices it. He can’t stop looking at it now as he taps his fingers anxiously against his leg in the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence, a safe and familiar reassurance played out by his nervous fingers. He watches apprehensively as Hotch pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming his eyes down the page, taking in the news Spencer’s been so anxious to share with him.

Diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome

God, it had been a long process. He’d had to seek out a doctor in DC who diagnosed adults, paid for all the consultations and diagnostics himself — his insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it, not that he’d feel comfortable using his cushy FBI insurance for something so personal anyway — and the whole process had taken far longer than he’d expected. Finally, though, the envelope had arrived in the mail, and he officially had a diagnosis.

Of course, he’d had his suspicions for years, especially after one of his professors during his second PhD had casually asked whether he’d ever been tested, planting a seed in his brain that led to many late nights in the library, reading all the literature available to him. It’s why he’d found it strange that it had felt so validating to finally receive that letter in the post. But it had.

The label made sense, and now that he had a diagnosis from a medical professional he felt comfortable to share it with others; he’d been far too paranoid about being questioned, not being believed or lectured about the evils of self-diagnosis no matter how he was confident in himself. He didn’t tend to be an insecure or self-conscious person, but after years of bullying and trauma surrounding what he now knew for sure to be his autistic traits, he couldn’t help but feel almost protective of his affirming label.

Now though, it’s an irrefutable statement. Dr Spencer Reid has autism, and the first person he wants to tell is Hotch.

“I had no idea you were getting tested, Reid,” Hotch says, a hint of surprise bleeding into his voice. “Is there any specific reason you wanted to share this with me?”

“Well… I felt like someone on the team should know,” Spencer starts carefully, afraid to give too much of himself away, “and I thought that someone in a leadership position was the best option. Gideon has never been very… supportive of my autistic traits or behaviour, so I thought that you— that you would be the best option.” He feels awkward, fidgeting in his chair as he watches Hotch’s serious face and kind eyes absorb the information.

“That trust in me means a lot, Reid,” he says, a rare smile making its way onto his face. In that moment, Spencer knows he made the right decision. “How can I make things easier for you? Is there anything you need me to be doing differently?”

“Uh—” He hadn’t really been anticipating that question and it catches him off guard: he’d predicted a quick nod of acknowledgement, a request to photocopy the letter so it can be put on file followed by a swift dismissal, but the letter is now sitting on his side of the desk: clearly, Hotch intends on keeping this between them. This is far from what he expected.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about autism and how it might affect your work?” Hotch corrects himself, recognising quickly Spencer’s need for specifics. “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond some probably rather unhelpful stereotypes.”

Spencer nods. He can answer that question. “As everyone knows I often go off on tangents,” he begins, “and that’s because my special interests — or hyperfixations — often coincide with our work, so I know a lot about the topics we’re investigating. If I do that, just redirect me to the case and I’ll be fine. It’s also really hard for me to have to present myself in a certain way all the time. Vocal stims and gestures are the most satisfying to me but I often have to mask them, which I’ve never been very good at anyway, and it’s fairly exhausting. That’s why I often excuse myself; I go to the bathroom or a secluded hallway and stim on my own. My doctor also told me I tend to overcompensate in social situations and over-perform emotion. Those are the basics, I guess, but it’s a very complex disorder and since it makes up me as a human being, I can’t exactly explain all of it in one conversation.”

“No, that’s fine, Reid, you’ve given me a good picture of what to expect, thank you.” Hotch smiles at him, fondness in the crinkles around his eyes and the softness invading his usually stern expression. “First of all, you never have to feel like you need to excuse yourself to stim. Do you think it would be helpful if we told the rest of the team so they know what to expect? I’m assuming vocal stims are saying certain words or making sounds…?”

Spencer nods.

“Okay, so if you needed to do that we could just continue the conversation while you get it out of your system. Gestures certainly wouldn’t be a problem. How do you feel about that?”

He hadn’t really considered telling the rest of the team but it seemed sort of intimidating, like he’d be opening a vulnerable side of himself to people he didn’t even know that well. On the other hand, they’d all been so understanding of his quirks and odd behaviour so far without even knowing the reason behind it. He’d never once been made to feel the way he used to at school, forced to either pretend to be someone else completely or be isolated and ostracised.

He settles for, “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s fine. There’s no pressure,” Hotch assures him. “I’m very happy you told me, Reid. I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything, whether it’s about this or something completely different.”

Spencer leaves his office with the letter back in his hands, no notes or copies having been made, feeling almost elated. Never in a million years would he have expected that to go so well.

⭐️

He doesn’t really expect it to come up again. He’d told Hotch so that he could understand him a bit better, and also because Hotch had quickly assumed a protective, almost paternal role in his life and he wanted to share the piece of news with him whether he was leading his department or not. That was supposed to be it, though, he didn't think anything would materially change, especially since he decided not to tell the team about the diagnosis just yet.

But almost immediately after he’d told Hotch his diagnosis, his rambles began to be gently redirected back to the case, sometimes without him even noticing. He wasn’t rudely cut off by anyone anymore, Hotch always steering him back on course before anyone else can jump in and hurt Spencer’s feelings. It’s so… kind that it almost feels foreign, and he finds himself gravitating towards the older man more and more, sitting next to him on every jet journey and staying glued to his side during cases.

His newfound protectiveness over Spencer is only demonstrated more clearly a few months after their conversation in Hotch’s office when they’re on their way to New Mexico for a case. The second he spots that the murder victims had all been found with different Fitzgerald quotes scrawled on sheets of paper found in their own personal notebooks, ripped out and left for investigating officers to find, he launches into an info-dump to rival info-dumps.

He can’t help that literature is a special interest of his, made all the more intense by the fond childhood memories of reading to his mother in her bed. Fitzgerald had been her favourite author of the Modern Era, and he’d spent hours analysing significant passages in his novels as a child, so he starts explaining the literary merit of each of the quotes left at the crime scenes.

Apparently, he doesn’t hear the first two times Hotch tries to direct him back on topic, but he hears it when Gideon shouts, “Spencer! Long and unnecessary tangents are not conducive to actually solving these cases. Get back on topic. Now.” He’s loud enough to briefly knock him back several decades to memories of his father screaming at his mother’s schizophrenic babbling, when she’d become convinced that the villains of her favourite novels were trying to break into the house.

Spencer stops mid-sentence and stares at Gideon, who is staring right back. Everyone’s watching the two awkwardly, but the short moment of silence is quickly broken by Hotch. “There is absolutely no need to be that rude, Jason,” he says disapprovingly, while he lays a hand on Spencer’s arm in a light, absent-minded sort of touch. “Reid may have been off-topic but he deserves respect just like everyone else on this team. Nobody needs to be shouted at like that.” He directs his attention back to Spencer. “Why don’t you tell us how those Fitzgerald quotes could help us solve the case, Reid?”

He gives him an encouraging look, and when he looks around the jet, everyone else is, too. Carefully, he starts speaking again, a little afraid of being cut off again, but after a few sentences of relevant explanation he regains his momentum. It’s more than a little vindicating when it’s his ‘unnecessary tangent’ that ends up being the key to cracking the case.

⭐️

Soon after Hotch’s split from Haley, he approaches Spencer one evening when they’re the only two left at the office with a dinner invitation. Within the hour, they walk into a nice, low-key Italian place in the city and take a seat in the far corner of the restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks a little uncertainly, confused as to why his boss is suddenly taking him for dinner.

“I had this idea almost as soon as you told me about your autism,” Hotch explains, knowing by now that preambles and niceties only frustrate Spencer instead of setting him at ease. “I wanted to take you out for dinner every week to try and give you a space to ramble about all your special interests and not feel like you have to mask around everyone. But when I was with Haley, all my personal time was obviously spent with her and Jack. Now, I have the time to dedicate to you and all the incredible knowledge you’re hoarding in that brain of yours.”

“Really?” Spencer asks excitedly. The idea of uninhibited space to talk about the recent knowledge he’s acquired and not have to feel insecure or worry about performing social skills he doesn’t see the point of is everything he’s ever wished for, and something so wonderful being provided by Hotch only makes it better.

“Really.”

Spencer wastes no time. He dives right in. “I was just watching a documentary the other day about volcanoes and their ability to trigger lightning storms with their voltage,” he begins. “Basically, magma rises toward the volcano’s surface, its water rapidly turns to vapor, which shatters the molten rock into tiny particles and creates charged particles. When the ash plume erupts into the atmosphere, the densely packed particles collide, driven by momentum. Friction then affects their electrons, becoming electrically charged. Positively and negatively charged electrons separate in the ash plume which creates a charge imbalance that builds an electric charge strong enough to trigger a lightning storm.”

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” Spencer says excitedly. “If the ash plume rises high enough in the atmosphere ice forms, and when ice, hail, and supercooled liquid droplets collide, the rates of lightning explode, it’s crazy.”

They’re briefly interrupted by a waitress taking their orders, but as soon as she leaves, Hotch gets him to jump back in. “What about that lecture you attended last week… the literature of 18th Century England or something?”

“19th Century English Lit, yeah!” He’s so eager to finally share this with somebody who will genuinely listen to him, and he can’t help it when his arms start to flap excitedly. Remembering where he is, he doesn’t try to mask it, pin his arms to his sides and simply deal with and suppress the innate urge to stim, he lets his body do what it wants to. Instead of eliciting a strange, sideways look, Hotch just smiles fondly.

“The lecturer had this fascinating theory on Dickens. I’ve always seen him as a pretty straight forward author of picaresque fiction, obviously combined with facets of melodrama. And it’s common knowledge that he was inspired by the novel of sensibility, of course. But I’d never thought about the stylistic and lexical choices in his works beyond standard analysis, and this lecturer went on a deep dive into his use of collocation and it opened my eyes…”

He spends the whole evening stimming to his heart’s content while detailing every current interest of his to Hotch, who simply listened intently while eating his meal slowly, dragging out the meal for as long as Spencer needed. “Let me give you a lift home,” Hotch insists after footing the bill, leading him out into the warm evening air.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking the metro,” he replies truthfully.

“I know. But it would make me feel better to drop you home safely. It’s late and seeing you into your apartment building would give me peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Spencer agrees happily, he’s still buzzing from such a nice evening and the least he can do for Hotch is let him rest easy tonight, so he climbs into the passenger side of his car. A few minutes into the car ride home, he realises he should probably actually verbalise just how much he enjoyed dinner. “Thank you, Hotch. I don’t think anybody’s ever done something so nice for me before.”

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” Hotch replies, smiling even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Spencer very much likes it when Hotch uses his first name, and he’d been doing it all evening. He doesn’t really understand why it feels so nice, just that it makes him feel… special, maybe.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he repeats, before freezing as he realises what he’s said. He’s got so used to not masking all evening, he’s not in the right rhythm and mindset to suppress the urge to repeat Hotch’s words. He’s been so nice the whole evening, the last thing Spencer wants is for Hotch to think he’s mocking him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hotch reassures him, tapping his arm lightly as he smiles encouragingly.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he says again, repeating it a few times in relief before the itch is satisfied. He really does have the best boss/friend in the whole world. There’s no doubt about that.

⭐️

Rossi’s initial reaction to Spencer had admittedly been a bit rocky, and having Hotch undeniably on his side was the only thing that made those first few months bearable. He never let them go off on their own; never put Spencer in a position where he’d have to be alone with him. Gradually, though, Rossi adjusted to his quirks and he became almost as protective of Spencer as Hotch.

That doesn’t bode well for the local sheriff when they’re on a case in North Carolina. He’s been prickly since they arrived, being as stubborn and uncooperative as possible, slowing down their progress on actually solving the case, and Spencer’s noticed him being a little extra rude to him in particular. It doesn’t massively bother him — it’s not exactly like someone’s aversion to him is a novel concept — but he can feel some sort of tension coming from the others. It happens a lot more now that they know about his autism and are more aware of themselves and others.

He tries to ignore it the best he can; he puts his head down and focuses on the geographical profile, going wherever he’s sent. Besides, the sooner they solve this case the sooner they can get out of North Carolina and back to DC. On their third day on the case, he’s working quietly in their designated corner of the police department alongside Hotch and Rossi while the others are out investigating in various different places. It’s a nice environment, and even though both men are his superiors, he feels more relaxed in their company than in anybody else’s.

It’s a relatively pleasant morning — considering the whole trying to catch a brutal serial killer thing — until they need to ask the sheriff a question. He saunters over, a tense and angry expression on his face, and Spencer can’t help but feel a little off, the confusing tension in the air that Spencer can’t quite identify making him anxious in his inability to properly decipher it. “Gentlemen,” he says, already frustrated. Spencer suspects it’s a pride thing; not many police departments like being shown up enough to have the FBI called in.

Eager to know the answer to their question, Spencer’s the one to jump in and ask. “Sheriff, we were just wondering whether the town gets much traffic from the local university or—”

He’s cut off by the sneering, towering man. “I’m not taking any questions from your kind,” he says aggressively.

“I’m sorry?” Spencer squeaks as Rossi and Hotch both prepare to say something in response.

The sheriff cuts them off before they can get their likely diplomatic and calming words out. “Homo retards aren’t welcome around here.”

“Hey!” Rossi shouts as he leaps out of the chair, grabbing him by the collar as he’s helped by the element of surprise. “You don’t fucking talk to Spencer like that, you hear me? Weak, cowardly men like you—”

“Dave,” Hotch says placatingly, putting a hand on his shoulder and diffusing the situation. “Listen, Sheriff, we are only here to help you. But if you can’t respect my agents then we’re going to have a problem. Either you’re civil to Dr Reid, or I’m reporting you to the NC Sheriff’s Association. You hear me?”

The sheriff’s pride is clearly wounded, but he at least nods before giving them all a scornful look and walking away.

“We didn’t even get to ask the question,” Spencer says anxiously, suddenly feeling out of his depth, like he can’t quite get enough air.

“Dave, try and get an answer,” Hotch directs, taking charge of the situation. “Spencer, come with me.” He takes him into a secluded hallway for a little privacy, sitting him down on the cool linoleum before sinking down next to him. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Spencer whispers over and over to himself as he rocks backwards and forwards, trying desperately to self-soothe.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Hotch asks. He’s been in enough of these situations with Spencer to know he’s usually in two very different headspaces: he either longingly craves the grounding touch of a hug or a hand on his back, or he needs complete space. He’s also learned that asking outright is the only way to get an direct answer.

“Yes,” Spencer replies, before repeating it over and over again as he’s wrapped up in Hotch’s arms, head pressed against his chest, his hand pressing gently against the back of Spencer’s head. He starts to calm down as he manages to breathe to the heat of Hotch’s calm, steady heartbeat, the comforting touch of someone he trusts with his life also helping to bring him back down to earth. A good ten minutes after the altercation with the sheriff, he’s feeling much better and brings his head out of it’s safe cocoon between Hotch’s chest and hand.

“Come on,” Hotch says kindly. “Let’s get back to the case, yeah? You can just sit and work quietly until you’re ready to hold a proper conversation again. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, knowing that work will perk him back up again, and being surrounded by his team will make him feel safe, asshole sheriff or not.

⭐️

Over the years Hotch helps him through any hurdles that come his way, learning the exact nuances of Spencer’s characteristics and requirements, making sure to accommodate him in every way possible.

He brings an extra, super-soft sweater in his go-bag in case Spencer ever forgets his and needs something gentle on his skin but tight enough to make him feel secure. He buys him stimming toys, dropping them on Spencer’s desk before he even arrives at work and lets him use his office whenever the lights and noise of the bullpen get too much, drawing the blinds and giving him the space he needs. Rossi doesn’t even question it anymore when Hotch shows up with a stack of paperwork and moves into his office for the morning.

It wasn’t until Hotch made a concerted effort to make his life easier that Spencer realised how hard it had been fighting through life on his own. So when he realises Hotch’s birthday is coming up, he decides he wants to show his gratitude. It’s never been easy for him to express emotions, especially since he’s never really found it rude when people don’t thank him, but he knows that for most neurotypical people, appreciation is important.

So he talks it over with Derek and on Hotch’s birthday, he comes into work to see Spencer waiting in his office with balloons, a cake, a card, and a present. He’d spent hours trying to find the right words to explain how he feels, to find the right words to show Hotch just how much everything he’s done for him means, but eventually he’d settled on something simple:

Caroline B Cooney wrote: “I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found my way home.”

I found all of these things when I joined the BAU, but more specifically when I walked into your office, hands shaking, clasping a letter I’d been waiting for all my life. Thank you.

Hotch reads it with tears in his eyes before taking in the cake, a classic birthday cake Spencer had bought at the store, the words “Happy Birthday Dad” written in blue icing. He didn’t really understand why the cake had stood out to him, or why he associated the word ‘dad’ with someone who wasn’t related to him at all, but he’d trusted his gut and with Derek’s cheerleading, he’d bought it.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says tearfully. “Can I hug you?”

Feeling only mildly uncomfortable at the visible display of emotion Spencer doesn’t know what to do with, he nods and steps into Hotch’s comforting embrace. “This means the world to me,” Hotch murmurs quietly as he stands, hugging Spencer for as long as the younger man can stand it.

Spencer’s still not completely sure why he’s managed to make him so emotional, but at least he can trust that it’s a good thing, that Hotch is happy and pleased and reassured. And if he can make him feel even a smidgen as happy as Hotch has made Spencer over the years, well. He’ll consider his long and boring trip into the city to buy the cake, present and card worth it.

Quick Note: Spencer is diagnosed with Asperger’s because that part of the fic is set in 2005. These days he would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch & spencer #spencer #hotch #my writing #autistic spencer reid #autistic spencer #dad hotch

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layercake · 3 years

Text

Why Naoto is Heavily Trans Coded, and How The Discussion Surrounding Him Needs to Change

Hello, I’ve never written or posted anything like this before LOL so this is a bit daunting. But this subject is something that’s been bothering me for a long time, and I wanted to get it out somewhere. So let’s talk about how Naoto Shirogane is heavily trans coded, and how the fandom has a problematic culture surrounding the issue that really needs to change.

Tw // discussion of misogyny , transphobia , and mentions of harassment

Initial Shadow Confrontation

Since the discussion is most often about what’s “canon” and what’s not, let’s first take a look at what the game actually does give us about Naoto’s character. During the confrontation with Naoto’s shadow, we learn that Naoto idolized detectives as a kid, and wanted to be one himself when he was older.

However, this posed a problem for him in multiple ways. One, he was (is) still a child, and the people in his field don’t take him seriously because of it. He tries desperately to escape this fact, to try and act as mature as possible, but ultimately he can’t change how others will perceive him at his age.

This is what the shadow confrontation focuses on most heavily. But then it switches to discussing the other part of the issue-- the fact that Naoto’s ideal image of a detective is a man, and he “isn’t.”

At the end, Yukiko says “You must know already that what you yearn for isn’t to become an adult or to become a boy,” and Naoto accepts it. This is what most people point to when saying that Naoto can’t be trans, because he agrees that it wasn’t what he wished for. So, easy, right? If you take this as him telling the truth, then it looks like an open and shut case-- he isn’t trans. But Naoto’s actions don’t really fit what he says here.

The issue starts with these next lines (below) in particular. To me, Naoto’s tone in the first line is regretful, and doesn’t strike me as a sentiment someone who is cisgender would necessarily hold. Why would he want to “change into a man?” To fit his ideal image of a detective? As he says here, yes.

(Real quick before I continue, it’s not clear in the dialogue screenshot but it’s important to note that Naoto does say “yes” to Yukiko’s question about him not liking being a girl. He nods his head)

The narrative that the game tries to go with after this is that the “ideal image” Naoto wanted to live up to, including the male aspect of it, was unattainable and formed primarily because he felt that was the only way he could be a detective.

But, is this really that much of a problem? We all look up to certain types of people, people that we want to be like-- and for many, this can factor into gender identity as well. If Naoto really just wanted to be a cool, male detective, that doesn’t at all negate that being trans would be a part of that for him.

Naoto’s other words and actions, as well as the framing of this scene as a whole, make the scenario feel a lot less believable to me for multiple reasons. Naoto never initiates the conversation that him wanting to be a boy is incorrect-- Yukiko does. Naoto isn’t even the one to trigger his shadow-- Kanji does that. Naoto had a lot less agency in a lot of these decisions than the other characters did with their shadows.

Naoto’s Continued Actions

The fragility of the narrative Atlus put together for Naoto continues to grow throughout the rest of the game, due to the way he behaves after the initial shadow confrontation.

For starters, it’s implied that Naoto is not his birth name, something that i think a lot of people either miss or forget about-- and yet he continues to go by it throughout the course of the game. We never find out his deadname and he never expresses a desire to share it with anybody.

The day after the “reveal,” Naoto doesn’t change anything about his appearance, mannerisms, or how he presents himself. He honestly seems uncomfortable with the fact that everyone has found out, in a way that felt much like being outed to the whole school, as opposed to finally being seen and accepted for who you “really” are.

I understand that such a drastic shift in people’s perception of you would be overwhelming to anybody, no matter if you were cis or not. But if Atlus really wanted to hone in on the idea that Naoto was happy about this change, they could’ve at least made him…. Well, happy about it. Even if it was just a small smile, just a tiny indication of relief even despite how hard it will be to adjust, it would’ve made it at least a little more believable that this is what he really wanted.

But that’s not the case. Instead, he’s uncomfortable, he still binds, he still wears the school’s male uniform, and he still goes by Naoto. The only time any of this actually changes is if you as the protagonist push him to, which… is a whole other mess.

The fact that Naoto has even gotten to this point, though, speaks more volumes to me than anything else. Passing is not easy. Coming out is not easy. Naoto would have had to go through difficult lengths in order to get not only his school, but the country and media to see him as a man. He’s a well-known "detective prince".. someone was bound to look up his records and find out about it. That's a huge risk to take.

In addition to this, he binds. He goes by masculine pronouns and a masculine name. He very audibly changes his voice to be more masculine. I don’t know how to tell you this, but this is just…. not something cis people do? At least not comfortably.

In fact, doing all of this would have been incredibly uncomfortable for Naoto if he was cis. As someone who experiences dysphoria, looking like and being seen as a gender you are not can be really, really painful. If transitioning was something he really didn’t want, why would he put himself through all of that? Was it really to escape misogyny? Me asking this isn’t minimizing the issue at all, because I understand that it’s incredibly serious and hard for countless women. But I would generally think someone’s first reaction to facing misogyny isn’t to… completely change their identity and present as a different gender.

On top of being probably the hardest option of escaping misogyny available to him, and one of the most uncomfortable, presenting as a man doesn’t necessarily get rid of any prejudices Naoto may face. In fact, I would argue that it’s considerably more dangerous. Especially in a rural town like Inaba, where people seem to not really understand or approve of being LGBT. Naoto is smart, he would have thought of all of this. So why?

Inherent Transphobia of Naoto’s Arc

There is something to be said about how much misogyny is present in Japan’s workforce, especially in fields like Naoto’s, and the importance there is in discussing that. The base idea behind his struggles and message isn’t inherently a bad one, but the way the game went about it was problematic because it put down transgender identities in the process.

The first time I watched Naoto’s shadow confrontation, it was really distressing to me. The game continuously repeats the idea that you can’t “cross the barrier of the sexes,” that Naoto “can never really be a man,” and that “you can change your name, but you can never change who you “really” are.” I hope I don’t need to explain why this is a problem.

Naoto’s wish to be a man, regardless of what was driving it, is depicted as something temporary and childish. Something that Naoto “didn’t really want,” something that was just an excuse to run away from the misogyny he was facing. Even if it was unintentional, this message is incredibly harmful to transgender people.

It would have been a better and much more coherent message about misogyny if the writers had steered clear of trans themes entirely. In fact, I think they did so well with Sae’s character in Persona 5-- she’s in the same field of work, facing very similar struggles, but she doesn’t react in the same way as Naoto at all.

Kanji and Homophobia

It’s even worse that Naoto’s “reveal,” on top of being problematic by itself, is used as a method to bury Kanji’s exploration of his own sexuality. The problems with Kanji’s own shadow are bad enough to warrant their own long rant, but the reveal that Naoto was “really a girl” this whole time allows the story to completely wave off his gayness for good.

This isn’t something unique to this game-- the trope of “two boys fall in love, but one of them turns out to be a girl so it’s fine” has been used numerous times in other media to explore the topic half-assedly. It plays with the “exoticness” or “drama” of a gay romance, but backs off at the end in order to uphold societal norms and prevent backlash.

This doesn’t really give any kind of good commentary on gay relationships, nor does it depict them in a positive or helpful manner. It isn’t something that these games should be getting kudos for doing.

Misogyny?

I think there’s also something to be said about how poignantly bad Atlus is at really tackling the problem of misogyny. It tries, especially with characters like Ann and Sae, and in certain aspects it can succeed. But then they have scenes like the pageant and Every Beach Scene Ever, where the women are forced to wear swimsuits or revealing clothing against their will, or their bodies are talked about without their consent. There is consistently a character in each persona game who is forced to do the whole misogynistic dipshit gimmick that’s supposed to be funny-- Junpei, Yosuke, Teddie, Morgana, Ryuji-- and while this is obviously not a Persona specific problem by a longshot, it’s still indicative of how unsuccessful these games often are in delivering the message that society’s systemic misogyny is an issue.

This is something I think about a lot when people try and argue that Naoto’s story can’t be about him being trans because it’s “an important message about misogyny.” Atlus often doesn’t deliver on such stories already, and they certainly didn’t with Naoto. As soon as Naoto returns to “living as a woman” he’s subjected to the same misogyny that the other girls are. His chest is commented on, he’s forced to be in the beauty pageant, he’s made uncomfortable in the bath scenes-- really, all Atlus did after the reveal was make the problem worse for him.

On top of this, his story never actually meaningfully tackles the problem of misogyny in the detective force. It’s not a major part of his social link or the general plot of the game-- honestly, it’s barely even touched on at all after the initial confrontation. Thus, the idea that “Naoto can’t be trans because it erases a story about misogyny” is just plain untrue. There never was a coherent one in the first place.

Problems Within the Fandom

Despite all of this, there is such an intense backlash from the majority of the fandom if anybody dares to bring up these issues with Naoto’s story. Naoto being trans is generally seen as something ridiculous and stupid, or something to insult and mock people for.

I understand that there's always going to be people who say provocative stuff like this, no matter what anyone does, and that it’s not something exclusive to this particular fandom or character. But the problem is that this rhetoric isn't just from them anymore--the consensus among so much of the fandom seems to be either that Naoto absolutely cannot be trans, or that speaking about it at all is "annoying discourse" and taboo. Even from fans that are LGBT or allies themselves.

This in and of itself is such a telling thing to me. if you find yourself getting angry about the subject, really ask yourself why. Is it such a problem for people to reclaim a transphobic story? Is it such a problem for a character to be trans in the first place? There is room for discussion and nuance regarding this situation, but we have to make it for ourselves. We can accept that Atlus’s base game will never actually give us a coherent story about either misogyny nor being transgender with Naoto’s story. But petty arguments and insults thrown at people who bring up this topic isn’t any of that-- it’s just poorly masked transphobia.

So at the end of the day, no, Naoto being is trans is not “canon.” Of course Naoto would not actually be allowed to be trans, he is a main character in a game series where the only explicitly LGBT characters have been consistently buried, stereotyped, or demonized with only a few rare exceptions.

Yes, you’re allowed to headcanon whatever you want about him. I can’t stop you from wanting a story about misogyny, or from seeing Naoto’s gender as something more fluid than I do. But you can’t ignore the fact that his story, as written in canon, is laden with transphobia despite its intentions. It’s not a ridiculous or harmful thing for trans people to want to reclaim that.

There are still a lot more issues with how Naoto is treated in the game-- especially in his romance route-- but that’s a whole other can of worms I’m not ready to unpack today lol

Hopefully all of this made sense though, and feel free to bring up anything else I may have missed or point out any issues you might have with it :-) Thanks for reading!

#persona 4 #naoto shirogane #p4 #persona #naoto #trans naoto #meta #long post #discourse #misogyny #transphobia #god?? god!! help me #this is literally such a mess lol But #sorry for lack of pictures in the second half also

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hisredhysteria · 2 years

Text

Fall Apart, Twice a Day.

TW: this is about an eating disorder and has elements of body dysmorphia. Please, if you're sensitive to ED's, or even have a warped body image, I wouldn't read this.

Disclaimer: I tried to write this as best I could because sometimes it's difficult for me to put characters in certain situations and write about how they'd react in canon. ALSO this is NOT meant to romanticize or glorify eating disorders, it is only meant to be about it. If anyone ever needs someone to talk to though, my arms are always open for you so please feel free to message me at anytime-

Summary: He'd have to confront you at some point, but Hacker may have least expected to do it while you cried in the kitchen.

With eyes so narrow, he diligently scanned the tiny black words printed across each label. The jumble of carefully placed nonsense had meant nearly as much as a forgotten crumb. A single crumb that tumbled off a table and onto the floor was something he would never hear, see, and neither would he have ever thought to sweep it up.

- ♡ -

Hacker would always make it look so easy to simply pour pretzels into an empty bowl, then munch away on them without so much as a second thought. In fact, he'd snacked rather often throughout the day in your presence and while it wasn't what you'd call a healthy habit, it wasn't something that you would pester him about. Alas, this time was also little to no different as your harsh gaze glued to the way each pretzel hit his thin lips.

"You're looking at me like that again..." He noted, disturbing the rhythmic chewing noises of his mouth. You were unsure of whether or not to feel intimidated by his blunt observation so as such you shifted uncomfortably. Waiting for him to continue to speak, of course, his next guess would prove to you that maybe even Hacker couldn't understand everything presented to him.

...Or, so perhaps you thought.

"If you want some...just ask, you know."

With only that much said, he placed the bowl of pretzels between the both of you before sitting in a chair across the table from your seat. If one was to measure, they'd have easily been able to guess that Hacker set it down it in a way that made your stretch to the bowl a shorter one.

Even after his thoughtful gesture though, you would never pick one up and could only resort to glancing away as soon as the bowl threatened to touch the rim of your peripheral vision. Silence was what riddled you with anxiety more than the look he'd give you for not picking up the snack he laid out, much like any other person would have.

To either your fortune or not, Hacker was never just an acquaintance to this behavior that slowly became a pattern.

"Aren't you hungry...?" He chimed, filling the air with words less comforting than the previous silence.

Clouded in your thoughts now were the variety of excuses you could use to satisfy his simple question. Perhaps you'd eaten earlier or were saving your appetite for later. Maybe, you just weren't hungry. What was it to him ..what you were and why did he need to know?

"My stomach hurts." Was the fine card you decided to pull out for this dull trick and to say the least, you weren't wrong.

Hacker's eye told you something was amiss though, and it wasn't that he could read your lie, no. It was because he could read past your lie.

"Oh...then, shouldn't you rest or something...?" He asked, playing along with your underhanded trickery..., as one does when they're unsure of how to approach such a deadly looming topic.

Your head shook to say no and you let out a sigh, pushing the bowl of pretzels away from your body to allow room for your head to rest. There was only so much you could do to fake this stomach ache and to be honest, you weren't quite sure whether you'd truly had one or not either. Surely Hacker would catch on if you didn't pretend at least a little, that is...

Concerned now, even through the patch, his eyes scanned your body until you lifted your head off the table. Immediately, Hacker turned to face the opposite direction and it allowed you no room to even guess that he'd possibly noticed something wasn't right about your demeanor.

"Even if you aren't hungry, you look like you could use some sleep."

His words struggled through one ear and danced directly out the other. It was on the lighter side for what Hacker might have said if he were in a playful mood, however something about the dark and serious atmosphere tuned his mannerisms for joking off at the moment.

What you actually longed to tell him in response was that you needed a different body. To wake up anyone other than yourself. Sleep or not, looking in the mirror or standing on a scale ironically ate away at your self esteem so delicate that glass couldn't have hoped to compare.

In the end, the tumbling crumb would be a burden for someone to sweep up, and had it not been you, maybe Hacker wouldn't be so on edge as his days with you slowly progressed.

- ♡ -

It was late in the evening by now, past a time that anyone should be up. Here you were though, in the kitchen again with tears streaming down both cheeks. Box after bag after container you rummaged, and despite the endless surplus of snacks and drinks he hoarded, none of it would do. Did all of what Hacker eat just seem so repulsive, or was your relationship with food so far skewed that you even questioned whether water had calories?

Not a single number, even 0, would satisfy your hazy glance. Defeated with your stomach aching worse than earlier from hunger, you had caught an unruly glimpse of a strangers appearance in the glass window above the kitchen sink. It was excruciating to know what you looked like as you denied yourself a necessity, but you wouldn't have to look long for your eyes ran from it desperately.

Lightheaded from holding back the endless tears that welled in your eyes, you supported your weakening body on the counter. Your dizziness was to no avail when you eventually let out a loud sob from being overwhelmed and overstimulated with all your emotions settling in at once. You'd failed to keep quiet, and because of that, your progress would all come to an end the moment you heard his voice.

Entering just in time to witness the climax of your dilemma, Hacker's words came to an early pause.

"You okay in here....? What are you doing up this late ....I thought you went to ...-?"

"Just leave me alone." You snapped. "I'm fine, I was only looking for something to eat."

With your sleeve, you wiped the wet tears from your eyes, but could hardly bear to face him yet.

"I'm not stupid, you know. You're only this hungry because you've been starving yourself."

His words fell on you like a brick house and the heaviness in your heart was an unexplained feeling to anyone that hadn't experienced it before.

"That's...."

"The truth...?"

With your walls knocked down, you didn't fight to build them back up and you didn't bother to respond to him either.

"I could tell something was up, but.... I just...wasn't sure if you were ready to talk about it yet."

As Hacker spoke, the lower his voice got and now you suddenly began to feel guilty for having tried to hide it at least a little from him.

"I'm sorry..." You whispered. Easily, you knew...he must have pitied you.

"Why are you apologizing to me..? If anything, shouldn't you be saying that to yourself? I didn't think it was something you could help.."

The solemn words registered to you, but just barely. Still dizzy, you tensed at the thought of turning around for Hacker to see your features glossed in an agonizing self-hatred. Luckily, he would make it so you didn't have to. Approaching you slowly, he leaned against the counter next to you with his arms crossed. As intimidating as the pose seemed, when Hacker did it, you couldn't help but to feel at ease in some way.

"...I guess I should have said something a little sooner."

Hacker waited a moment, giving you an open slot to speak had you wished. His glance towards you was nothing short of a lamentable one though. You did not speak a word and it left him to keep filling in for your absence.

You're still hungry, aren't you..?"

If you hadn't been trying to hide your face, you might have looked him in the eye now.

"Yes, but.."

Hacker put a finger to his chin like he did when lost in thought or when he'd been trying to think of something to say. Currently, he was surfing through a sea of words that he could choose to speak so that maybe you'd feel a little at peace.

"Is there something I can do then..? Perhaps help you come up with a different diet plan..?"

You let in a deep breath at the possibilities. There were many to choose from and yet he'd picked to mention the most practical, yet impossible one. You hated it. You hated it so badly that another round of the water works fell from your eyes, begging for a answer felt from his heart rather than one filled with substance almost anyone could have offered you.

"I don't judge you for this..if that's what you're thinking."

You sat in his presence and still felt so alone at the comfort he was attempting. He'd never seen you cry quite so hard and you knew it had to have felt awkward for him because of how touchy and intimate this subject was.

Seven words you didn't expect to fall from his mouth however, stopped your quiet whines of pain.

"Maybe.. I can just hug you instead...?"

Hesitant to say please, you hardly nodded your head and that was all he needed to see to know it was okay. His arm pulled you away from the counter with the strength he could muster and he let your head rest upon his shoulder. Only one of his arms would remain wrapped around you, rubbing your back. His other hand became occupied with your hair.

"It'll be okay, there's no need to keep crying...I'm sure no matter what happens, we'll be able to get through it. A challenge, right-?" His smile wore anxiously on his empathetic face and even if you couldn't see it, you knew it was there.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to come to me about this sort of thing once in a while either....It's.. actually the only way I can help..."

He lacked similar distance from before and these were the words you hoped you'd get from him if you chose to open up in any other way. As much of his heart as Hacker could bare to you, you felt his head lean slightly against yours within the hug too.

#akudama drive #akudama drive x reader

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enbysiriusblack · 3 years

Text

I keep posting non marauder content and I apologise (no i dont, you just have to deal with it)

BUT HERE GO, THE CONTENT YOU ACTUALLY WANT FROM ME (probably)

A lil Jily story of angst and fluff kind of:

(its not lil,, its pretty darn long)

tw. brief physical violence and stalking

Lily hated the summer holidays. Her sister always complaining about her return, her parents struggle with keeping Petunia calm while still spending time with Lily, and Severus' change of character once they were back in the muggle town.

But this summer, she had more to worry about. Severus still hadn't left her alone after their fall out. He had started waiting for her in the library, following her in between classes, and and watching her hanging out with her friends at Hogsmeade.

And now without her friends and the separate common rooms in the way, it would be even harder to avoid him and she was worried for her own safety.

So as she stepped off the train, said goodbye to her friends and walked towards her family. She was miserable.

And as the days of summer ticked by, Lily had locked herself in her bedroom. Not wanting to go downstairs in order to avoid the endless arguments and shouting of Petunia, and not wanting to go outside to avoid Severus stalking her and pleading with her to forgive him.

But after a few weeks, her parents urged her to get some sunlight and got her to go to the shop round the corner to grab a few things.

Carrying 2 bags, filled with milk, bread, toilet roll, laundry detergent, the daily newspaper, and a litre bottle of fanta; Lily left the shop. Only to spot Severus a few feet away, and hurriedly following her.

She started walking faster towards her house, but only a few metres a way from home, a hand sharply attached itself to her shoulder.

"Lily!! I'm trying to talk to you!!" He yelled.

Lily shook her shoulder, flinging his hand off it and back to his person.

"I've told you a million times!! Leave me alone!!" She yelled back.

"But I'm in love with you" he said, stepping forwards and about to touch her cheek.

She took a step back and scoffed, "you can't love someone while hating who they are"

"It's not your fault who you're born as, it doesn't matter to me. It's like a curse being put on you, but you can still overcome it. The dark Lord himself is a half blood like me! But we know we're better than that, we just have to overcome that set back." He replied, stepping closer and closer to Lily.

A loud crack sounded and blood ran down Snape's nose. He lifted a hand to his face and felt the blood pouring out. Her grocery bags fell to the floor.

"Being muggleborn is not a setback to overcome. Don't ever come near me again" she replied, before picking up her bags and heading back to her house without looking back once more.

The next morning, she looked out her window to see Snape standing outside, holding a bouquet of lilies.

She shut her blinds and hid in her room. As the days ticked by, she never left the house and Snape stood there hour after hour, bringing different assortments of gifts to compensate his inability to actually care about her.

She decided she had to leave for the rest of the holiday. But Mary was visiting family outside the country, Marlene and Dorcas were in Italy together to celebrate their anniversary. Then she remembered Remus was at home.

She owled Remus straight away and got a reply from him fairly quickly, accepting her request of staying at his till the holidays had ended.

So the next morning she packed her things, said goodbye to her mum, and drove with her dad to the train station around 7 am, before Snape arrived at the house.

It was a long, confusing train journey to Wales. But once she got there after hours on different trains, she spotted Remus and his mum sitting outside one of the station cafes.

Remus looked up as she walked towards them, and he moved over a piece of chocolate cake and his cup of tea to make more room for her on the small metal table.

Lily grabbed a seat from an empty table nearby and sat it down. Hope passed a menu over to Lily and she ordered a cup of tea and a a hot sausage roll. The three of them ate and drank before getting to Hope's yellow volkswagen van to get back to the Lupin cottage.

Once they got to the cottage, Hope showed Lily around the house and brought her stuff to Remus' bedroom.

"We don't have any spare rooms I'm afraid so I hope you don't mind sharing with Remus?" Hope asked her.

"No it's fine thank you" she replied.

"Alright, oh also I need to get some more herbs and plants for my stocks so I was going to go foraging tomorrow, would you two like to join me?"

Remus looked towards Lily to see her thoughts, she nodded at him in acceptance.

"Yeah we would" Remus said.

Hope lifted her hand to affectionately stroke Remus' curls before leaving the room.

The next day the Lupin's and Lily set out to the forest, Lyall deciding to join them as it was his day off work. All four were carrying small handmade baskets, Lyalls was full of picnic food for lunchtime, while the other's were empty for foraging.

Remus and Lily went ahead in a different direction, agreeing to meet up at the usual spot at lunch time.

As Remus and Lily went through the woods, Remus sometimes picking up certain plants and flowers and putting them in his basket, while Lily (not knowing much about foraging or what Hope needed) only picked flowers she liked and had decided to make a nice bouquet for Hope with them.

The two chatted as they walked, talking about what topics they're studying in their classes next year, about Snape, about their what they had been up to for the last few weeks.

Once they got back to the house, Remus started writing a letter to James and Sirius, who had run away to James' a few weeks ago. While Lily and Hope were downstairs talking, after Lily had given her the bouquet.

Around an hour later, all four were sitting on the lounge for dinner, the bouquet was placed on the middle of the wooden table as a centre piece inside a tall mug with a picture of Phil Bennett on.

After dinner, Lily and Remus went out. There wasn't much to do in the small village in the evening so they ended up in the middle of someone's field. The two sat on the hill for a few hours, stargazing and mindlessly talking about whatever came to mind.

The days went by, with Lily staying at Remus' place. The duo found themselves spending most of their time in a small bookshop cafe and walking through the woods, Remus smoking his weed and Lily sometimes Lily would take a hit but she wasn't as fond of it as Remus was.

With only a week and a half till school started again, Remus and Lily planned to go to hogsmeade together tomorrow.

But midday, two figures appeared walking towards the Lupin cottage just as Remus and Lily got back from their walk in the woods.

As the got closer to the two, they saw it was James and Sirius.

Remus dropped his joint to the floor and ran to the two standing by the door to his home.

He wrapped his arms around Sirius, but felt them freeze up at the touch. So Remus moved to stop the hug, but at that withdrawal, Sirius wrapped his own arms around Remus tightly with no sign of letting go.

The two stood there for a few minutes, wrapped in an embrace while Lily and James stood awkwardly nearby them.

"... hi" James said, waving at Lily, but since they were near each other, Lily had to move backwards to avoid getting hit by his hand.

James quickly withdrew his hand, and stepped back. He looked down at his hand for a few seconds, before bringing it up again and saluting Lily.

As he was half way through saluting her, he realised what he was doing and quickly brought it straight down to his side, and froze at Lily with unblinking eyes like a deer stuck in headlights.

She started laughing, affectively ending the hug between Remus and Sirius, who turned to look between Lily and James.

At that moment, Hope came inside, calling Lily for something and waved in greeting to James and Sirius.

After Lily had walked into the house, James grinned widely.

"She laughed at me!! She thinks I'm funny!"

"She was laughing AT you, cause she thinks you're a wanker" Remus corrected.

Sirius grinned slightly at the retort and grabbed Remus' hand.

Remus looked to Sirius and James realised Sirius would talk to Remus and Remus could help Sirius, even just slightly.

"I'll go see if Hope needs some more help" James said before turning to the cottage and giving Remus and Sirius some time alone.

Inside the cottage, James and Lily were setting up cutlery around the table and helping Hope with the dinner.

James noticed the flowers in the mug, "wow, these look really nice Hope, my mum keeps trying to make some nice flower arrangements for around the house but she's not very good at it. I made this red and gold one, go gryffindor!! for her birthday a few weeks ago but it was no where near as good as this one!!"

Hope came out of the kitchen carrying a saucepan of curry.

"Oh no honey, I didn't make that, that was all thanks to Lily" she said coming round the table and softly touching Lily's arm in gratitude.

"Oh" James said, freezing again as he stared back at Lily. "Its.. um.. its really good.. I like the uhh,, its good."

Lily raised an eyebrow at him, "thank you?"

James nodded, and tapped the table, trying to think of something else to say.

His eyes glanced over the the window, spotting Remus and Sirius sitting on the edge of the woods on a small bench, still talking and holding each others hand.

"I should probably go get them for dinner" he said, about to get out of his seat.

Hope waved her hand absentmindedly, "oh leave them its fine, the lovebirds can eat later"

A few minutes later, Lyall came back from work and sat at the table with them.

The four ate in fairly comfortable silence, sometimes having small conversations.

The next day they went to Hogsmeade.

Sirius waringly looking out for any of their family members as they walked around doing their shopping. Remus stood by xyr side the whole time, with James and Lily awkwardly leading the group together.

Peter found them a few hours later, he was shopping with zir mum but stayed with his friends for a while.

In Flourish and Blotts, Sirius and Remus seemed to have disappeared together in a fiction section, bonding over their mutual love of books packed with monsters and adventures and swordsmen.

Lily gazed at books on the shelf closest to her, sometimes bringing one up to her eye line and reading the blurb before putting it back on the shelf again.

James stood there with Peter, who he was very glad of, Peter acting as a distraction of the awkward silence between Lily and James.

So as Peter rambled about how he's so glad ze doesn't have to do potions anymore, James took his mind of trying to impress Lily and put his focus on listening to Peter.

However in the next moment, Peter made a very tactical decision of engaging Lily into the conversation.

"So Lily, I'm guessing you're still taking Potions this year?" Peter asked.

Lily turned around, one hand still lightly touching one of the books on the shelf.

"Yeah, but it sucks that none of my friends are taking it. I tried to get Remus to change his mind and take it for weeks.. and then he blew up half the kitchen trying to make pasta sauce and realised my efforts were futile."

James laughed, "thats Remus, alright"

Lily looked over at him, contemplating. Before nodding her head and smiling slightly as she turned back to the bookshelf.

After around five minutes, Peter chiped up.

"Oh!! James is taking Potions still aren't you? You said you're dad really wanted you to get a Potion Newt. You two can hang out in class"

James sent Peter a 'what the hell' glare before Lily nodded again and clearly said the words,

"I guess we could, its better than the chance of getting stuck with Sev- Snape for the rest of the year... are you any good?"

James froze, "um.. yeah, yeah.. well no, not really to be honest"

Lily smiled again, "thats fine, I'm hood enough for the both of us"

She took a book off the shelf and kept it in her arms for the first time. And then walked back to James and Peter.

"If I'm helping you in Potions though, you've gotta help me with transfiguration."

She lifted up the book in her arms to show the cover, the transfiguration book they needed this year.

"I skimmed this a little, and it barely made any sense at all."

James lifted a hand to his hair, ruffling it up on a nervous habit.

"Minnie gave me a group of younger years to tutor last year, maybe you could come to those? .. not that I think you're as dumb as first and second years, far from it, you're one of the smartest people I know. But I just mean that a lot of our topics this year our ones that we did in first and second year but with more context and more advanced. So I thought that if you revised the basics then the more advanced parts would make more sense to you.. if you wanted?"

"Yeah that sounds great" she said, before moving to another bookshelf and flicking through it.

The rest of the day, the two of them talked and talked. And back at Remus' cottage Lily walked up to him before he had to leave with Sirius.

"Today was fun, friends?" She asked.

James nodded, "friends"

As him and Sirius left, Sirius hit his shoulder.

"What were you and Lily talking about? Declaring your undying love for her?"

James shook his head, "We're just friends, I need to just... move on i guess, friends is as best as it'll get. And its enough for me."

#marauders era #james potter #lily evans #anti snape #marauders #jily #anti snily #harry potter #harry potter fandom #tw physical violence #tw stalking #finally posting this #ive been writing it for a couple of days but im finally done #woo!!!

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bluescluelessly · 4 years

Text

Tossing the Script out the Airlock (and Good Riddance to it)

[Rating: Teen] || hurt/comfort, suspected infidelity, polyamorous relationships, made up Stewjoni biology because George Lucas didn’t say Obi-Wan wasn’t a little weird and if he’s gonna give his birth planet a stupid name then I’m gonna give him stupid biology tweaks, and use of Dai Bendu, the language of the Jedi (translations at the bottom of the post)

tw: mentions of grooming (because Palpatine)

Ships: Bail Organa/Obi-Wan, Bail/Breya, Anakin/Padmé

Palpatine tries to convince Anakin that Padmé is cheating on him with Obi-Wan. Anakin confronts his friend about it, finds out a bit more than he bargained for, and not at all what he was expecting to.

°|●.*•

From the Revenge of the Sith Novelization:

“That’s why I put you on the Council. If the rumors are true, you may be democracy's last hope.”

Anakin let his chin sink once more to his chest and his eyelids scraped shut. It seemed like he was always somebody’s last hope.

Why did everyone always have to make their problems into his problems? Why can’t people just let him be?

How is he supposed to deal with all this one Padmé could die?

He said slowly, eyes still closed, “you still haven’t told me what this has to do with Obi-Wan.”

“Ah, that – well, that is the difficult part. The disturbing part. It seems that Master Kenobi has been in contact with a certain Senator who is known to be among the leaders of this cabal. Apparently, very close contact. The rumor is that he was seen leaving the Senator’s residence this very morning, at an… unseemly hour.”

“Who?” Anakin opened his eyes and sat forward. “Who is this Senator? Let’s go question him.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin. But the Senator in question is, in fact, a *her*. A woman you know quite well, in fact.”

“You–” He wasn’t hearing this. He couldn’t be. “You mean–”

Anakin choked on her name.

Palpatine gave him a look of melancholy sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”

Anakin coughed his voice back to life. “That’s *impossible!* I would *know*– she doesn’t… she couldn’t–”

“Sometimes the closest,” Palpatine said sadly, “are those who cannot see.”

Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover, p. 250

°|●.*•

This is it. Anakin is going to just… ask him. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he finds out Obi-Wan has been sleeping with his wife, but…

Well, he’ll figure that out if it’s true.

He went to Padmé’s apartment, felt for himself the evidence that Obi-Wan had been there.

Now, he needs the truth. He needs to be wrong.

“So… I heard you spent a late night with a senator,” he asks, trying not to sound overly accusing. Obi-Wan always gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Several emotions flicker across Obi-Wan’s face then. He eventually fixes his gaze on Anakin, a modicum of panic in his eyes. Anakin’s heart sinks.

The next words out of his old Master’s mouth, however, catch him by surprise.

“You… know about Bail?”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. No, he didn’t–

– but he can’t help thinking he knew it, it was a male senator –

– “Bail?” He blurts out, confusion showing. “No, Palpatine said–”

“– Palpatine saw me with Bail?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice rising an octave.

“No–” Anakin insists, hands going up in a placating gesture. “Not– I didn’t know about Bail. I uh. Palpatine told me he heard you were seen leaving Padmé Amidala’s Apartment.” He explains, and some of the worry drains from Obi-Wan.

“Oh,” he says, sounding infinitely relieved. “No, I, er. Well, I definitely haven’t been making ‘late visits’ to Senator Amidala.” He gives Anakin a curious sort of look. “I hear she’s spoken for, not that I would pursue her, in any case. It would be… awkward.”

“Awkward?” Anakin asks, feeling as if he’s missing something.

Obi-Wan gives a tired sort of smile. “Besides the fact that my preference is not for the fairer sex; she once made an advance, and I turned her down.” Seeing Anakin’s flaring temper, he is quick to clarify, “long before your knighting, Anakin. But, as I said, awkward.”

Anakin nods, appeased. Then, he remembers there’s a more important topic to focus on here. “So… Bail?”

The reaction is immediate; Obi-Wan’s face blushing a dark red as he looks away. “Yes, I– if you could keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

To hell with it, Anakin thinks. “Sure Master, I’ll keep your senator a secret if you keep mine.”

“The fact that you think your relationship with Senator Amidala is a secret is adorable,” Obi-Wan responds, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Half the council is still asking me why they weren’t invited to the wedding; I can’t give them an answer, as I wasn’t invited either.”

Anakin looks shocked by that information, which is truly endearing. “Wait, they aren’t mad?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You proved to me that you could put responsibility over your wife on Geonosis. Relationships aren’t forbidden so long as there’s not an unhealthy attachment involved. Anyways, we’ve always bent the rules a bit for you.”

Anakin feels as if a weight has been removed from his shoulders. A weight that Palpatine put there, he thinks.

The old man has been wrong about the Jedi on two accounts now… why does Anakin hold what he says about the Jedi in such regard?

Perhaps he should fact-check more of the Chancellor’s absurd claims.

“Ah.” Anakin responds intelligently. “… so why does your, um, thing with Bail need to stay a secret?”

Obi-Wan’s red cheeks return once more. “Well. A… few reasons. Not that I think I’d be in trouble for it, but… I’d like to respect Bail’s privacy. He is, after all, Married.”

“Does Breha not know?”

“She knows,” Obi-Wan assures his former Padawan. “I wouldn’t agree otherwise. But that doesn’t mean they want the whole senate knowing about their … arrangement with me; or others.”

Again, Anakin nods to show his understanding. “The less people who know, the better. Right…”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Anakin starts, bemused, “I didn’t take you for the 'mistress’ type.”

A complicated flurry of emotions cross his friend’s face. “… neither do I,” he responds, a little clipped. “I think of myself more as Bail’s type.”

Anakin realizes how insensitive that came off a bit too late. “I’m sorry–”

Obi-Wan waves him off. “It’s difficult to understand when I haven’t explained. Bail is Bi; he generally prefers men, but his heart belongs fully to Breha. I prefer men as well, and I have… a condition… so we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement, in which Bail and I enjoy one another while on Coruscant, as he and Breha cannot be together as often as they’d like to be.”

Anakin gets all that, he does. But one thing sticks out to him that he feels needs to be clarified. “You have a condition?” Is Obi-Wan sick?

If its possible, Obi-Wan grows more embarrassed. “Well, I’m from Stewjon.”

That clears nothing up.

At Anakin’s clueless expression, Obi-Wan sighs and explains. “Right, quick biology lesson. Somewhere down the evolutionary line, it was decided that Stewjonians need more incentive to reproduce. So, while it isn’t necessary in order to live out a full, average life span, our bodies naturally produce more beneficial hormones during sexual intercouse. This means, the more I…” he pauses, looking displeased by the verbal corner he’s painted himself into. “… get laid, the slower I age, the faster I heal, and the less sleep I need. All beneficial to fighting a war, yes?”

That’s all news to Anakin. Fascinating. “So do you have… other arrangements too?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “As of now, just Bail. I could, of course, visit the lower levels to the same effect, but I find it safer and more preferable to have intercourse with someone I like and trust.” Less likely to catch something that way, too.

Anakin nods, strange mixtures of relief and utter confusion swirling in his mind. At least he knows Obi-Wan has no interest in Padmé… but that doesn’t explain the way he felt his presence in the force, in her apartment.

“Okay. Uh.” He hesitates, knowing there’s no real, good way to word this. “Just… to be 100% clear, you’re not having secret meetings with Padmé in an attempt to overthrow Palpatine and the Senate?”

The look Obi-Wan gives Anakin would make someone think he had just grown a second head.

“… no, wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

Anakin rubs the back of his neck, feeling the last bit of worry ebb away. “Just rumors.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Truly, the Senate gossip gets wildly out of hand. I’ll admit, I do on occasion have tea with Padmé, but there’s nothing treasonous about friends visiting one another and trading stories and doing each other’s makeup from time to time.” He pauses. “And while neither of us have very high opinions on Chancellor Palpatine’s term, there’s no plot against him, as far as I am aware. We are both just eager for this war to end, and for him to release his emergency powers so the Republic can return to democracy.”

“You think his rule is undemocratic?” Anakin asks, looking appalled by the idea.

“He’s been in power long past his elected term,” Obi-Wan points out. “A new Chancellor should have been elected already. Over this time, he has used the war to gain far more emergency powers than any one person should hold.”

Sensing Anakin’s impending argument, he continues. “… Of course, this makes it far simpler to fight a war; I simply worry that when the war has ended… he won’t give up his power so easily. He has resisted peace talks, and every other attempt to bring this war to an end sooner. So I… have concerns.” He gives Anakin a tired sort of smile. “But last I checked, he hasn’t yet made it treasonous for Padmé and I to exercise our right to free speech.”

“Of course not,” Anakin responds, sounding distracted. He’s always thought having one person to make decisions was a good thing… or, does he just think that because Palpatine has told him it’s a better idea so many times?

He has many things to question. But, more importantly right now, Obi-Wan mentioned make-up?

Anakin shakes himself from his thoughts, giving his friend a curious look. “Uh. Rewind a second. Did you say Padmé did your make-up?”

“And I did hers,” Obi-Wan answers easily. “We both had dates.”

That would explain why they were, in some cases, sitting closer than friends would; as far as he could tell in the force.

“Bail takes you on dates?” Anakin asks, curious but trying his best not to be pushy about it. This is something new, which he never anticipated learning about his Master… he wants to know more, but as a Jedi with his own secret significant Senator, he understands the secrecy.

“Not all of them are Bail,” Obi-Wan answers after a moment, as if weighing how much he should admit to. “But yes, he does. He’s quite a gentleman really; I do look for other potential partners, but I fear he’s spoiled me for most.”

Anakin can imagine; having a Senator as a partner is pretty nice. “The tea is that good?”

“And the company,” Obi-Wan agree, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll admit… I’m glad you know now. I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

That warms Anakin’s heart, so much that he doesn’t quite know how to express it, so he deflects. “If you have pictures of yourself in that makeup, you better not keep them secret anymore,” he teases with a grin.

the teasing pulls a laugh from Obi-Wan, who shakes his head. “I don’t; but I’m certain Padmé has plenty. I think she even took a few of us the one time Bail stopped by her apartment to pick me up.”

Oh, he is definitely getting those from his wife later. “So Padmé knows about you two?”

“She introduced us,” Obi-Wan admits fondly. “I don’t share details with her, but she’s a smart woman.”

That she is. “Why am I the last to find out?” He protests, trying his best not to let it come out sounding whiny.

“Because, my dear padawan,�� Obi-Wan starts, gently ribbing him. “You are a dear friend, and an unparalleled partner in combat, but you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“I can keep a secret!” he argues! “I swear, Master, no one else will ever know. I only talk to you and Padmé, anyways.” He pauses, “Well, and Palpatine.”

“And he mustn’t know,” Obi-Wan insists, more serious now. “Bail is one of the leading senators advocating for clone rights and peace talks, Anakin. He is a good man. And, he disagrees with Palpatine quite often. I shudder to think what the Chancellor would do with this information, should he find out. I wouldn’t put it past him to use it in an attempt to not only discredit Bail, but to berate the Jedi as well.”

“But neither of you are doing anything wrong,” Anakin states, frowning.

Obi-Wan’s eyes close for a moment. “And it’s not wrong for a system to want to remain neutral and out of the war, yes? And yet, Palpatine did everything in his power to try to strongarm Republic forces onto Mandalore, even rushing a vote 3 days ahead of time, without Satine present, based on a doctored holorecording.”

Anakin doesn’t look at it that way… but he’s not going to argue with Obi-Wan where Satine is involved. Though he now questions how romantic their relationship really was, he knows they were, at the very least, close.

“Just please, don’t tell him, Anakin.” Obi-Wan persists, looking up at his friend beseechingly. “If for no other reason than Bail values his privacy.”

“Of course,” Anakin agrees easily. “Like I said, I won’t tell anyone. I just… nobody really talks to me about Palpatine like you are now. I guess most people know he’s my friend and are too afraid to say anything less than flattering… You’re giving me things to think about.”

“I try to be honest with you whenever I can,” Obi-Wan responds cautiously. “You aren’t a child anymore, and though old habits are hard to break, I don’t want to keep sheltering you as if you aren’t a capable adult.”

“I sense you have more to say,” Anakin prompts when Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately continue.

His friend nods, looking troubled. “I know he is a close friend of yours, Anakin, and one of the few people you knew and liked here, after leaving your home. Which is why I–mistakenly, I think–didn’t object to his interest in you. Initially, I had hoped another friend would make your transition from Tatooine to Coruscant easier… but… well. I find the way he treats you… inappropriate. In some cases, predatory.”

And with those words, Anakin suddenly feels on the defensive. No, Palpatine is his friend, like a grandfather to him. He isn’t… predatory, or–

Obi-Wan’s hands are up even before Anakin can think of a rebuttal. “I don’t claim to know all the details… but the fact that when you were younger, you didn’t feel comfortable telling me anything of your activities on your outings with him says quite a lot, Anakin. And more than that, when I started to suspect something was amiss, and attempted to join you on visits with him, or simply ensure you weren’t left alone with him, he used his position as the Chancellor to strongarm me into backing down. It was… is, concerning.”

And, that’s news to Anakin. He understands why Obi-Wan hadn’t told him sooner, too. He was a headstrong kid; any attempt to protect him, especially from someone he saw as a friend, Anakin would have just taken as Obi-Wan ‘controlling’ him. He knows better now; after years of being Obi-Wan’s equal. But then, it may have just pushed him away, and further from where Obi-Wan could attempt to protect him.

Still, he feels the need to explain himself. “It’s not– He didn’t do anything… like that…” He starts, floundering a little. “It’s just, I didn’t want to tell you, because he took me places I shouldn’t really be going, and I had fun, so…” might as well come clean now, it’s not like he can get in trouble for it anymore. “He used to take me on trips to the lower levels, like, clubs. And he taught me how to make a chance cube land on the side I wanted, so we would find corrupt senators, and cheat them out of their credits. And, Palpatine said he gave the money to charities, so we were doing good things, you know?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, and Anakin is reminded of when he tested his patience early on as a padawan, and his Master would silently count to keep himself calm.

He hasn’t needed to in a long time, not since well before Anakin was knighted.

And despite what the action reminds him of, Anakin knows his Master’s temper isn’t directed at him.

“… Anakin,” he starts, tone gentle but tight. “Please, just. For a moment, put Ahsoka in your place. If she was telling you what you are telling me now… what would you think?”

And Anakin’s gut does a flip, because deep down, he already knows.

He… he knows that Palpatine uses him, says one thing and does another, feeds him constant doubt about his friends, about the Jedi…

He knows this, and yet, no one before has had the nerve to say anything even slightly negative about Palpatine to his face. No one has ever dared do anything but say how great his close friend, the Chancellor, is.

Because like Anakin, people are afraid of him.

He feels a tremble start in his fingers, finally faced to acknowledge how afraid he is. How much it terrifies him to know that Palpatine holds all his secrets, that should Anakin ever be less than his enthusiastic friend, he could be ruined.

He, the hero with no fear… is afraid; a frightened boy in the face of a decrepit old man.

And only now can he show it, in the presence of the only person he’s ever known to have the courage to speak up about someone so untouchable.

As if sensing Anakin’s oncoming panic, Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, voice kind and sad. “Anakin, dear one, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He moves closer, and any restraint Anakin had breaks.

He feels 9 years old again, lost and seeking comfort in Obi-Wan’s arms. “I can’t say no,” he whispers brokenly. “Master– Jaieh, I’m terrified of him.”

Hearing Anakin call him Jaieh, like he hasn’t since he was young, since it was too hard for him to call anyone ‘Master’ without dredging up bad memories, Obi-Wan accepts Anakin into his arms, no hesitation or holding back.

Anakin needs support right now, needs to know that he isn’t alone in this, that if he asks, Obi-Wan would walk right into Hell with him. “Enoah foh bika, Anakin.” he promises him, reassures him. “Enoah foh mikeelal.”

“Paienoah kodaih bika,” Anakin says, but it comes out unsure, like he’s asking. Like he doesn’t know if he’s accepted, if he’s really not alone in this.

Obi-Wan’s heart aches, and he holds Anakin closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.”

Anakin shatters then– or it feels like he does. So many doubts, so many fears, and Obi-Wan bats them all aside with a few words. Words said so easily, words Anakin feared shouldn’t apply to him.

He cries, his earlier suspicions and anger forgotten, absolved now, as he is faced with the truth that Obi-Wan cares for him; that his best friend is his truest ally, that Obi-Wan accepts him and will always accept him.

As he allows himself to acknowledge that Palpatine is a liar and a manipulator, and he is (and always has been) coming up with vile falsities in his attempts to drive a wedge between Anakin and Obi-Wan; the one person he can rely on absolutely.

And through it all, through his tears and his shattered sense of self, Obi-Wan holds onto him; not judgement or disgust, nothing but kindness and acceptance as he carefully picks up the pieces and helps Anakin piece himself back together.

How he could ever doubt Obi-Wan’s character… he would say he doesn’t know, but he remembers. He knows all the little things Palpatine said, all the betrayals he implied, the way he twisted Anakin’s thoughts to see himself pitted against Obi-Wan instead of regarded with him, as he should. They are a team, The Team.

He should have recognized long ago that their accomplishments aren’t a competition, they are an accumulation of the good they can both do, together and apart.

Anakin may be late, but late is better than never, and he recognizes it now, at his lowest and most vulnerable moment. A competitor wouldn’t hold him and build him back up, stronger than before. A friend does that, a friend and mentor and good person.

When he can speak, albeit in a watery way, Anakin wipes his eyes, face still hidden in his Master’s shoulder. “What am I going to do?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and that in itself is a reassurance. Anakin doesn’t want unthought-out platitudes, he wants honesty, and preferably, a plan.

“I don’t know what we can do right this moment, Anakin.” Obi-Wan admits. “He is still the Chancellor… and that won’t change until we end this war. But I can promise you this, my dear padawan, you will never have to go see him alone. You need only ask, and I will be by your side. And as soon as circumstances change, I will do all there is in my power to make sure he never comes near you again, Anakin.”

He sniffles, more reassured by the realistic response than he could ever be by promises that can’t be fulfilled.

“Then we’ll just have to try harder to end this war, huh?” Anakin goes for an optimistic tone, hugging Obi-Wan more snugly.

Another comforting kiss goes to his temple. Obi-Wan is frugal with his shows of affection, so it means all the more now that he is giving them so openly. “We will, Anakin.” He promises, and his voice is so steady, so sure, the rock that Anakin can always lean against. “Together, I doubt there’s anything you and I can’t do.”

“Together,” Anakin agrees, a knot in his very soul coming loose.

Obi-Wan is right. They are The Team, and that isn’t just a title. Together, they can do anything they set their minds to.

They can defeat Sith Lords, they can end a war, and maybe, just maybe, they can even save Anakin Skywalker’s soul from the Devil.

°|●.*•

Dai Bendu Translations

“Jaieh” || ● Simplified Meaning: Master

Literal Meaning

roots: ‘je’- mystic, ‘ai’- mastery, non ownership. so ‘one who is a Master in the ways of the Force’, implying more like a teacher than an owner.

“Enoah foh bika, Anakin. Enoah foh mikeelal” || ● Simplified Meaning: I am here, Anakin. I am with you.

Literal Meaning

Enoah fo - I am (in a permanent state, not transitive)

bika- here

[Anakin]

Enoah foh- I am (in a permanent state)

mikeelal - comitative ‘you’/with you.

“Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future)

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here.

so essentially, “We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

“Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: Yes, Anakin. We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Haj Dai - literally ‘Force Wills’, a reassuring ‘yes’.

[Anakin]

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future) [italics stress is on ‘are’]

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here.

so essentially, “Of course, Anakin. We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

Thanks to @jasontoddiefor @ghostwriterofthemachine for the translations to Dai Bendu, their fancrafted Jedi Language!

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hopetofantasy · 3 years

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‘HUMO’s big youth survey - Sex, love and relationships’ - With Nathan Bouts

- TW: explicit content and mentions of sexual assault, intimidation, getting drugged, (internalized) homophobia, slutshaming, dubious consent, sexualization -

‘How does youth look at love? Do they go all out or keep it safe with a round of virtual sex? An experienced trio may reveal it all: Billie Leyers (25) is the third child from the well-known family Leyers and singer-song writer. Marie Van Uytvanck (21) recently kicked it off with her band Kids With Buns all the way to the semi-finals of ‘Humo’s Rock Rally’. For the testosterone at this table we’ve got Nathan Bouts (22), actor in the youth series ‘wtFOCK’. ‘I long for some spontaneity again. May I squeeze your butt?’

- Note from hopetofantasy: Marie is the same person who made the LGBT+ podcast, where Yara Veyt talked about her sexuality. -

The first number: 6 out of 10 youngsters think a serious relationship is important. Do you guys dream about that? Billie Leyers: “A lot of my girl friends are really looking for steady relationships. I’m not that type of person, I’d like to see what crosses my path. But for some kind of reason I still end up in one. Since I’ve been sexually active - soon it’ll be 10 years ago: huray! - I’ve had three long relationships. Now I’ve been together with Jasper (Maekelberg, from ‘Faces on TV’) for two and a half years. Coincidentally, it’s the man I wish to grow old with.” Nathan Bouts: “I think a serious relationship is a nice idea, but at the moment I don’t have one.” What kind of boxes should a potential partner tick on your list? Nathan Bouts: “Sounds pretentious, but I want someone with a certain intellectual level, someone I can talk to. She must be sure of herself.” Billie Leyers: “It’s the same for me. It doesn’t matter if someone is a good plumber, an actor or a musician, he should come home and talk about his day with passion. The biggest turn-off is someone who just smokes joints on a couch and doesn’t know how to handle his life.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I might have a really weird box to tick: if I get to know someone, I want to see her Spotify-playlist. I can be really attracted to someone with the right playlist.”

Has Spotify provided you with a relationship yet? Marie Van Uytvanck: “Not yet. The fact that I was stuck in the closet for a long time, sure has something to do with that. I think a lot of people might have wondered for a long time if I was asexual. So, no. It just took me seven years before I was completely ready to share it with everyone.” You made a podcast about it: the ‘Uit De PodKast’. There, you talk about how you’ve told your parents. Marie Van Uytvanck: “Friends knew it already, but I waited a long time to come out at home. Actually, my parents just know about it recently: I’ve told them during lockdown, with a letter. Their reaction was really sweet. They mostly felt shitty for me, because I felt unhappy about it for years on end - I’ve known I liked girls since I was 14. I’ve never had a serious relationship, but I’ve dated someone for a long time. Even that was very complicated, because I was still in the closet. So we saw each other in secret at a café across the country (*laughs*). Ridiculous: two girls could sit next to one another perfectly, without people thinking they’d be on a date.” How is your relationship with your parents? I’m wondering, because there doesn’t seem to be a conflict between generations with the current one: four out of ten would even like to live in the same area as their parents. Marie Van Uytvanck: “Since I came out to them, our bond has strengthened. Right before my coming out, it was a bit weird. During that time we went on vacation together. I’ve never longed for my own dorm more than on that trip. But now, I like to hug my mom all the time. The big secret isn’t a road block between us anymore.” Billie Leyers: “I live with my partner, but I get a long with my parents very well. Sometimes too much, I guess. If I didn’t call them or one of my sisters by noon, then Jasper asks me what’s wrong. Why should we even rebel to our parents? I’ve got the impression that their generation was far more rock-and-roll than ours. My dad gets annoyed at the festivals nowadays: opening bags and searching people, what’s rock-and-roll about that? Back in his days, everything was far more relaxed. They were the generation of the orgies. I wouldn’t mind to go back to that. It’s all too goody-goody now.” RETWEET! Out of all the serious relationships between young people, one out of five people met online. Five years ago, that number was only 15 percent. Marie Van Uytvanck: “I’ve done it a few times, but I don’t think Tinder dating is pleasant. The idea that you meet someone and have to approve them, doesn’t feel right to me. Spontaneously meeting someone in-person with whom it clicks, seems way more fun. Even when it’s not that easy, since I fall for people of the same sex.” Billie Leyers: “I’ve got zero experience with Tinder. My relationships always started at school.” Like 1 out of 3 youngsters. Billie Leyers: “I’ve met Jasper at school too: he was the mentor for my thesis. So yeah, I’ve run off with the teacher (*laughs*). I’ve seen it in my environment though, online dating. They’d be chatting for weeks or months, eventually meet up and then find out that there is no spark between them. It’s a shame, three months of your life in the thrash.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Of course: you’ve been idolizing them for a while. Also, in a chat conversation you can still think before you send something, so no mistakes either.” Corona has been an obstacle in the life of the single: 73 percent of them hasn’t had new dates since March. Nathan Bouts: “I didn’t experience the lockdown as dramatic. I just completely focussed on my music. With results, since my first single will be released soon.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “So you didn’t do anything the whole time? Not that I’ve done illegal dates during lockdown, but afterwards I’ve had some new dates. And no, it wasn’t always with social distance or face masks. Dating like that, seems a bit weird, no? (*Speaks to Billie*) Wasn’t it hard for you guys, as a couple?” Billie Leyers: “With a lot of couples it was the one or the other: they fell in love more than ever or it was over. It went surprisingly well with us: we’re perfectly in tune with each other. We give each other the much needed space.” Nathan Bouts: “That’s a great relationship you have! It seems fun to have something similar during the next lockdown, even though I’m kinda attached to my own independence. I’ve had a relationship of three years. If we were together for a week, I needed a few days to myself afterwards. Also, I think it’s terrible to sleep next to someone.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Retweet! I’ve got the exact same. During the day, I’m already all over the place: I’ve got ADHD and talk too much. So when I get home, I’d like to go to bed, lay in my own smell.”

SQUIRREL IN BED Only 5 percent of serious teen relationship have met each other at a café. Do you guys walk up to someone at the bar? Billie Leyers: “Only the creepy types still do that. ‘You seem nice. Can I have your number?’ Then you leap back immediately, if you’re a woman.” Nathan Bouts: “Really? I think a guy could still do that though. I don’t - I hate flirting - but I see a lot of friends of mine do the same. They even use me. Then they pull me along at my arm, until the girl - they like to hit on - sees me: “Look, it’s my friend, Jens from ‘wtFOCK’. My character is a somewhat chill dude without any complexes, who’s seriously confident, so that resonates with the ladies. I don’t want to use that to impress them, but my friends don’t get it: ‘Why don’t you use that attention to sleep around?’.” That would be the 14 percent who fits the statement: if you’re young, you have to try as many sex partners as you like. Billie Leyers: “I’m not a guy, but the time you could dance with a girl and suddenly kiss her on the mouth, is completely behind us, I guess. If you’re not careful, they could accuse you of sexual assault afterwards. I long for a time we could do that again. Not that I’m pro-sexual assault, but a little bit of spontaneity is allowed, right? Everything has a question mark now: may I kiss you? May I squeeze your butt? Life has gotten less romantic.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “At parties, I still see - excuse me: saw - that happening, though: squeezing the butt. All my girl friends are bothered by it.” Nathan Bouts: “(*nods*) Some of my friends can’t go out for an evening of dancing without some dude grinding against them.” Billie Leyers: “But those are the creepy types. Only them still dare to try. Although: a while ago, I was walking over the Groenplaats with my bike in hand. Suddenly some guy asked me timidly if he could walk along. First I thought it was weird, but it was kinda cute too. He walked with me and said goodbye in a polite way. He probably noticed that my ‘I’m taken’-light was on. If I was single, I might have given him my number. That would be a nice story, right?” Do you think, just like almost one out of three young people, that #metoo is being greatly exaggerated? When asked the guys, it’s even 38 percent. Billie Leyers: “Difficult topic. I’m not that into hashtag MeToo, I guess.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “You have to be careful with statements like that. I do think people abuse the #metoo to get attention. It’s a small amount of people, but like that, they ensure that serious issues get cast into the shadow and that people even use the hashtag as a joke.” Something is happening though: 1 out of 4 girls say they’ve experienced sexual assault and intimidation. Billie Leyers: “Are those also the girls who get squeezed in the butt? For me, sexual intimidation resonates more with skewed balances of power at work. It’s still disgusting of course, but different than someone who puts his hand on your arm at the bar. I think we’ve gone too far in that issue. We’re all human and fumble about.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “You’re right in that. One time, there was a guy a few meters away, starting at a girl on the dance floor. Okay, that wasn’t nice, but it was the ‘Gentse Feesten’ (= a 10-day music and theatre festival in Ghent, known for its partying until the late hours) and everyone was drunk. Suddenly that girl said: ‘I’m gonna fix this.’ She went to get security and they tossed the guy out, while everyone was looking at him as if he was the biggest pervert, who assaulted her. On the other hand, I heard a lot of complaints of girls that they’ve been drugged at parties too.” Nathan Bouts: “Not only girls experience that. I was at a party once and a girl put a bottle of water in my hand, while asking: ‘You thirsty?’. I don’t know if that water was meant for me, but I’m sure they put something in it: I felt weird and dizzy afterwards, I barely made it home with my bike. At home, I sat on the toilet for three hours, not knowing where I was.” Of the girls who had sex, a third did experience it (once) against their wishes. 16 percent of guys state the same. Marie Van Uytvanck: “Last year I was on a trip to Berlin with my class. In the club a woman drugged one of the boys and got him off. If that’s not assault, I don’t know it anymore... But the weird thing was: the boy acted as if nothing was wrong. He even seemed proud of it.” Billie Leyers: “For men, the cliché still stands: every guy likes to get a blowjob. If the guy was proud for real, though, there shouldn’t be a problem.” Did you experience sex against your will, Nathan? Nathan Bouts: “Not really against my will, but it happens that I lose the desire halfway through. It’s my own issue: I get distracted really easily. I could be having sex and suddenly think: why did Nelson Mandela die? Or which color should I paint my wall?” Marie Van Uytvanck: “So relatable. Do you have ADHD too?” Nathan Bouts: “Could be: I’ve got the attention span of a squirrel. Sometimes I can get distracted by the abstract aspect of ‘sex’ itself: what in god’s name is my body actually doing? Then it suddenly gets too graphic.” Now I’m very curious of your first time. Nathan Bouts: “Terrible! When I was 14, I was going to, but then she changed her mind. I didn’t mind that it eventually took a few years: I was 17. What can I say about it? The expectations were high, but not a lot happened.” Billie Leyers: “Isn’t the first time clumsy for everyone? (*to HUMO*) Don’t you have any statistics about that?” Not about that, but I do have numbers about the age of young people when they first have sex. Guess. Nathan Bouts: “Pretty young, I guess. 14? 15? That’s what I hear around me.” 16,7. That’s barely a difference with 2015 (16,6) or even 2010 (16,8). And everyone keeps thinking that young people do it at a younger age. Billie Leyers: “I’ve had a false start, like Nathan: when I was 14, it almost happened. But as soon it was clear that he was going for more, I thought: ‘ho, we’re not going to do that!’ After that experience, it took me two more years before I went all the way. (*to Marie*) So, question: have you ever felt something for a guy?” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Yes. I can feel sexually attracted to a boy, but not romantically. I don’t get butterflies in my stomach for boys.” Five years ago 70 percent of girls thought love and sex should always go together, now only half thinks that way - just like the guys. Do girls have more meaningless one night stands too? Marie Van Uytvanck: “Just with someone random? I don’t like that at all.” Billie Leyers: “I think it might be something. I told before that I usually have long relationships, but in that period between two relationships my inner Samantha from ‘Sex and the city’ emerges and then I could go for a one night stand. When I’m single, I’m a different version of myself, more animal than human, and totally focussed on the physical.” Never had a bad experience? Billie Leyers: “Oh, I did. Once I thought, even before it ended: oops, I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t stay the night, but I left at 6 o’clock in the morning. The regret already appeared. With a good one night stand, both parties are on the same wavelength: you both know it’s noncommittal, almost for sport.” Don’t you get looks for that, as a woman? Billie Leyers: “I’m not the last drunk girl on the dance floor and someone who sits on some other guys’ lap a half an hour later. If you go to your place with a one night stand in a discreet way, nobody will point fingers.” Nathan Bouts: “I wish I could do that, cut sex from love, but I’m too self-conscious for one night stands. Before I can be completely vulnerable, I have to know the other person through and through. Once, I’ve tried it, but as soon as we were laying in bed, I didn’t felt the spark anymore and I just wanted to leave. I couldn’t even get him up. I did went down on the girl and apologized: ‘Sorry, I don’t think more than this will happen’.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Crazy that I heard that from a guy’s mouth, for once.” The young people who did have sex, have done it with an average of five different people. In 2015 it still was 3,3. With guys, the number is even higher than girls: seven compared to three. Nathan Bouts: “I’m far below that: I’ve only been with two girls in total.” Billie Leyers: “(*shocked*) Really? I’ve got more. That’s probably my Samantha that has something to do with that.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I didn’t have that many sex partners either, especially with the whole closet-thing. If you have sex with a woman, then the question remains: what’s sex and what’s foreplay? Do you count going down as sex or foreplay? Even among us, dykes, we’ve got that kind of conversations. Everyone sees that differently.” Should you, as a girl, better name a lower number every time when it comes to sexual partners? Billie Leyers: “I guess you better not say a number higher than the average.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I don’t have that impression. Don’t boys experience the same, nowadays? ‘He fucks everyone’.” Nathan Bouts: “Actually, yes. Men can be sluts too.” TRIO WITH A LOG From the survey we can conclude that girls go for partners of the same sex far more than boys. Billie Leyers: “Between my almost-first time and my real first time, I’ve been with a girl for a year. She was my best friend. Our first kiss was a joke, but soon enough it turned into something serious. We were in love, although you should take that with a grain of salt: we were in love like 15-year-olds could be in love. They didn’t know that at home: I only stayed over at her place for a suspicious amount. I can still feel attracted to girls, but I couldn’t be with a girl anymore. Emotionally, it’s too much and physical it’s too less.” Nathan Bouts: “Boys won’t admit quickly that they would like to try something with a boy. We still live in a macho culture.” The statistics are worrying: 1 out of 6 boys think it’s a problem if there’s a gay friend within their group. A quarter doesn’t think having a transgender between their mates is okay. Nathan Bouts: “I’ve kissed a dude before. I don’t think it’s disgusting at all. I can still look at a man and think: that’s a handsome man. Not that I have the desire to give him a blowjob, far from it, but objectively, I can still find a man beautiful. I think a lot of men think like that, but won’t dare to admit it. For me, that seems like bottled up macho frustrations. I’m not bothered by it.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “When I was prepubescent, I had a weird phase where I didn’t notice that I might be gay, even though it was as obvious as it could be. Not that I participated in gay bashing or made homophobic comments, but I pretended that I thought it was disgusting. I was probably scared of how people would look at me if they knew. (*to Nathan*) Did you know you’re in my podcast? I’m using a scene from wtFOCK where your voice can be heard. It’s such an amazing tv series for young people who are gay, because you guys treat it as a normal thing. As a teen, I missed characters or storylines where I could recognize myself in.” Nathan Bouts: “We’ve often received reactions from young people who are grateful for what we did. Because of us, they took that step to come out.” For the first time, we asked young people to define themselves. 9 percent checked the ‘bisexual’ box, 4 percent call themselves ‘gay’ or ‘lesbian’. How do you guys define yourself? Marie Van Uytvanck: “I’m homo-romantic and bisexual, but you can call me gay. Rather that than ‘lesbian’, because that sounds ugly.” Billie Leyers: “I think all those labels are a bit tiring.” Nathan Bouts: “Me too. If I have to, I’ll define myself as heterosexual, but at the same time I think it’s difficult to label myself. Who knows if in one year, I’ll meet a man whom I could fall in love with.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Nice that you can admit that, as a man.” Something seems wrong with the tolerance of boys: two girls who walk hand-in-hand, is a problem for 7 percent of them and 28 percent still thinks it’s weird. Marie Van Uytvanck: “I never walk hand-in-hand on the street, but I wouldn’t do that with a boy either. I simply don’t like it. From the girls who do, I hear that they keep getting sexualized: then they’ll get horny comments directed at them.” Nathan Bouts: “It’s because of porn: lesbian porn is the most viewed category - I read that somewhere.” Are you part of the 30 percent that has seen porn with their partner? Nathan Bouts: “With a partner, I wouldn’t do that. You still have each other?” Billie Leyers: “Nowadays everyone can admit that they watch porn. Watching it together has a certain thrill to it. You’re getting horny by watching the same thing, without touching each other. That’s part of the fun.” Nathan Bouts: “Hm, maybe I should try it.” Something else you could try: sex with multiple partners at once. 6 percent of the sexual active youth has done it. Nathan Bouts: “I don’t know if that’s my ambition, a threesome. It would make me even more self-conscious. And I would think of the practical stuff: how do I organize that? What’s my role? Do I have enough hands to pleasure everyone?” Billie Leyers: “(*laughs*) You’ll need a log!” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Nowadays you see that question pass by a lot on Tinder: couples seeking a third party.” Billie Leyers: “In that concept, I would only like to be the guest star. It’s probably terrible to be the girl in that couple. Immediately, the next day, you’ll think: ‘Will my partner think she was more pretty or better?’ I would only get more insecure.” RACY MATERIALS And what about virtual sex? Of the experienced youngster, a third has done it. In 2015, it was only a quarter of them. Marie Van Uytvanck: “I wouldn’t dare. I already think that people spy on me through my camera. I would be scared to end up like those three famous people.” (= Two months ago, the nudes from three famous Belgian people were leaked and shared without consent on the internet, causing a storm in their personal lives as well as their fanbase and the Belgian people.) Billie Leyers: “Every time the conversation comes up, I think: I’m so happy I didn’t have to go through that.” Nathan Bouts: “Absolutely. (*makes a cross for good luck*) I’ve send a nude pic once too, but never with my face on it. Even if that gets leaked, nobody will know that it’s me.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Will we ever know what happened with those people? Who knows, it might’ve been a hacker.” Who of you have seen the images? Marie Van Uytvanck: “Someone pushed them in my face, but I’m kinda blind - my sight is 3 out of 10 - so I didn’t see a lot (*laughs*).” Billie Leyers: “I’m teaching at an art school and I’ve heard 13-year-old girls scream to each other: ‘I’ve got Peter de Veire!’ As if it’s about Pokémon cards you could collect. I corrected her: ‘It’s Peter VAN de Veire and don’t you have something better to do?’.” Do you still dare to do it, sexting? Billie Leyers: “Yes. If my partner is on tour for three weeks, then it might derail to sending each other racy materials. But our bond of trust is strong. Plus: it feels comfortable to know that you have as much incriminating evidence of the other on your cell phone as he has of you.” In ‘De Morgen’, there was an article about the sexting-scandal, with the headline: ‘The spread position between prudish and voyeurism.’ Which side is the youth leaning into? Billie Leyers: “I wouldn’t know. On the one hand, you’ve got Cardi B who’s rapping about wet ass pussy and that sex is the most normal thing in the world, but if you click on a clip of one of those famous people, you’re suddenly a criminal. A weird position, yes.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Nowadays with every topic, you’ve got two groups. Is Cardi B now the ultimate feminist or is her song just vulgar? It’s the first one for me. I think it’s cool if women can sing about their pussy too, whilst men can rap ‘suck my dick’ for years and nobody bats an eye.” Nathan Bouts: “I’m not a fan of the song, but it’s good that they talk about it. Except: if I open TikTok and see 9-year-old grind on that song, then I think: what image are they growing up with? Two females with fake breasts and a collagen butt who roll over the floor: soon they’ll think that every women needs to look like that.” Let’s end with romance: do you see yourself ever getting married? Almost 1 out of 4 think marriage is outdated. Nathan Bouts: “I don’t think so. Too expensive and too much effort.” Billie Leyers: “It doesn’t have to be expensive? I see the principle of marriage starting a revival soon. I would like to get married.” And then get two children? An average of two, like most young people? Billie Leyers: “I used to say ‘when I grow up, I want to have 12 children’. That’s because I’m from a big family myself, as were my parents. When the Leyers-clan organizes a family day, we need our own venue.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I want to have kids, I just don’t want to push them out myself. The idea that a child grows inside you, I don’t like that.” Nathan Bouts: “I want kids too. Two to start, and then we’ll see. Some time ago, I saw a kid on the tram and thought tenderly: ‘A child of my own...’ A slight surge of nesting instinct, I guess.”

#wtfock #wtfam #nathan bouts #jens stoffels #skam

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cinaja · 3 years

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Before the Wall part 50

Masterlist

Tw: torture and wanting to die (is that a trigger?) in scene 7

----

On the second morning after Jurian’s capture, Drakon sits perched on the roof of the highest tower of the fort guarding the Callian Pass and watches the sunrise. Far below, the Black Land’s army is stirring, as if the first beams of the sun awaken them. From up here, they look small as ants and not at all dangerous.

With a sigh, Drakon turns back to the papers he brought along. It’s a proposal for the council he is supposed to be working on, but he can’t get himself to focus. In the two hours he spent working on it that night, all he managed to create is a mess of scribbled out sentences. He came up here hoping the fresh air might help, but his mind is still blank. With Jurian captured, likely being tortured, and Miryam still unconscious, political proposals are the furthest thing from his mind.

Down below, a door cracks open. Glad for the excuse to pause his work, Drakon puts down his papers and climbs down the roof, wings flared wide for balance. He peeks over the edge of the roof and finds Helion standing on the battlements below.

“Good morning,” he calls down to him.

“Morning,” Helion replies.

He grabs the edge of the roof and pulls himself upwards. Unsteadily, he rises to his feet.

“Do you need help?” Drakon asks, glancing down to the plunge waiting below.

Helion offers him a wide smile. “Thank you, but I can climb a roof on my own.”

Still, Drakon stays close as Helion climbs up the roof towards the top where Drakon was sitting. It is a very long way to the ground, and the unfortunate thing about people without wings is that they actually tend to hit the ground when they fall off things. Fortunately, Helion manages to get to the top of the roof without incident.

Drakon sits back down, pointing Helion to the seat next to him. Helion sits down quickly. (If Drakon didn’t know better, he’d say the Heir of Day looks a little shaken.) Carefully, he leans forward and peers down.

“Nice view,” he says. “Maybe I should have come up here sooner.”

“How come you’re doing it now?” Drakon asks.

“You spend lots of time up here,” Helion says. “I thought I’d see what’s so special about this place.”

Drakon doesn’t know what to say to that. He really does go to the roof a lot – did during his first stay here, too – but that’s mainly because it’s one of the only places in the entire castle where he can find some quiet and get away from the suffocating castle walls for a bit.

Helion continues speaking before he can think of something to say. “Besides, I’ve spent most of the night trying to reinforce the wards and needed a break. And this is the last opportunity we might get for some peace and quiet in a while.”

“You think Artax will attack soon?” Drakon asks.

Helion nods. “It would surprise me if he waited. They say a storm will hit here in a few days, which would tie him to his camp for a week at least, and his soldiers would be wet and miserable in their camp while we are safe in our castle.”

“And will those wards of yours last until the storm hits?” Drakon asks.

“No.” The reply is simple, without any of Helion’s usual flourish.

Drakon nods and looks back down at the enemy army. Behind them, the pass is still empty. “Now would be a really convenient time for those reinforcements we were promised to finally arrive,” he says.

Where are those soldiers, anyways? When he got sent to the Callian Pass, they were told they’d only need to hold it for a few days before reinforcements would arrive and ambush Artax’s army from behind. Now, it’s already been two weeks and as far as Drakon knows, the reinforcements haven’t even reached the mountains yet.

“Is it just me, or is the Alliance making more mistakes lately than a few years ago?” He asks.

Helion is silent for a moment. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure if they are mistakes.”

“Well, I hardly think they are messing up on purpose,” Drakon says drily.

Helion sighs. “Hypothetically speaking,” he says, “if I was married to the current leader of the Alliance, and noticed that suddenly, me, her and the people close to us keep ending up in dangerous situations and the Alliance doesn’t seem interested in helping, I would probably suspect a pattern. And I might ask my entirely hypothetical wife if she made any enemies amongst her supposed allies lately.”

“You think…” Drakon cuts himself off, then starts again. “You think the Alliance is purposefully doing this? As an attack against Miryam?”

“Well, either her, Jurian or you. But honestly, Miryam is the only one out of the three of you who might have ended up in trouble of that scale, and it does fit in with the current political climate.”

Drakon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “They are our allies, they wouldn’t… It would be honourless.”

“Well, with the war now close to being won and the leadership for the time afterwards still undecided, I imagine many people have bigger concerns than their honour.”

Drakon stares down into the pass below and doesn’t reply. This isn’t just about honour. There are simply certain universal rules in Continental politics that are to be followed under all circumstances, one of them being that you don’t betray your allies. Those rules don’t exist on Prythian, though, so maybe Helion simply isn’t aware of how deeply those rules are ingrained into Continental politics.

“Think about it,” Helion says. “The Continent always had one country – one person – at the top, Ravenia’s family being the last. But I assume I don’t need to tell you that, considering that your family was the first one to hold the position.”

Drakon averts his eyes. It has been many millennia since Erithia held the position the Black Land now holds, around time the Mother vanished, and Drakon always finds it awkward to be reminded of it. To make matters worse, such conversations often tend to move to the topic of how close his ancestors were to the Mother (a part of Fae mythology that seems to fascinate quite a few people), and that is uncomfortably close to the subject of Cretea.

“And you know that the next person to take the position will be someone from high up in the Alliance,” Helion continues. “Meaning Shey, Zeku or Miryam.”

Drakon nearly falls off the roof, only barely managing to flare his wings in time. “What?”

“Well, Miryam is the leader of the Alliance, so she is the likely choice. I imagine many Fae would prefer Shey, but I’d still bet on Miryam – and Zeku won’t have a chance as long as she is in the running.”

Drakon doesn’t reply. Mainly because replying would mean having to admit that he hadn’t considered this at all, and he isn’t eager to humiliate himself further. He knew that there would be some new head of the Continent after Ravenia, of course. He just hadn’t put much thought into who it would be yet – not when the war and the treaty they still need to agree on are so much more pressing. Either way, he certainly hadn’t considered that Miryam might be in the running for the position. He doesn’t doubt that she could, but he never got the impression that she had an interest in a permanent leading position on the Continent. At the very least, he assumes she would have told him if she had changed her mind.

She would have told him. She would have told him for sure.

“Your Highness!” A voice calls from down below, interrupting his thoughts.

“Coming!” Drakon calls back. He jumps to his feet, easily balancing on top of the roof. He turns to Helion. “Can you get down on your own?”

“Sure,” he replies, although his brow furrows as he glances down.

Drakon takes the quick way down. He jumps forward, wings flared wide, and glides downwards in a half circle. He lands on the balustrade of the tower’s highest ring walk, directly across from a young servant.

“What is it?” He asks, jumping down from the balustrade.

“Your Highness.�� The man bows quickly. “I have been sent to inform you that Princess Miryam is awake.”

----

“I’m fine,” Miryam insists. She is sitting upright in bed. If she had her way, she would already be up, but the healers she talked to insisted she ought to rest some more, and since Miryam knows first-hand how annoying patients who disregard medical advice can be, she does as she’s been told. “All the internal bleeding is healed. I’m just a little sore.”

“And you aren’t in pain?” Drakon asks. He sits on the edge of her bed, wings tugged in to his body, and is fiddling around with the corner of her blanket.

Miryam is about to shake her head, but then, she remembers their rule about not lying to each other. “Just a little,” she says.

Drakon nods. “I’m…” He winces slightly, then looks up at her. “I wanted to do something,” he says. “But my army was stuck here, and the council wouldn’t act, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t figure out a way to get you out.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Miryam sits up straighter and reaches for his hand. “Drakon, I spent the entire day of Amarantha’s ultimatum desperately hoping that you would not be stupid enough to come save me.”

“I knew,” Drakon says. “And I knew you wouldn’t have wanted me to, and that it would have been wrong, but still…”

Miryam understands all too well. In his position, she would have made the same choices he did – and she would have felt just as guilty about it. “I would have considered it disrespectful for you to go against my wishes, even if it was to save my life,” she says, hoping it will ease some of his guilt. “I know that most people likely wouldn’t agree, but I consider it to be a far bigger show of love to honour someone’s wishes no matter what those might be than to save them no matter the cost.”

She isn’t entirely sure how to explain it to him, but in her mind, it is one of the most romantic things Drakon could have done. Having her partner show to her that he will respect her wishes – and that he won’t simply give up his morals the moment it’s convenient – is worth indefinitely more than anything else.

Drakon seems reassured. At least a bit. “I would have come along to recue you,” he says, “but I only heard about the plan after Sinna was already gone.”

Miryam frowns. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Her plan involved using Rhysand and his army as a diversion and allowing them to get captured,” Drakon says tightly. “She wanted to spare me that choice. But we already talked about it, and I don’t think she will do it again.”

Miryam’s frown deepens. For a General to lie to their country’s ruler is not good. Usually, it means that the power dynamics in the country are deeply off, and while Miryam doesn’t believe Sinna would actually threaten Drakon’s position, that’s what it will look like should news ever get out. She’ll have to figure out a way to keep that from becoming public. And she will have to coordinate with Drakon’s political advisors on how they want to frame Rhysand’s involvement in her rescue. It will probably be best for all involved to pretend he knew of Sinna’s plan. Only then does Miryam realizes the second part of what Drakon is saying.

“What happened to Rhys?” she asks.

“He got captured. His army with him.”

Miryam curses. She may not be very fond of the Illyrians, but that doesn’t mean she wants them to die, least of all for her. What was Rhys thinking, sacrificing his army like that? And why did Sinna ever play along with it?

A part of Miryam wants to confront her about it. But she did save her life, even if Miryam doesn’t approve of the methods. Besides, Drakon told her he talked to Sinna and the problem was dealt with, so if she still goes and talks to Sinna, that doesn’t really make her better at all.

Miryam sighs. “At least tell me Jurian is fine,” she says. The look on Drakon’s face makes her hopes plummet. “What happened?” She asks in a voice that sounds far too high in her own ears.

She listens in silence as Drakon explains. With each word he says, the knot in her stomach tightens further.

Going to Tehne without speaking to Jurian first was a mistake. She should have done something. Anything.

She can’t let him die.

Miryam swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Slowly, she stands up. In spite of moving purposefully slowly, her head immediately starts spinning and sharp pain shoots through her stomach. Drakon jumps to his feet and holds out an arm for her to hold on to, which she gratefully accepts.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I’m going to Telique. To get the council to send troops to free Jurian.”

Two days. That’s how long Amarantha had him in her power. Miryam forbids herself from thinking about what she likely did to him. First get Jurian out of this alive, then worry about what was done to him in the past days.

“They might not listen,” Drakon warns. “Andromache and I couldn’t figure out what it is, but something strange is going on there.”

Miryam nods. The council should have sent troops already. Surely Andromache and the other humans would have pushed for it, why didn’t the council oblige them? Things must be going badly indeed if the Fae refused to help them. Damnit, what is the council up to now? She was gone for just over a week. Things can’t have gone south this quickly.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says, mostly to herself, then adds, “I will make them listen.” She doesn’t care if they don’t want to, doesn’t care about their stupid power games. She will make them save Jurian, and the Cauldron have mercy on anyone who dares stand in her way.

Drakon nods. “I can’t come with you. There might be another attack at any moment.”

“Sure.” Miryam is barely listening, her mind already on how to force the council to send troops. She looks down at herself and realizes that she is wearing a long nightgown. Hardly appropriate for a council meeting. “I need clothes,” she says. “Do you have a dress I can use anywhere?”

----

It has been a week since Rhys got captured. A week, and yet, no one seems to care. Andromache, Drakon and all these people on the council are concerned with a thousand different things – Jurian and Miryam and their eternal internal struggles – but none of them seem to care the slightest bit about what happens to Rhys.

Mor tried asking around. After over six years as emissary, she knows quite a few people on the Continent, and she tried to use these connections now. To no avail. Most of the emissaries and minor (or sometimes major) royals she knows offered their condolences when she told them about her cousin being captured, but none of them seemed inclined to help. On the contrary, the general consensus seems to be that it’s Rhys’s own fault for disobeying orders.

She tried to talk to Andromache and Drakon, but that didn’t work, either. She only managed to catch Drakon in between meetings once, and he barely managed to look at her when she mentioned Rhys. Maybe he feels guilty because Rhys got captured while trying to free Miryam. He likely couldn’t help, anyways, with his army still stuck at the Callian Pass. Mor had more hopes for Andromache, but unfortunately, those also got disappointed.

She can’t blame Andromache, not really. With Miryam gone, she is basically the one in charge of the Alliance and Mor knows that she hates the position. Besides, there are some political tensions going on, forcing her to spend most of her time stuck in meetings she can’t tell Mor about, and she likely has more important things to consider than her partner’s cousin.

Still, the fact remains that Mor can’t just let Rhysand die. She needs someone to save him, and since all of her new friends refuse to help, there is only one person left to turn to.

So the tenth day after Rhys’s capture finds Mor walking through the entrance hall of the Hewn City. A few of the nobles she passes scowl at her, some of them whisper, but Mor ignores the stares. This place still makes her skin crawl, but sometime in the past years, it stopped making her feel like a caged animal, stopped scaring her so much she wants to disappear. These people can’t do anything to her, none of them can. They scoff and whisper because that’s the worst they can do to her. And the best punishment Mor can think of is to not give them the time of the day.

She stops in front of her uncle’s office and knocks. After a moment, he calls for her to enter. Mor slips into the office and courtesies. (Only after a moment does she realize that the courtesy she did was a Continental one. When did the Continental customs start coming so natural to her?)

“Uncle,” she says.

He rises from where he was sitting behind his desk and holds out his arms to embrace her. “Morrigan,” he says. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Well, thank you,” Mor says, embracing him briefly. He seems to be in a pleasant mood today, which only suits her goals.

“What can I do for you?” He asks.

“I’m here about Rhysand.”

Her uncle sighs as he sits back down on his chair. “Morrigan,” he says. “I thought I already made it clear that I will not expend forces to get my idiot of a son out of a mess of his own making.”

“I know,” Mor says, “and I understand.”

She absolutely does not, but it seems smarter to pretend to agree with him for the moment. Miryam is always pleasant to people she doesn’t actually like all that much, and it often gets her what she wants, so maybe Mor should try the strategy.

“But most of the Continental leaders do not,” she adds. “They see it as a sign of weakness.”

Her uncle straightens. “Weakness?” He asks. His voice turns into a low rumble and his power flares, sending a shiver down Mor’s spine.

“He is your heir,” Mor says, “so it is expected that you want him alive. That you still do not free him even though part of your army is stationed close to Amarantha’s current position and not needed anywhere else is interpreted as you being unable to free him. Most people think that you are either scared of Amarantha, or don’t have the necessary forces to attack her. Either way, it does not make you look good.”

The High Lord watches her in silence for a moment, dark eyes narrowed slightly. He likely suspects that she is trying to play him – he is too smart not to – but fortunately for Mor, she is largely telling the truth. She is exaggerating the extend of the rumours, yes, but they do exist. This is important, because it means he won’t be able to catch her in a lie should he decide to confirm her information with his spies.

Fortunately for her, her uncle’s main focus seems to be on something else entirely, though. “Scared?” He asks. “Me, scared of that mediocre Hybern general?” He snorts.

Mor shrugs. “It’s just the newest rumour. I don’t know how much stock people will put in it.”

Actually, most leaders on the Continent don’t really care. Mor isn’t even sure if they know Rhysand’s name. It would be different if the Night Court was a Continental territory, but with them being from Prythian, most of the Continental leaders barely bother to pay attention to what they do on a good day, much less in such tense times. But fortunately, her uncle is too arrogant to ever fully realize how little most people on the Continent actually care about Prythian.

“Scared,” he scoffs, apparently still too caught up on it to notice what she is saying. “I’ll show these arrogant peacocks how scared I am.” He rises and brushes past Mor towards the door. “Tell the council I want a meeting,” he says. “Tell them I’ll take a legion of my soldiers and solve this problem with Amarantha. Permanently.”

----

Getting out of the Callian Pass turns out to be more of a challenge than Miryam expected. While Drakon sets off to find her something to wear, Miryam ends up stuck trying to convince her healers that she isn’t about to kneel over dead. After a few minutes of argument, she finally manages to convince them to let her go, although she has to promise not to do anything physically or magically straining.

Then, it turns out court dresses are in short supply in a castle under siege, which Miryam should probably have figured out on her own. Drakon offers to have someone winnow to Erithia and get her some appropriate clothes, but that would mean another delay and Miryam isn’t willing to wait a moment longer.

Instead of a proper court dress, she opts for a light leather armour with Erithia’s seal stitched to the front. She ties her hair back in a tight braid and straps two daggers to her side. The outfit is far more warrior-like than her usual clothes, but it isn’t exactly unfitting considering that they are at war. At the very least, it will set the mood for whichever meeting she is about to have.

Drakon ends up having to help her get dressed, since she has trouble bending over. They are just finished when Drakon gets called away to the battlements. He kisses Miryam and wishes her good luck before hurrying off, lingering briefly in the doorway as if hesitant to leave. Miryam thinks he might say something, but then, he gives her a brief smile and hurries off.

Miryam turns in the other direction, walking towards the courtyard where she has been told guards will be waiting for her. Soldiers and servants stare at her as she walks past, and Miryam makes herself offer smiles and nods to them. (When she gets back, she will have to take time to talk to them. She is Princess now, she has to act like it.)

“Miryam!”

She doesn’t stop walking, but she slows down enough to allow Sinna to catch up with her. Dressed in her usual armour and standing a head taller than Miryam, the general looks imposing as usual.

“I didn’t thank you yet,” Miryam says. “For rescuing me.”

Sinna waves her off. “You found a way to get Drakon out of that engagement,” she says. “Besides, Nephelle and Drakon like you. They would have been upset if you died.”

Miryam shakes her head, smiling slightly. Of course Sinna would risk her life by breaking into an impenetrable fort to keep Drakon and Nephelle from being upset. Miryam has never met anyone as singularly dedicated to a small group of people as the general. It is a worldview that’s completely different to Miryam’s own, and she can’t claim she always agrees with it, but for the most part, she respects it, and certainly respects Sinna. (Her choice to keep information from Drakon is something Miryam respects far less, although she can’t claim she doesn’t understand the reasoning behind it.)

“Still,” she says, “thank you.”

Sinna shrugs. “Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

They pass a small group of soldiers who all bow. To her, Miryam realizes after a moment of confusion. Being royal will take some getting used to.

“Two things,” Sinna continues. “One: I want you to take guards. Until we find time to put together a guard detail for you, you will be accompanied by some of Drakon’s personal guards.”

“I don’t need guards,” Miryam says. It’s not that she dislikes Drakon’s guards – the ones she talked to were all very pleasant, and she knows Drakon considers them to be friends – but she doesn’t enjoy the thought of being followed around at all times. She doesn’t want to be constantly watched.

“Yes, you do,” Sinna shoots back. “Or did you enjoy being taken hostage so much that you want it to happen again? Be assured that next time, I won’t save your ass.”

Miryam frowns. Loathe as she is to admit it, but Sinna has a point. All royals have guards, and if she is being honest, she should have gotten some long before she married Drakon. Besides, she doesn’t want to push back against her too much. Sinna has been a member of the Erithian royal court for centuries, Miryam only married into it a week ago. And if she isn’t mistaken, Sinna still isn’t entirely convinced that she isn’t some kind of threat to her charges.

“Four guards,” she says. “And only for diplomatic missions and the like.”

“Eight,” Sinna counters.

Now, this leaves Miryam in a difficult spot. She really wants Sinna and her to get along, and the last thing she’s interested in is starting a fight, but she also realizes that this is their first disagreement with Miryam as Princess, and how she reacts is important. The last thing she wants is to establish herself as a push-over.

“Four,” she repeats firmly.

Sinna gives her a hard stare. Miryam stares right back, even though she actually does not have the time to argue around. But she guesses this needs to be established, and she might as well do it now.

After a moment, Sinna nods sharply and walks on. “Fine,” she says. “Four guards, then.”

Miryam walks on past her. Her ribs are beginning to hurt again, but she ignores it. She figures she doesn’t need to consult a healer given that she is a healer.

“And the second thing?” She asks.

“I realize that you’ve had a busy couple of days,” Sinna says. “So I understand if you haven’t gotten the opportunity to think some things through. But when you find the time, you might want to think about how you want to adjust your list of priorities to the fact that you are now Princess of Erithia.”

Miryam only barely manages to keep from flinching. Sinna’s tone wasn’t scolding, but Miryam can’t help the feeling that she’d deserve to be scolded. A battle might break out at any moment, Drakon mentioned as much, and she is leaving the castle instead of staying behind to help. To make matters worse, she didn’t even consider that she might be expected to stay, because… well, probably because she hadn’t quite realized that these are her people now.

“This needn’t come out as your first priority,” Sinna says. “I am well aware that you are leader of the Alliance, and that your main concern will always be the humans in the Black Land. But it would be easier for everyone involved if you made clear where Erithia falls in all that, and what role you want to play as its Princess.”

Miryam nods silently. She should have considered that days ago already. Before she married Drakon, if she’s being honest. But in the entire chaos of her marriage, the matter with Jurian and the Alliance apparently contemplating her death, not to mention her kidnapping, it slipped her mind. Besides, it’s not like this is an easy problem to solve. How is she going to fit the responsibility of being Princess in with being leader of the Alliance – which demands a certain amount of neutrality – and her vow to free her people?

She knows for sure that she shouldn’t leave this army that is now hers behind just before a battle. She also knows that she cannot bear to let Jurian die.

She only realizes that she stopped walking when Sinna stops next to her. “Well, I’m done,” she says and gives her a small smile. “Now go save Jurian and leave the battle to the rest of us.”

----

Andromedache sits at her desk and sorts through the paperwork she missed out on in the chaos of the last few days when the door suddenly blows open and Mor storms in. Her face is flushed with colour and her hair in disarray like she ran all the way.

“I did it!” She calls.

“Did what?” She asks, putting down her feather.

“I convinced my uncle to send troops to free Rhysand!” Mor says. She is all but bouncing up and down on her toes in excitement.

“You…” Andromache needs a moment to catch on. “He will lead an attack on Amarantha?” She asks.

“Yes!” Mor really is jumping up and down now. “He is going to dispatch his army. He will free Rhys.” She scrunches up her nose. “Well, and Jurian too, I guess. It will all be fine!”

Andromache simply stares at her for a moment. Then, she lets out a whoop and throws her arms around Mor. “You’re brilliant,” she whispers. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Mor pulls back and beams at her. “It wasn’t that difficult, actually,” she says. “He’s arrogant. As soon as I brought in his reputation, he did what I wanted.”

For the second time within a few minutes, the door to Andromache’s office blows open. Andromache lets go of Mor and spins around. “What –“ she begins, but pauses when she recognizes the woman standing in the doorway. “Miryam.”

Without waiting for her to say anything, she steps forward and throws her arms around Miryam. A moment later, Mor is there and joins the hug by wrapping her arms around both of them.

“Are you hurt?” She asks.

“No.” Miryam lets go of both of them and steps back. “And I’m really glad to see you both.”

Andromache takes a step back and surveys Miryam. She is wearing a light leather armour, her dark curls tied back in a simple braid. The look is untypical enough for her that Andromache simply watches her for a moment. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Miryam in armour. With her, it’s always either a simply tunic or a full court gown, the latter only for official functions.

Mor seems to be thinking roughly the same thing, because she grins at Miryam. “About to go to battle?”

“What?” Miryam looks down at herself, as if only now remembering her clothes. “Oh, no, that’s just…” She trails off, then turns to Andromache. “We need to find a way to get the council to order an attack on Amarantha and rescue Jurian. Can you arrange the meeting? Then I’ll talk to Zeku, see what’s the problem –“

“We already got troops,” Mor says.

Miryam blinks once, the only sign of her surprise. “You did?”

Andromache nods and wraps an arm around Mor. “She convinced her uncle to send his armies to recue Rhysand,” she says.

“The High Lord of the Night Court is going to attack Amarantha?” She asks. Her tone is nowhere near as pleased as Andromache thought it would be. “In a solo mission to free Rhysand? One not ordered by the council?”

“No, I…” Mor frowns. “The council was refusing to act, everyone was refusing to act. That’s why I went to Niall, because I knew he was the only one who might be persuaded to do anything. And you weren’t there.”

Andromache puts a hand on Miryam’s arm. She thinks she knows what her problem is. “He will save Jurian as well,” she says. “He wouldn’t dare to do anything to him.”

Miryam backs away a step. “No,” she says, shaking her head so wildly that her braid flies from one side to the other. “The High Lord of the Night Court never once cared about human lives, and he has been looking for a way to get back at me for years – if he leads this battle, do you truly think he will be concerned with getting Jurian out of this alive?” She looks from Andromedache to Mor. “Amarantha will kill him before she lets him go. And High Lord Niall will let her, and since this isn’t ordered by the council, no one will be there to stop him.”

With wide eyes, Andromache turns to Mor. She looks as horrified as she feels. Miryam doesn’t give either of them the chance to say anything. She spins around and makes for the door.

“Where are you going?” Andromedache asks, stopping her just as she reached the door.

Miryam turns, hand already on the door handle. “To make sure the High Lord does as he’s supposed to and saves Jurian.”

----

“Now?” Drakon asks. “They are attacking now?”

“Do you expect an answer to that question?” Sinna asks drily.

Drakon shakes his head. He can see the approaching army easily enough himself. Slowly, Artax’s army is creeping towards them. The entire army. This isn’t just some small attack to test their defences, not a mere skirmish, this is the entire battle.

“Just another few hours,” Drakon mutters. “We would only have needed another few hours, damnit.”

He knew it was a risk not to say anything to Miryam. Knew that the smarter thing to do would have been to explain that Artax is standing in front of his gates with an army and that she is needed here to help fend him off. It might even have been enough to make her stay. But Drakon couldn’t ask this of her, couldn’t ask her to let Jurian die. Couldn’t choose to let Jurian die. He needed to at least give Miryam a chance to save him. Why couldn’t Artax wait at least one more hour before attacking?

Steps sound, and Helion joins them on the battlements. “Unpleasant sight, right?” He asks with a lightness that doesn’t manage to conceal the tightness on his face. “Where’s Miryam? I heard she was awake.”

“She’s in Telique,” Drakon says. “Trying to make sure the council saves Jurian.”

Slowly, Helion turns around to him. “And I assume you have sent someone to get her?” He asks.

Drakon shakes his head. Miryam only left half an hour ago. If only they can give her another hour or so, she might figure out a way to save Jurian. The wards would just need to hold long enough.

“Drakon,” Helion says, “I cannot stress enough how much I don’t stand a chance against Artax. We need Miryam here right now, or Jurian’s fate will be your smallest problem.”

----

The pain never ends. Day and night, hours and minutes, all of it blurs together to one never ending nightmare. Jurian screamed and screamed, but his voice has long since turned hoarse, then died entirely. His throat is sore and feels bloody, but the pain is nothing compared to the agony wrecking the rest of his body.

They strapped him to a table somewhere in Amarantha’s camp. Jurian tries to console himself that this way, he can at least look up at the sky through his one remaining eye. The sky, he decides, will be the last thing he sees before dying.

If only death would come to claim him soon. For all these years, Jurian walked side by side with death – he long since stopped fearing it. But now that he needs it, it seems death has decided to abandon him and refuse him the release from torture.

Amarantha’s face appears in his line of vision, blocking out his view of the sky. Jurian tries to turn his hand to look away from her, but she grips his head and forces him to look up at her.

“You hear that?” Amarantha asks.

At first, Jurian doesn’t know what she is talking about. He merely blinks up at her as his fuzzy mind tries to sort through what she is saying. After a moment, he finally registers that the screaming in the distance has a different quality now, and is accompanied by crashes and thumps. A battle, he thinks numbly.

“Looks like your friends are here to rescue you,” Amarantha says. “Too bad they will find nothing but your corpse.”

So it ends now, Jurian thinks. She will finally kill me. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he might have smiled. All that matters is that the pain will stop and he will finally be allowed some peace. If dying does that, it can’t be so bad, can it?

“I’m facing a bit of a dilemma, you see,” Amarantha says. “After all, my sister informs me that you can’t be killed, and tempting fate by trying to kill you seems stupid. So I had to get a little creative.” Her mouth twists into a cruel smile. “I think you’ll like what I came up with.”

Even through the pain, those words – that smile – catch his attention. He knows that tone, knows the look on Amarantha’s face. It’s how she always acts before she does something that will make her usual torture pale in comparison. And she just told him she wouldn’t kill him. The one escape he still has left, and she wants to deny him even that.

“You might want to brace yourself,” Amarantha says, and then, she begins speaking.

Jurian doesn’t understand the words she speaks, doesn’t know the language. (Had he been less in pain, he would have recognized it from hearing Miryam speak it on occasion.) The first word sends a jolt through Jurian’s body. Pain spreads from his chest, burning through him. He tries to focus on the sky, but Amarantha leans down over him, blocking his view. It’s like he is being torn apart. No, not torn apart – it’s like he is being torn out of his body.

He can’t feel his body anymore, can’t feel his arms and legs. The pain doesn’t come from his body, it’s like his very essence is on fire and he is burning up. Time loses all meaning, all that exists is the pain flaring through him. Then, the world around him turns mercifully dark and he sinks into nothingness.

----

Miryam arrives too late. She knows the moment one of her guards winnows them all onto a hill above Amarantha’s camp and she sees that the battle is almost over. As far as she can tell from up here, the Night Court armies already broke through Amarantha’s defences and have swarmed most of the camp. If there is any notable resistance left, Miryam can’t make it out.

“Shit,” she mutters.

She notices she is clenching her fingers so hard that her nails are digging into her palms and forces her body to relax. A quick glance over the battlefield reveals that Niall set up his position by a rock formation a safe distance away from the battlefield. It seems he decided to stay out of the battle and merely survey from a safe distance.

“Should I take you over to the High Lord?” Kalirin, the captain of her temporary guard, asks.

“No.”

Miryam looks back to the battlefield below. If she goes to Niall first, she will be stuck in useless political games. It will take time she doesn’t have right now, not when the battle is already close to over, and Jurian…

(Deep down, Miryam knows that she is already too late, knows that Amarantha will likely have killed Jurian the moment she realized her soldiers were losing the battle, and that Niall would have had no protective measures in place to stop it. She knows, but she can’t bear to face it, desperately clings to the hope that through some miracle, Jurian will still be alive.)

“Take me straight to the battlefield, please,” Miryam says.

Kalirin gives her a curt nod, then puts a light hand on her arm and winnows them away. They reappear in the centre of the camp, a safe distance away from the last fights. The Illyiran soldiers nearby spin around to them, weapons drawn, but they lower them once they recognize Miryam. One by one, they sketch a symbol into the air.

Hesitantly, Kalirin lifts a hand and repeats the symbol back at them. It takes Miryam a moment to realize that he likely thinks it’s some kind of greeting and is attempting to be polite. If the situation was less serious, she might have smiles.

She leans in to him and whispers, “It’s a sign to ward off evil. They don’t like witches.”

“Oh.” Kalirin quickly lowers his hands. He frowns at the Illyrians, then glares.

Miryam’s attention is already on their surroundings. The Illyrians can scorn her all they like, all she cares about right now is finding Jurian. But where should she start looking? The camp is so big, and she has no idea where he might be.

After a moment of hesitation, she starts walking in the direction where the last of the fights are currently dying down. Amarantha would have been with Jurian when the camp was attacked, and she would have ordered her soldiers to rally around her, so by that logic, Miryam will find Jurian where the fighting was the thickest.

She starts walking, ignoring the Illyrian soldiers who jump aside in their haste to stay away from her. As she walks, she looks around, searching for hints for where Jurian might be, but the battle that just ended reduced the camp to a wasteland. Between the corpses, burnt-out wagons and camps, there is no way for her to tell where Amarantha might have been.

So she has to resort to old-fashioned searching. She peers into all tents that are still somewhat intact, occasionally pauses to inspect the corpses. But in the end, the first familiar face she finds doesn’t belong to Jurian. It takes Miryam a moment to recognize the Illyrian who is tied up between two trees, wooden stakes driven through his wings.

“Rhys,” she says, dropping to her knees in front of him.

His face is bloody and he is lying limply on the ground. The after-effects of a beating, as far as Miryam can tell, although he doesn’t seem to be too seriously injured. The worst are the ash spikes in his wings, but from Miryam’s (admittedly limited) knowledge about wings, the injuries should be healable.

“Miryam.” He lifts his head ever so slightly. “You…” He coughs and stops speaking.

Inside of Miryam, the part of her that feels guilty for Rhys’s capture and wants to help him fights a ferocious but brief battle with the part that is annoyed at the delay and wants nothing more than to keep looking for Jurian. The part that cares about Jurian wins.

“Do you know where Jurian is?” She asks. She realizes that this is rather cold, but it’s not like Rhys appears to be in immediate danger. He doesn’t need her, unlike Jurian, who might be dying for all she knows.

Rhys lifts a shaky hand and points behind Miryam.

She jumps to her feet. “Thank you.”

She almost runs off without another word – it’s what everything in her wants her to – but she can’t just leave Rhys here like this. After all, he did get captured because of her. She turns to her guards, suddenly glad that they are here.

“I want two of you to stay with him,” she says. “Get him to a healer as quickly as possible, and make sure he is taken care of.”

Her guards look inclined to object, likely because this order goes against whatever Sinna ordered them to do, but Miryam doesn’t give them the chance. Without waiting for a confirmation, she spins around and sets off.

Now, she does run, appearances be damned. Around her, Illyrian soldiers move out of the way, making signs to ward off evil as she runs past. Miryam ignores them all and wildly looks around the chaos for Jurian. But between the burning tents, upturned wagons and corpses, she can’t find him in spite of Rhysand’s vague directions.

Miryam stops. She looks around, then turns to the nearest soldier whose two siphons hint at him being some kind of commander. He flinches back from her and lifts his hands as if to ward her off.

“Where’s General Jurian?”

The man takes a step back. “Witch,” he hisses.

“Yes, that’s what I am,” Miryam says. “And I am not having the best day right now, so in your place, I would think long and hard about whether you want to make me repeat my question.”

The Illyrian merely scowls at her, but the soldier standing to his right inclines his head to her. “I think they brought his corpse to the tent over there.”

He points and says something else, but Miryam doesn’t hear him over the static in her ears. Her chest suddenly feels impossibly tight and the world seems to sway under her.

Somehow, her feet begin moving. Stiffly, Miryam walks towards the tent he pointed her towards. There is a guard standing at the entrance, but he takes one look at her before jumping aside to make space for her.

“Wait outside, please,” Miryam says to her guards.

She pushes open the tent’s entrance and steps inside. It is dark in the tent, the only light coming from the slit of the entrance, and it takes Miryam’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, the figure lying on the body comes into focus. Miryam steps forward, nearly stumbling over her feet.

The body lying on the ground before her is mutilated far beyond recognition. The face is a bloody mess, as is what is visible of the body. From what Miryam can tell, an eye is missing, as are several fingers.

This isn’t Jurian, she thinks numbly. It looks nothing like him. This is just… it’s just a broken, lifeless thing. Miryam cannot imagine Jurian any other way than alive. He has to be alive, this has to be a mistake. And yet, Miryam cannot deny what is right in front of her.

He is dead. Jurian is dead.

Miryam’s knees give out from under her and she drops to the ground next to his corpse.

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

#i know I said this chapter would be up more quickly and then it was Not #sorry about that #i ended up being a bit more busy than I had anticipated and didn't get around to finishing is sooner #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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the-moon-prince · 3 years

Text

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter V

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

This chapter contains a mention of sexual abuse. I understand how hurtful this topic may be to a lot of people (me included). Likewise, I'll mark it at the start and the end, so you don't have to read it if you prefer. I made sure for people to be able to read the chapter without reading forcefully that part. I added this as a form of venting. I feel like it's an avoided topic, and it's my form to show support to other trauma survivors. This was made with the only intention to comfort. If something is bad written or harmful, please tell me. I also ask for your understanding if you plan on commenting, thank you very much!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV ) (Chapter VI coming soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 888

TW: Mentions of sexual abuse / Mentions of abuse ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) appeared more comfortable around Kurapika. Occasionally letting their ears escape while staying in the privacy of their houses.

But there was still something mysterious about (Y/n). Some of what they didn't say. Kurapika was filled with doubts and fears because of that. He pondered scenarios, each one worse than the other. Are they lying to me? Maybe they're in some kind of danger or distress. Creating a vicious and unhealthy cycle in Kurapika's spirit.

The two were patient in the relationship, neither comprehending fully how to give or receive affection. But despite the time they had been together, (Y/n) seemed resistant to accept fondness. Particularly physical. They had never tried to hold hands. When Kurapika attempted it, they recoiled in alarm more than once. In the few hugs they had given each other, (Y/n) shivered. Loud noises made them shake and jump, and they hand a list of tics as sudden shaking chills or protectively shrugging shoulders. Kurapika could understand that, he had tics as well. But his partner seemed triggered by his touch. They continued to be protective of their eyes. It was normal they didn't meet his eyes often, however, they tried to hide her eyes whenever they looked more cat-like.

Suspicions of his beloved being at risk grew bigger. He didn't want to, he couldn't permit himself to lose someone else. What kind of cruel mockery of life would be that, when finally there was someone like him-Someone who understood and supported him-was erased from this plane. The idea that these funny tail and ears weren't going to survive grieved Kurapika. The plausibility of not seeing those (curly/wavy/messy/straight) (hair/color) strands nevermore haunted him. Undoubtedly, it didn't end there. Fury consumed him when he conceived the idea of someone injuring more further a being so humane, kind hearted, and compassionate as (Y/n). Hadn't both of them grieved enough? But what they were suffering, adding would be disastrous.

Yet, (Y/n) didn't utter a single word regarding the matter.

Kurapika entered a state of fright. At that limit, he needed at the very least to know what was going on. He showed up that night at (Y/n)'s residence, knowing that they had no guard at the hospital and that they would be there. He had a spare key and wasn't abnormal to simply arrive at the other's place. Either of them had the habit of picking phone calls or answering messages.

Except for the scene he arrived at was abnormal.

He saw (Y/n) from behind sitting on the floor, a thing they never did, and if anything was remarkable about them, it was how strict they were with their customs. They had their elbows leaning on the coffee table, looking down at something. They did not react upon his arrival. (Y/n) never missed a noise, even less the one of a door opening. Yet, they remain immobile as if the lives of the universe depended on them staying frozen in place. Kurapika approached them. To see that there was a call in progress on their phone resting upon the table. (Y/n) did not dare to see the phone directly. Their hands held their head by the forehead, their gaze hidden behind their (curls/waves/strands). Just as Kurapika opened his mouth to speak, a female voice came from the phone's speaker-"So you won't answer me?"-silence again-" My baby... I know you think I broke you..."-the voice was sweet and honeyed, full of compassion"-Who could that woman possibly be? Why did she address (Y/n) like that, what did she mean by "break". Kurapika craved to question (Y/N) what, for love for his clan, was happening. He was relucted from doing so, he could perhaps extract information from the person on the other end of the line, taking advantage of the fact that she believed that (Y/n) was alone.-"But that's not true! I didn't do anything, my love. You were born broken, your demoniac eyes are the proo-" (Y/n) abruptly cut the call before the sentence finished. They didn't turn to see Kurapika, despite knowing he was beside them.

Kurapika had his breakpoint. "What's happening (Y/n)?! Who was that?! You can't keep things as such from me?! Do you understand that?!"-he started to scold, raising his voice. His eyes would look scarlet if it weren't for the contacts he was wearing at the moment. Someone else knew about (Y/n) identity. Who can say such atrocities? On top, with such a sound and sweet voice, it was twisted. She was talking about their eyes. Did she want them? Was she behind (Y/n)'s eyes? All these questions flooded incessantly in Kurapika's mind. (Y/n) hid upthrusting their shoulders and covering their face with their hands, their whole figure was shaking. They drew their ears back and adhered the tail to their body, probably changed on instinctual reaction.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"-(Y/n) started to lament, voice quivering. Their breaths were heavy as if it were inhumanly tough to keep breathing. Whoever the other person was, were bad enough to provoke a position of panic on (Y/n). Kurapika knew that and seeing that getting angry only seemed to affect the feeble trembling figure in front of him, he decided to calm down. He was greatly concerned that someone he esteemed as highly as (Y/n) was in that position. It was not wise to let his humor aggravate things.

He lowered himself to their level and sat down next to them. He raised his hand to stroke their hair. As soon as the tips of his fingers touched the (curls/waves/bangs/strands) he heard a heavy "Don't!" and backed up his hand.-"It's alright. I'm not touching you. Still, I require you to explain to me what happens. Who was that woman?" Besides offering physical contact, Kurapika had no distinct idea how he could comfort (Y/n). He felt frustrated and powerless.

"My mum."-they whimpered, (Y/n) was distressed although not crying. Not a single tear came out during all that night. Kurapika no longer understood.

"Weren't your parents deceased?"- He felt that they had lied to him, and it sure bothered him that he kept that from him. But this was not the time to discuss that part.

"No, my family is dead..."-(Y/n) began to breathe more calmly. They readjusted, moving their hands away from their faces to hold their arms. "They did not raise me. My grandparents did. When my grandad got ill and died I left to study. They always lived far away." -(Y/n) didn't look at Kurapika at any time. They kept their gaze at a standstill. Nevertheless, he could notice that their pupils were very dilated, reminding him of the stare of a scared soaked cat.

"What did she mean by break you?"-he continued trying to maintain a moderate voice. He was somehow scared to hear the answer. It would hurt to know that someone hurt (Y/n).

"I wasn't the legal age. Someone had to take my guard when my grandfather died."-Their face stayed still in a sober expression.

"Did they hurt you?"- He felt progressively more scared and worse.

"It's not important. I don't believe it's something you desire to know." -Even with everything happening, (Y/n) refused to speak. How could they be so obstinate?

"(Y/n), this cannot continue. I require to know. You are not delusional, you know you have to tell me."-Kurapika got a heavy sigh.

"They never loved me, you know? I was never certain why. I tried my best. Maybe they were expecting a human... Maybe they blamed me for their separation...Perhaps they were disappointed to learn that I have a disability."- Kurapika didn't know that (Y/n) could have a difficulty, they never mentioned any medical condition. He would ask about that a little further. They were finally discussing if he interrupted now, possibly the opportunity will not present again.-"I spent most of my time in the university's boarding. Only I wasn't allowed to stay on vacation, so I would go home. Sometimes they put a muzzle on me so I wouldn't bite - although I never bit anyone. They put an electric collar on me once. I guess they were scared of me. "It's for your good because we love you, and you have to behave. Good kitties don't scratch and don't bite." my mother told me. They believed it to be true. They did many things to me under that pretext..."-They stopped there. Still having something to say, but not wanting to.

(WARNING: MENTION OF SEXUAL ABUSE AHEAD)

"Did they... something else to you?"-Kurapika asked again. At that point, he was not surprised (Y/n) never mentioned their parents and did not consider them family. His anger was replaced by compassion. Expecting the worst.

"Yes."- there was the resistance again.

"What did they do?"-(Y/n) made a little movement with their head still hesitant.

"My mother did. She told me she had to check I was okay. Because I was not like other children..."-They lowered their gaze. Kurapika felt a chill. Neither of them was foolish, they knew what was to come. (Y/n) shrugged even more and started to play with their (color) hair -"It happened more than once, I don't remember precisely how many, but more than once for sure. She ordered me to... take off my clothes and... to lay down. It was unpleasant. For a long... for a very long time, I... I denied it. I told myself that she was an adult... that she knew better. If I doubted a bit more... If I weren't so naive... I would have done things differently, you know?"

(END OF THE MENTION OF SEXUAL ABUSE)

Kurapika felt horrible. It felt awful seeing someone he loved so much like this, someone innocent who didn't deserve anything of what happened. For the first time, he didn't know what to say. He had no idea how to act. It was something he did not understand.-"And the rest of your family? You couldn't ask other Uniliums for help?" he probed, wanting to understand their circumstances.

"I tried. I ran away twice. They discovered me at the first try. Two adults facing a 9-year-old child. They clearly gave me the beating of my life.

The following was 4 years after, more prepared. When I returned to our community, I found out that they got butchered not long ago."-(Y/n) lamented. It was probably what ached most of all. That they got that tiny hope and comfort taken away. -"I'm convinced if they had known, they would have helped and appealed to my favor. I concentrated on my studies in the faith to forget. It was also my opening to escape. I like my career, you know? Although my father told me during the 10 years it lasted that it was disappointing and worthless."-they added with a trembling smile. Those were the two details that provided them any comfort.

"Why didn't you tell me any of that?"- Kurapika asked once more.

(Y/n) raised their shoulders.-"I don't know. I was scared and ashamed. I was afraid that you would hate me. Perhaps I imagined you would be disappointed in me."-They were conscious that it was not a rational fear. But it was stronger than them.

"How could I hate you? It wasn't your fault."-He comforted. Full of regret for what happened-"It was not your responsibility at any time."

"I know... Though, still, sometimes I wonder if it was. Even acknowledging that it is a lie." (Y/n) sniffled without shedding any tears.

"They won't do a single thing to you, ever again. I'm present now, and I'll make sure they don't put a finger on you. You are safe. Okay?"-The blonde man secured.

"Thank you."-They smiled again. Many would have said it was the same smile. But for Kurapika it was different. This time it was a touch more melancholic than usual, but there was a side of profuse relief. They relaxed and their ears were forward, symbolizing more relaxed humor.

"It's impressive you succeed the Hunter exam possessing a physical disability." It was Kurapika's crafty way of questioning the subject.

"It was quite difficult. I was born with a respiratory condition, so I cannot develop many physical abilities. I am not physically powerful and I have restricted time to run. I depend greatly on my ability Nen and my wits. However, I won't allow that to stop me. Nobody tells me what I am capable of or not."-(Y/n) bragged. They could be proud. Even with that disadvantage, they had come a long way. That night Kurapika was aware of how strong his companion was. It didn't seem like it, at no time did any of the people who saw (Y/n) imagine all this side of them. After so much, they stayed strong-minded and sweet. They were truly brave. They were both survivors after all. They had both succeeded to get so far despite all the grief. And they both held pride in that. For Kurapika, the fact that (Y/n) had a more sensitive and altruistic side did not make them weak. Of course, they were qualities disapproved among several Hunters.

However, no other hunter held him during his afflicted moments. He could be vulnerable with (Y/n), and he was safe with them.

"Can you remain with me tonight, please?"

Kurapika didn't expect that request.

It was the first time one of them stayed overnight in the other's place. They had stayed really late together, but they didn't stay until the next morning. Plus, knowing how reserved (Y/n) could sometimes be, he assumed they would favor time alone following such an intense experience. Nevertheless, there was something so personal and vulnerable about that request. Kurapika felt the immense desire to stay and protect them.

"Of course."-He couldn't help but use a soft tone.

During all that conversation (Y/n), although exhibited fear, did not manifest weakness at any time. They stayed dignified without losing control.

"Can we lay down, please? I feel a bit tired."-they called after a moment of silence. Their voice resonated dull and tired.

"We can do whatever you desire."- Kurapika smiled at them, his only preoccupation at that instant was to ensure the well-being of the person he treasured, and their head started to bob. (Y/n) slowly nodded and got up. They silently asked him to follow them and padded to their chamber.

It was the first time that Kurapika entered their bedroom as well. It was fairly more adorned. It had a relatively big bed, with light cloths and a fluffy (color) colored bedspread. Without neglecting its childish side, it was full of stuffed animals of all kinds, colors, and sizes. Several shelves were overflowing with books. Shelving with toys and cute figures, alongside a record player and a cloth case with music records was also in the room. Next to the bed was a stool with a lamp and a framed photo. The apartments had their private bathroom, on which (Y/n) entered. Kurapika sat on the bed- or in the space left without stuffed animals- and waited. No longer than 15 minutes should have passed before (Y/n) came out with slightly wet hair, and a matching (color) pajama shorts and shirt. Kurapika didn't identify the exact scent at the time, but they smelled good, familiar. (Y/n) took the stuffed animals and arranged them as best they could on an individual loveseat.

"I apologize for this disorder."-they pointed to the bathroom door.-"There is the other toilet, so you can use it whenever you desire. I have each item, please serve yourself."-They laid on the left side of the bed and rested their head on the puffy pillow.

Kurapika merely laid down next to them, not too close. He was uncertain if it was correct to hug them or stay near. (Y/n) arranged the beddings covering the two. They smelled identical at them.

"Kurapika..."-an reluctant voice called his name.

"Yes?"-It felt strange, being in that place that, until then, seemed confidential. But it wasn't unpleasant at all.

"May I hug you?"-The request was bashful and quiet.

He thought of just opening his arms but preferred to give a vocal response as well.-"Of course you may."

(Y/n) approached him steadily. They proceed to timidly embrace him, after their arms were wrapped around him, they snuggled their face on him.-"You're warm... I feel ... comfortable ... with you. Which is bizarre. I don't feel secure with anyone since I was 6 years old."

Kurapika held them protectively. He felt profoundly touched by that strangely honest statement. He attempted to affectionately stroke their (curls/waves/locks). They allowed it.-"I love you (Y/n)."-He couldn't think about anything else he wanted them to know.

"I adore you, Kurapika."

(Y/n) ultimately permitted themselves to be vulnerable with Kurapika too. It felt good. It was good for them to have someone so strong to have their backs and accompany them.

They could hold each other.

#hxh scenarios #kurapika x reader #kurapika kurta x reader #hxh x reader #hxh #kurapika hxh #kurapika kurta #hunter x hunter #kurapika #kurapika imagine

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puckinghell · 4 years

Note

Can you write something about Huggy comforting his gf after some mental problem?

Tw; anxiety. Don’t read if you’re sensitive to topics like this. I chose anxiety because its something I’ve struggled with. The way I describe it is purely my own experience and my own way of dealing with it: in no way am I claiming to be an expert, and everyone experiences anxiety differently. If you need help, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to, and there’s resources out there for you. You’re not alone.

—-

Anxiety is something you’ve dealt with your whole life, and although you’ve worked hard on getting it under control and have mostly succeeded at that, every now and then it rears its head again.

Often, you feel it coming. It’s like an electric current, humming under your skin. A thousand little needles in your veins. Like something heavy pressing on your chest.

You’re under a lot of stress. You knew you should’ve taken a sick day, got your head back in the right place, but everything was just so busy, and you thought you could make it to the weekend.

You barely even make it home from work.

The house is quiet, but there’s a rushing sound in your ears. Outside, it’s raining: the soft pitter patter of the rain hitting the window normally calms you down, but now it sounds too loud, echoing through the living room.

You sink down onto the floor, lay down on your back the way your therapist told you too. The cold, hard surface of the hardwood floor presses into your back, and it’s steadying, in a way.

You try to breathe. In. Out. It’s hard; the breaths are coming too shallow, too fast. Tears are pricking behind your eyes.

God, you wish Quinn was here. There’s something about his presence that radiates warmth and comfort to you, like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders, like a crackling fireplace.

But you’re also glad he’s not. You don’t like worrying him, not when he already has so much on his shoulders, and you know he hates seeing you like this. Know he’d drop everything, immediately, if you needed him.

You do need him. But needing him feels like a burden, right now, feels like an unfair pressure to put on him when he already has so many, and you don’t like staking a claim to his time and attention when there’s so many people trying to do that to him all the time.

You’re his girlfriend, yes. But Quinn isn’t just your boyfriend: he is so many things to so many people, and you can’t ask him to drop those things to be there for you.

So you close your eyes and let it wash over you, like a tsunami of anxiety, your heart hammering in your throat, cheeks becoming wet with tears. You can’t move, but it feels impossible to remain still. You can’t speak, but something inside of you is screaming.

You can’t breathe.

God, you can’t breathe.

Time goes fast, but stays still entirely. You have no idea how long you’ve been there, on the floor in your living room, when you hear a key in the lock.

All you know is that it’s dark outside, now, and you haven’t turned on the lights. It’s not raining anymore. A car passes outside the window.

“Y/N?” The voice is careful, tentative. The only person you want to see, and the last person you wanted to see you like this.

You have to speak; you have to say something because Quinn is gonna turn on the lights and see you lying on the floor and think the worst.

“I’m okay,” you manage to bring out. Your voice sounds far away to your own ears.

You’re not okay, but it’s better than before. If you focus, really hard, on expanding your chest, you can get air into your lungs. Your cheeks are still wet but the tears aren’t flowing so freely anymore.

Quinn curses. His sneakers tap against the floor as he walks closer. You hear rustling: his jacket being thrown over the chair, shows toed off and kicked aside.

“Oh babe,” he says, softly. Like he’s trying to appaise a wild animal.

The thing is. If there’s anyone who understands, who gets it, it’s Quinn. That’s why you didn’t want to add to the pressure he carries: you know how often he feels like he could crack under it.

The floor creaks when Quinn lays down, close enough that your shoulders are touching. You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling.

It’s white. There’s no shadows visible. The light is harsh.

“When did you get here?” Quinn asks. He knows better than to ask you how long you’ve been there, knows better than to ask questions you don’t know the answer to.

“Around 7,” you say. You force yourself to inhale again.

Quinn’s hand shuffles closer to yours, pinky finger hooks around yours. It’s a question; do you want his touch, or do you want space? He wouldn’t judge you for either answer, but suddenly you need to feel him, to make sure he’s there and he’s real and he’s not leaving.

You grab his hand like a life line and instantly, his entire body curls around yours. He holds you like an anchor, tethers you to the room you’re in, protects you against everything else.

Tears come again, but your breathing remains steady.

“Sorry,” you whisper, up to the ceiling. You don’t even know who you’re apologizing to: Quinn, for having to deal with this, the apartment, for having to hold you, yourself, for having to live through it.

“Don’t,” Quinn says, and his voice is a little rough. “Please don’t. It’s not your fault, okay?”

It’s not, you know it’s not, but it feels like it is.

“You don’t have to do this on your own,” he continues. His warm breath tickles the skin of your neck, where he’s pressed his nose. “I’m here for you. I wanna be here for you. You can call me.”

“But...” you start protesting, albeit weakly.

Quinn cuts you off, by raising onto his forearms and hovering over you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“No,” he says, gently. “You got through it alone this time, and I know you can. But you don’t have to. That’s the whole point of loving someone. I’m not letting you do all of this alone.”

There’s no judgment, only truth in his brown eyes, only stubbornness and love.

“Next time, call me.” It’s not a request.

You don’t say anything. You can’t make promises right now, not when you can’t even think straight. Quinn doesn’t seem to mind, simply sits up and helps you off the floor.

He hoards you towards the bedroom, where you let yourself drop on the bed. You’re not hungry, just so, so tired, the kinda bone deep exhaustion that comes only with your brain working in overdrive like it has been.

Quinn takes off your shoes, then gently coaxes off your jeans. It’s not in a sexual way that his hands trail down your thighs, but it lights something warm in you nonetheless.

You put on the shirt Quinn throws your way - one of his, because he knows you like the smell and how big it is - and crawl under the blankets.

Then, you notice Quinn is pulling off his hoodie.

“You don’t have to go to sleep with me,” you say, feeling a little guilty. “It’s only 9pm and I know you and Jack usually play COD on Thursdays and...”

“Maybe I missed you.” Quinn’s smile is lopsided and you know he does it on purpose; he knows the only way you’ll let him stay with you is if he acts like it’s for him, as much as it is for you.

You let him manipulate your mind into not feeling guilty about it when he slides behind you under the duvet, pulling his chest flat against back, hand settling on your stomach.

“Tomorrow,” he says softly, “we’re not doing anything. I’m tired, you’re stressed. We need a day of just us, Netflix and takeout, okay?”

A million things currently written on your to do list flash through your brain.

Quinn presses his lips to the back of your neck, his kiss featherlight. “Please,” he mumbles, and your brain goes a lovely shade of blank.

“Okay.” You bite your lip. It feels like asking too much of him, still, but you know he loves you, know he doesn’t mind reminding you, really. “Quinn?”

The reply is a soft hum, like he’s half asleep, but you know he’s not: his body tenses ever so slightly, behind you.

You just need to hear him say it.

“You don’t mind staying here?”

Your voice is strangely small, but Quinn’s voice is certain when he answers.

“I love staying here, because I love you.”

It helps. The words settle something in your stomach, and it’s like your lungs open a little bit more.

“I love you more than anything,” he repeats, and finally, your heartbeat slows down.

And, as your eyes are falling shut and you can feel Quinn’s breath evening out behind you, as well, you think maybe this is what love is all about, anyway.

#tw: anxiety #quinn hughes blurb #regular blurb

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dramaticsnakes · 4 years

Note

“Please don’t walk out of that door.” With, you guessed it, anxceit

Thank you so much for sending a prompt Raf!

My mind couldn’t come up with a cool AU or something, like you’re so good at, right away with this one so it’s mostly based on canon, though Virgil and Janus are probably both a bit softer. I had fun with this and I hope it’s enjoyable!

Ship: Anxceit

Word count: 3486

TW: Cursing (this is me making up for not letting Virgil curse properly in my multichapter fic flkjaks). I am not sure if there is anything else I should tag. Please let me know if I missed something!

Summary: Janus and Virgil try to talk to each other with varying success.

Janus and Virgil were close. Very close in fact. Inseparable friends, in a way that was affectionate. Affectionate in an understood way. Neither were too keen on big speeches or meaningful declarations but it was clear to anyone from an outside perspective, that they mattered a great deal to one another. They communicated silently, with brief touches and knowledge no one else had. One always knew what the other wanted, and those silent displays, mattered a great deal to both of them, even if they didn’t always realize it.

In the evening, Janus and Virgil would often sit together and talk to one another, while Remus was off doing his own thing. It was then, that the most prominent signs of affection crawled to the surface, and then that Janus felt the most content. Sometimes, Janus found himself staring into Virgil’s eyes. He wasn’t ever quite certain why. They seemed to glow in the dim lighting,in a way that reminded Janus of a storm. Of course, Janus quickly shook the thoughts off. It was strange to consider someone else's eyes like that. Just because Virgil could hold Janus comfortingly just by sending him a glance, Janus shouldn’t let himself get distracted by that.

Janus remembered a day where he’d been on a rant about the government and society as a whole (it was an important topic) and Virgil had given him a gentle punch, which felt electrifying, like a lightning. Not the harmful kind, or at the very least not harmful in the same way. Virgil was electrifying in general. Janus realized it a long time ago, but he figured it didn’t earn him anything to say it out loud. Things were nice. Understood. Content. They all had each other, and Janus and Virgil were close.

That was until things started changing.

Janus didn’t mind change too much. He always considered himself adaptable. He was good at changing his shape. Good at pretending. Virgil was a different case. He wasn’t too keen on it, which was one of the reasons why it took so long for Janus to fathom everything that ended up happening. It shouldn’t have happened the way it did, Janus thought. If it happened differently, it would’ve been fine. Janus would’ve adapted just fine. Janus tried his best to believe that. He was good at telling lies, but wasn’t quite as good at believing them.

Janus never liked to call things ‘inevitable’. They shouldn’t be. With the right words, things could be prevented. Nothing was inevitable if you let yourself have a say in it. Which might’ve been another reason it pained Janus to think about all the ways he could’ve prevented it.

When Virgil returned after being summoned for the first time, perhaps Janus should’ve asked more questions, rather than thinking of ways to take advantage of the situation. When Virgil came back and was having second-thoughts about various things, perhaps Janus shouldn’t have lashed out in jealousy right away. When Virgil had been punching the wall with anger, perhaps Janus should’ve asked him what was wrong, rather than accepting it. Rather than letting him.

When Virgil had walked straight to his room after being summoned, and when Virgil refused to talk to Janus, perhaps Janus should’ve done so anyway. Or perhaps he should’ve waited and taken the next chance he had.

But with each moment Virgil spent up there, the more strained the moments with Janus became.

And when Virgil left, perhaps Janus’ first reaction shouldn’t have been to observe. To keep an eye on Virgil and his new ‘friends’. His first reaction shouldn’t have been to lie his way up there.

But what choice did he have?

Soon, tension hung in the air whenever Janus and Virgil were around each other. Leftover promises and signs of conversations they hadn’t had. Insults were sent in every direction, and it became clearer and clearer to Janus, that they were no longer close. Virgil had found a different place to be, a new life, and Janus wasn’t a part of it.

And that made him angry, and bitter and all the things that caused people not to think properly. All those stupid emotions that made Janus’ heart burn up and twist inside him.

“Things are going to be different now.” Patton had said, when he was talking to Janus after the hectic events of that day. The day Janus was almost but not quite accepted. For a moment, Janus allowed himself to believe that Patton was right. Even if it didn’t feel quite true.

As he was standing outside the door to Virgil’s room a couple of days later, he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore.

His interactions with Virgil had been brief and uncomfortable once Virgil learned what had happened. At first, Janus had seen something resembling anger on the other’s face. “You can’t be here.” he’d said, and Janus had simply looked down, resigned and unable to think of anything to say to that.

Later they’d been in the living room, by themselves, and neither of them had said a word to each other.

What had prompted Janus to go to Virgil’s room however, was when their arms had brushed against each other in the halls, and Janus suddenly realized just how unbearable it was not to address it. He needed to talk to Virgil. He was desperate for them to say something to each other. Even if it was just yelling and insults, Janus needed Virgil to say something directed at him again. Just to know exactly how fragile their connection had gotten.

Janus knocked on the door, but didn’t receive a response. He tried again. Nothing. Eventually, he decided to check if the door was locked in the first place. It turned out it wasn’t. When he opened it the air became dense and all-encompassing, as if it had a tight grip around Janus’ heart and throat. The very moment he saw Virgil, sitting on his bed with his headphones on, Janus suddenly felt like the one who couldn’t speak. As if someone was holding his own hands to his mouth and pushing some invisible force down to his vocal cords. As he watched Virgil, sitting there, Janus suddenly understood exactly what Virgil’s famous ‘fight or flight’ reflexes felt like. Virgil hadn’t seen him, and for a desperate moment, Janus almost didn’t want him to.

But Janus was a protector, not a coward. He recomposed himself, as he’d done so many times before. He attempted to put on a nonchalant express- no, he shouldn’t go for nonchalant should he? Virgil needed to see that Janus was there, and was ready for any genuine words Virgil might have for him. Any insults that Janus probably deserved. Janus wouldn’t deny that he’d done bad things in the past. Virgil had to know that. That was why they’d hardly spoken. That was why spite hung in the air whenever Janus showed up. Janus knew that.

“Virgil?” Janus said, but the voice came out choked and silent. It didn’t seem like a way to get Virgil’s attention as much as a desperate, wistful whisper, that wasn’t meant to be heard. Virgil didn’t react either. Maybe Janus should walk back out. He hadn’t been invited in. It was a bad idea. He didn’t want to disturb Virgil. He remembered when they were younger, and Virgil needed some time to himself in silence. It was why they’d gotten him the headphones in the first place.

Janus was about to close the door, when Virgil turned his head. Then time froze (figuratively, as Logan would’ve said). Virgil’s expression went from calm to surprised, then confused and uncertain. Janus’ heart started beating faster. Virgil removed the headphones from his ears quickly, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. “De- Janus.” he said, hastily. Janus realized that it was the first time Virgil had used Janus’ name for a long long time. The word felt like the sound of the vintage record in Janus’ room. Comforting and familiar, yet distant and a little worn. “What are you doing here?”

Janus tried to detect the spite in Virgil’s voice, but instead found something resembling fear. Concern? Janus didn’t like questioning how he read people. Reading people was one of his most useful skills. Maybe it was some sort of wishful thinking, but that couldn’t be right either. Some part of Janus, wanted there to be spite and tension in the air. Though perhaps, a much bigger, different part of Janus longed for something more comfortable. Wanted to get closer to Virgil and sit on his bed with him, while they talked about all sorts of things. How society could be improved, a novel, or one of Virgil’s emo bands. Janus missed seeing Virgil’s eyes lighting up, and it only became clearer each time he was in the same room as him. “I… I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk about what?” Virgil said somewhat darkly. It made Janus want to take a step back again.

“Oh, because there has been absolutely no tension between us since I came here.” Janus said. The sarcastic tone came out before he could stop it, and he almost felt like covering his own mouth, like he’d done with many others. Keep himself calm, collected but genuine. Why did it feel so difficult and sickening to be genuine? Virgil’s mouth became a thin line and he furrowed his eyebrows. “I apologize… That came out wrong…” Janus added, “My silver tongue seems to have a mind of its own at times.” he said in an attempt to relieve the tension a little.

Virgil scoffed. “You could’ve knocked.”

“I did.” Janus said.

“Oh.”

Virgil looked down and Janus followed his glance without realizing it. Say something say something say something… “I don’t mean to impose.” he said, feeling that the sentiment was a little too formal, but he wasn’t sure if putting it in any other way would be welcome either, “I just m- I’m just s-” Janus stopped himself, and caught Virgil giving him a glance as he did so. This wasn’t a good idea. Virgil wasn’t ready to talk about it. Virgil wanted him gone. It had been so clear from their previous interactions. The fact that Janus even considered that talking to him now of all times would be a good idea, especially when Virgil hadn’t even yelled at him or said anything yet, was stupid. Virgil wanted Janus to leave and Janus had overstayed his welcome the moment he opened the door.

“Janus…” Virgil said, and Janus flinched at the sound of his name, “What is it?”

“I…” Janus whispered. No, he definitely shouldn’t be here. Not yet. His gut twisted uncomfortably, and he felt like his heart was burning in more ways than one. He couldn’t speak like this. He barely knew what he wanted to explain. “I’ll go.” he said quickly, “I’ll leave you be. I shouldn’t have come.” he turned around abruptly. Virgil didn’t want him there, and no one could blame him. Janus hadn’t earned it y-

“Please don’t walk out of that door.” Janus heard Virgil’s voice say. It came out like a hiss, a yelp, but an uncharacteristically confident one. Desperate and self-assured all at the same time. When Janus turned his head again, he saw that Virgil was suddenly standing. Fists clenched, and eyes wide, as if he hadn’t quite realized what he’d said himself. “I mean, uh… fuck…” Virgil placed a hand on the side of his own face, with something resembling frustration.

Janus turned around and looked at Virgil, not entirely sure what he should anticipate.

Virgil fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. “Shit… You’re right, we uh… We should talk I…” he locked eyes with Janus and sent him a nervous smile of sorts, “Why don’t you uhm… Come over here?”

Janus saw Virgil nod towards his bed, and Janus could hear his own breathing loud and clear. Shaky and confused. Unfortunately vulnerable. No, that didn’t make sense. There was no way Virgil really wanted him to… “Are you certain?”

“Look, I’m not the liar here jus-” Virgil cut himself off, “Just uh… Just come on if you want to, I don’t bite.” he sat down on his bed.

“I beg to differ.” Janus half-whispered, with a wry smile.

“That was one time.” Virgil defended, and Janus caught a smile on the other’s face. It didn’t make the burning in his heart decrease at all, but it felt like the tension in the air settled a little. Janus hesitantly approached Virgil’s bed, feeling his body grow heavier with each step. Once Janus made it there, he sat down with his back straightened. He flattened the fabric on his clothes and placed his hands in his lap. Perhaps his quickly beating heart, was partially because of the effects Virgil’s room had on him. Janus stared at the far wall.

He felt Virgil glancing at him a few times, but other than that Virgil was sitting more or less in the same way. They sat there in silence for a few moments. Janus sighed. “I’m so-”

“I missed you.” Virgil interrupted hurriedly and it took Janus a second to realize exactly what he’d said. He gasped and tightened his muscles. There was a moment of silence after that. Virgil looked at Janus. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, uh… Was that weird? I’m sorry if that was-”

“What? No! I just didn’t expect you to… Well…”

“To miss you?”

“No, I mean…” Janus wasn’t sure what to say. He usually always had some way to get the conversation where he wanted it to, but he wasn’t entirely sure where he wanted it to go. He’d given Virgil the control the moment he’d stepped inside. The moment he’d decided to apologize. But Virgil wasn’t taking that control. Virgil had never quite been the type to do that.

“I… Look I know I didn’t communicate properly. I should’ve said something all those times before I… I left…”

“What are you talking about?” Janus asked confusedly. Desperately.

“I missed you. You should’ve… We should’ve… Look, I get if you’re angry at me for all those times I snapped at you, but I just-” Virgil kept talking and Janus wasn’t sure if it was entirely directed at him anymore.

“It’s okay.” Janus said, with something resembling a chuckle. Not because the situation was that funny, but because he didn’t quite know what to make of it. “I was the one who came here to apologize.”

“Huh?”

“Apologize? For all those things I did.” Janus clarified, “I didn’t talk to you properly when you needed it. You know how I am with all those… Thoughtful and genuine moments, they… Frankly they make me sick, but I acted out in the worst possible ways when you left. I used you, I used your… Your friends-”

“We weren’t listening…” Virgil added, and that made Janus inhale sharply.

“Maybe not, but I shouldn't have done that. None of you deserved that.” the words felt distantly true, “You have every right, to be mad at me Virgil. Sometimes my tongue gets the better of me… I say things before I can stop it, but that’s no excuse. I-” Janus stopped speaking when he felt Virgil’s shoulder brushing against his. It felt like electricity. An alluring and dangerous feeling.

When Virgil didn’t say something right away, Janus feared he’d said something wrong. That he’d been carried away in his thoughts and feelings and said something uncalled for. When Janus turned his head however, he noticed that Virgil was shaking a little. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

Janus paused. “I… I know…”

“You’re supposed to say it back.” Virgil said.

“What?”

“Say it back! Say I’m an idiot.” Virgil said, looking at Janus with almost pleading eyes. Janus looked into them a second too long.

“But you’re… You’re not-”

“For fucks sake, you and I both know its the case. If I call you and idiot, you call me an idiot. That’s how it goes.” Virgil said.

Janus’ eyes flicked to Virgil’s lips but he looked away again he second he realized that was the case. “You’re an… You’re an idiot?”

Virgil gave a sigh of relief, that made Janus furrow his eyebrows. “Thank you.” he locked eyes with Janus again, and as Janus finally looked at Virgil’s jaw and eyes up close and looked at the soft-looking brown hair falling down into the other’s eyes, he found himself silenced once again. “You’re petty as hell, and so am I.”

Janus chuckled, and noticed Virgil’s breath hitching slightly as he did so. Then Virgil chuckled as well, and Janus suddenly realized that it was the most beautiful sound he’d heard in years. Ugh. Such disgusting sincerity. How did anyone deal with that? “I suppose you’re right.” Janus said. He didn’t add anything else. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, which was an unfortunate thing to admit.

“I was scared when you came here you know.” Virgil said. Janus looked down. “I was scared, because… I don’t want you to… I don’t want to…” Virgil groaned, “I was scared to death, because you’re an idiot and so am I and I am honestly so sick of our bullshit.”

“You’re being awfully blunt today.” was all Janus could think of saying.

Virgil shrugged and sent Janus a smile. “It’s probably the company.”

“Why are you smiling so much?” Janus snapped, which made Virgil tense up for a moment. Janus closed his eyes. “No, no it wasn’t meant to come out like that.” he took a deep breath. There was an anxious feeling creeping up on him, and the room was probably starting to get the best of him. What exactly was it Virgil was trying to do? “You’re just being nice all of a sudden…”

“I called you a fucking idiot.” Virgil said, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean! We called each other idiots all the time before-”

Janus was cut off by his own hitching breath, when Virgil suddenly grasped Janus’ gloved hand. “I regret a lot of things.” Virgil said, quickly.

Janus could barely breathe. “So do I.”

“And we have a lot to talk about.” Virgil said.

“We do.” Janus said.

“But I really don’t like talking about things.” Virgil added.

Janus huffed, but didn’t say anything to that. They sat in silence for a while, still holding each other’s hand. When Janus’ heart skipped a beat, he suddenly found himself thinking, that now that Virgil had initiated touch, Janus wouldn’t be able to let go on his own accord again.

Virgil was the one who broke the silence. “They saw your hand… When you revealed your name.”

Janus nodded. “Yes.”

“Can I see it?” Virgil asked.

Janus swallowed something in his throat. “You already have.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Janus had revealed his hand as proof. Proof that sometimes, he could be trusted too. That he wasn’t on a different side than anyone else. He was on Thomas’ side. He was Thomas’ side. Perhaps now, the free hand could prove something too. Janus didn’t always like it when his hands were gloveless. The gloves kept him safe. Protected him. “Alright.” Janus said. Virgil gasped slightly at the response, as if he hadn’t entirely expected it. Janus took a deep breath and gradually removed the yellow glove from the hand he’d shown just a few days earlier. Virgil watched the act intently, and Janus felt slightly exposed. Even more so, when he could see his own skin. Virgil looked at the hand with a gaping mouth.

“It looks nice.” Virgil said, and if Janus didn’t know any better, he’d say Virgil was blushing.

Janus inhaled sharply. “Thank you.”

Janus almost couldn’t take it, when Virgil placed his hand on top of Janus’. It felt so natural. It wasn’t the first time the two had held hands, and Janus was overwhelmed with just how easy it was to do it again. “I was scared when you came here.” Virgil said, repeating the statement from earlier, “I was scared I wouldn’t be able to… uh… Fuck I lost track again.”

“Am I that distracting to you?” Janus said, jokingly.

Virgil took a deep breath and looked straight into Janus’ eyes, grasping Janus’ hand properly. Electrifying. Magnetic. Like a storm within Janus’ heart. “It’s stupid isn’t it?”

Janus tensed up, because Virgil’s response carried more meaning than the joke deserved. “Maybe so.” Janus said, “But as you said... We’re idiots.”

Virgil smiled. “We are.” he placed a hand under Janus’ eye, “We should get out of here before it gets worse. It took Janus a moment to remember the visible bags he probably had, after staying in the room for this long. He decided that he liked the sound of the ‘we’ Virgil spoke of.

“We should.”

#I wrote 90% of this today because I guess I just went into the zone all of a sudden #this also means I proofread it like once and went 'good enough'#dramaticwriting #sanders sides #janus sanders #virgil sanders #anxceit #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #prompt

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shizzlinghotbrason · 3 years

Text

ok so nearly everyone in the fandom is doing this and as sad as it is that we need to remind these simple things to people, I feel the need to talk about this too.

I won't make this too painfully long because I know y'all most likely already know this and I just wanna put out a basic list of shit you should always follow in the fandom. But for those who don't, a lot of fan content creators, be it artists or writers or just general fans trying to enjoy their time, have been leaving/quitting the fandom.

Why are they leaving, you ask? Toxicity. Toxicity nearly everywhere. People can't hold respectful debates or discourses on interesting topics regarding characters/the books/ships anymore without someone toxicly stating that only their opinion is correct, and going off on anyone who has different opinions carried with a lot of aggressive, rude and shallow behaviour. Fanartists have gotten death threats and are scared of drawing art for the Riordanverse without getting anxious af.

Now the thing is, having done those (eXcepT for the death threats) doesn't automatically make u an entirely shitty person. Maybe you made a mistake and came off as rude without rlly meaning to. That's okay. Here's how to identify if u ever did so, and to change that behaviour. Again, it's okay to make mistakes, but we rn as a fandom srsly need to try to turn things around.

Some basic shit you should remember being a part of the fandom:

• NO NSFW STUFF WITH MINORS!!! That means fanarts, fanfics etc. But here's the shocking thing- when someone does this, you can actually hold them accountable WITHOUT SENDING DEATH THREATS AND CROSSING THE BOUNDARIES! Cuz doing that only makes YOU stoop just as low. Pl e a s e remember that always and be respectful whatever you do.

• That being said, ppl are allowed to write nsfw stuff IF said characters are aged up, aka 18+. Ofc, it's a must that they put a content warning beforehand because many people may not want to read that. BUT, if you don't want to read it and if they've aged up the characters so nothing's morally wrong or gross, then please do NOT hate the author in the comments, do NOT report their post/account. Seriously dude, they gave warnings, if you don't want to read it just scroll past it's not that hard. Unless it's with minors, you shouldn't be reporting innocent ppl's accounts like that.

• one thing that I've seen a lack of in the fandom are trigger warnings. I've seen several fics whose covers are literally of blood. And entire chapters were written with intricate graphic descriptions yet with no trigger warnings or a tw wayyy down in the caption. you never know what may be triggering to someone if a lot of ppl see ur content but the least u can do is put trigger warnings on the most common stuff. I get that it may look aesthetically matching if it's a murder mystery sorta fic but isn't the well being of people more important?

• look I'm not saying you're not allowed to have opinions, but the problem is when you start treating your opinions like facts. I can't count the times I've seen someone state their opinion like it's facts and then trash on other's for having a different opinion. PEOPLE ARE ALLOWED TO HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS. Stop attacking people for liking Jason more than Percy or vice versa, there's no rule that you absolutely have to like one or the other, ppl can like who they want. When you're stating UR opinion, it would be nice if you used stuff like "I personally think that..." or "... that's just my opinion" because again, Ur opinion is just that, not a fact.

• if you can't have discourses or discussions about certain topics respectfully and nicely then don't have them. if someone's done nothing wrong but state their opinions and you don't like it, don't go attacking them. if you don't have anything good to say, shut up and just scroll past. it's not that hard. we don't need any more negativity in the fandom. If you feel like you're about to snap, mute or block the account you don't like and move on with life. But for the love of GOD don't go out of your way to be agresive or hateful to ppl. They have feelings too and run fan accounts for fun, not to get upset and hurt.

• when a fan account owner has made a post saying what they think of a certain topic, and you comment saying you think they're wrong and they reply that you didn't get the point of their post, then chances are you most probably actually did not understand what they were saying. when this happens, pls don't go on forcing ur opinion onto them as if you got what they meant when you didn't. Maybe next time when someone says you didn't get what they were saying, ask them nicely to explain it to you instead of going off like that?

• firstly, shame on you if you've ever run a hate account. just why? how much more negativity do you want to add? if you come across a hate account please please report it and block it and tell your friends to do the same. if you're targeted in a hate post, I'm so sorry, please know that they're shallow ppl just trying to make you feel shitty, you're dont have a trashy fan account; what they say is false and done purely to spite. report and block them.

• I know Rick has written a lot of racist bullcrap and hasn't batted an eye when we complained about them, but that still doesn't give you the right to send him death threats. Again, no death threats to anyone, yikes.

• don't use fanart that's racist. don't repost them either. Piper has feathers in it? don't repost it. also if you can't exactly and properly credit artists, don't repost their art saying "credits to the artist". I've done that before too but now I understand that's not right.

• also, while we're at it, can we all please universally agree on non-racist fanon stuff and get rid of racist canon stuff? like Piper and feathers, and piper & hazel with colourful and golden eyes, Piper's stupid not like other girls behaviour, and all the other bullshit Rick has put into the books. We as a fandom don't accept it and pretend they do not exist, no racism in this place 🥰‼️

• ppl are allowed to have their own headcannons, it doesn't matter what's cannon. Don't go "but in the books it's.." because in the books there's a lot of shit, and besides, if someone wants to headcannon Percy as brown? black? totally alright! they're allowed to do so! don't go bUt pErCy iSnT pOc iN tHe bOoKs. same goes with sexualities and etc headcannons. as long as they're not erasing the already representation of a minority, it's okay to have headcannons of your own. Like Hazel is canonically black and we should respect that and bring out the best of that, yk what I mean?

That's all I have to say for now. I'm usually a very light-hearted cursed meme account on here but things are getting out of hand. I was wanting to make my 8 yr old brother get into the Riordanverse fandom but seeing the situation of the fandom rn scares me. We need to think about the kids in the future who'll be in this fandom, whose lives will be changed and shaped by these books. Surely, the older people in the fandom before us would be utterly disappointed at what it's become and it's our job to constantly look out for the fandom.

If you're leaving/have left the fandom, I'm so sorry that it got to that point, but ur wellbeing comes first, do what you feel is necessary to feel better, all of us send lots of positive vibes towards your way! and to the peeps who've still decided to stay in the fandom and use their account to talk about this issue, I cannot express how thankful I am of you for doing such an important thing right now. And to everyone - as Harry Styles once said - treat people with kindness.

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hoodwinkd1 · 3 years

Text

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 4-7

Fic Summary: After Eris becomes High Lord, there's only one thing on his mind, now that his father is dead and he can finally leave his horrible façade behind. A slow burn romance featuring the misunderstood prince of flame and his mate, a powerful teacher who can't seem to step out of her small town life.

Chapters 1-3 here! Ch 8-10 here.

Some fuffiness, some angst, some drama, and a cliffhanger!

Chapter 4: the lingering question kept me up

"What was it like?"

The question sat between them, as tangible and heavy as a bottle of wine. A tense silence fell, after three hours of lighthearted conversation.

Rhia blushed, absolutely mortified that the question had slipped between her lips. "I'm so sorry, that was wildly intrusive of me. Pretend I didn't say anything."

They had been trading stories like playing cards when Eris had mentioned Beron, briefly and without emotion. And yet Rhia could hardly stop herself before blurting out that damned question. She silently berated herself. What kind of heartless bitch asks about patricide without prompting?

She watched him grin without humor, his eyes turning blank when they'd been alight before.

"I suppose that's quite a normal thing to wonder about," Eris replied, in a tone that sent a small shiver down Rhia's spine. "How does a person feel after murdering their father, after premeditating the act for decades."

"No, really, I'm horrible for asking," Rhia pleaded. "You shouldn't answer that, especially not for someone you barely know." Anything to get that cold stare off his face. She took a sip of wine.

Eris seemed to catch himself, rubbing a hand over his face and also reaching for his drink. "I wish I could answer. I still don't know what I feel or how I should feel. If there's anyone I would wish to tell, it would be you."

Rhia let out a small sigh in relief that he wasn't about to storm out of her kitchen. "You don't have to feel a certain way. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to balance family and duty to the rest of the Autumn Court." Afraid of pushing too far, she hesitated a moment before adding: "Every citizen I know is grateful for what you did."

He laughed. "I doubt most Fae believe me to be any better than he was. Not after centuries by his side, doing basically nothing."

"Most Fae don't know what to think," she argued. "You were never overtly cruel or kind. Honestly, I'd thought you quite shy before...this."

"I've been cruel countless times, to countless people," Eris snapped. "Maybe not to Autumn Court citizens, but certainly to other High Lords and their close ones."

Rhia sat straighter, determined to get her point across clearly. "None of us have a clue about what happens between the nobility, especially not across Court borders. Forget their opinions and focus on what we think." He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn't finished. "I've already heard rumors about your changes in the capital and I think they'll go a very long way towards gaining favor."

She wasn't just saying that to make him feel better. Eris had restructured the tax system to account for old-money families hoarding obscene amounts of wealth, funneling most of that money to finishing repairs from the war. He'd also banned the practice of arranging marriages for children, mandating that both Fae consent after they'd passed the age of maturity.

"I shouldn't consider the opinions of other Courts?" he questioned, ignoring her other point. "Even your idol, Feyre Cursebreaker?"

Damn him. She'd made all of one comment about how incredible Feyre Archeron's feat against Amarantha was and Eris had labelled her a fanatic.

"What does she care about your leadership? Haven't we always allied with the Night Court?" Rhia had had enough of Eris' self-deprecation and obsession with what others thought.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable, moreso than she'd thought the topic warranted. "All of Rhysand's Inner Circle hate me, deservedly so. But you were asking about me murdering my father, apologies for getting off-topic."

Rhia gaped at him. "What could possibly be so uncomfortable to speak of that you'd rather discuss murdering your father?"

Eris looked down at the table. "Something for another time."

The tension was back.

"I keep asking horrible questions," Rhia said softly, attempting to catch his eye again. "You know you never have to answer me, right?"

Eris spun his glass around a few times. "I wish I wasn't afraid to tell you."

"There are things I'm afraid to tell you," Rhia blurted out. Truly, she had almost told him about that dreadful night several times now. Every time she tried to push the words out, her lungs seemed to stop working and her head seemed to start spinning. There was something incredibly terrifying about looking into someone's eyes and giving them the darkest part of herself. Even if it wasn't her fault, Rhia couldn't stop the rush of shame that overtook her whenever she thought about it.

"I meant it when I said I'd take any part of you, in any way." Eris straightened in his chair, meeting her eyes now that he felt the compulsion to comfort.

The Cauldron was either brilliant or damned for putting the two of them together. Two Fae incapable of holding normal conversations without trauma ruining an otherwise lovely evening.

"I've made things terribly awkward," Rhia scrambled for something to fill the silence. Eris smiled at her lame attempt.

"Truthfully, I thought this conversation would be much worse," he appeased. "No one's in tears or injured, so let's count 'awkward' as a win. Tell me more about your students."

And so the conversation and evening continued to be lovely.

They met four more times over the next four weeks. Each time, Eris got a bit closer to naming his emotions about becoming High Lord and Rhia got a bit closer to attempting physical contact. Not that the other ever picked up on it.

A particularly hostile thunderstorm and cold autumn wind hit the town that night. Rhia couldn't wait for Eris to arrive, mostly because his ability to heat a room far surpassed hers. She cleaned the studio after her last class, worrying about which families had firewood and whether anyone face the storm unprepared. The door slammed, jerking her back to her body.

"Sorry to startle you," Eris apologized, snapping his fingers to dry out his clothing. He continued to enter through the door after the first night, refusing to break her wards even if he was fully capable of putting them back in place. He frowned, noting the chill in the room, and sent a warm breeze through the house.

Rhia smiled. She loved watching the flames in the fireplace jump in his presence, like a puppy excited to see its owner.

"How are you?" A loaded question, if he chose to answer truthfully.

"Much better now," Eris replied cheekily, winking at the flush that spread across her face. He never missed a chance to flirt with her and she never missed a chance to blush like a teenager. "I actually slept well last night, but my morning was immediately ruined by one of my brothers' return home."

Rhia didn't know much about the princes, but she doubted they had good intentions. "Which one? Not that I know any of them personally."

"Auster." Eris shrugged off his coat and started heating up the tea kettle. "He is...not the worst brother I have left."

"What a charming description." Rhia finished locking up the supply closet and started to join him in the kitchen, before a frantic knock at the door stopped her in her path. Eris whipped his head around and both of them sent a tendril of power to sense who it was.

"Oh fuck," Rhia swore, turning around to walk towards the door. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."

"Who is it?" Eris asked, his tone a bit panicked at her reaction.

Rhia shushed him. "Just--I don't know, just sit down and don't say anything." He did as she commanded, but continued sending her concerned looks.

The knocking kept up until Rhia swung open the door.

"Were you going to keep me out here all night?" Sofine demanded, shoving her way into the house. "It's pouring, in case you hadn't noticed."

Rhia tried to grab her best friend's arm before she made it too far into the room. "Sofi, hold on one second--"

But it was a second too late. Sofine had inhaled, recognizing the scent of another person, a male, in the house and froze.

"Who's here?" she asked, in a tone far too tense to be casual. Rhia grimaced. This was certainly not how she planned to make introductions.

"I, uh, you see, well a few weeks ago," she stammered, her brain refusing to produce an actual sentence. Eris chose that moment to speak up.

"Hello! You must be Sofine, I've heard so much about you." He walked towards the two females, his hand outstretched. "I'm Eris."

Rhia had never seen Sofine stop talking, but in this moment she was utterly speechless. She shook his hand, without saying a word, before spinning to face Rhia again.

"You have the High Lord in your kitchen."

"Oh, that reminds me I put the kettle on. Would you like some tea?" Eris asked.

Sofine shot Rhia one last glare, silently demanding a full explanation as soon as they were alone, before joining him in the kitchen. Oh shit. In all her worries and hopes about her burgeoning relationship with Eris, she hadn't even considered how he would fit in her life, or how she would fit in his. If that were even possible.

Chapter 5: these are the words I held back

TW: mentions of past sexual assault, nothing graphic. I put "XXX" at the start and end of it, please please skip it if that could possibly harm you. I will never, ever write anything graphic or specific about sexual assault, pinky promise.

Beron’s shot of flames slammed the side of his face before Eris could duck out of the way. Hissing in pain, Eris tried to ignore the feeling that half his face was now on fire. His father kept coming with the attacks, pushing him back until he could feel the stone of the bedroom’s wall on his back.

“I’m going to kill her next,” Beron taunted, slowing his attacks now that he saw his son fully cornered. “She’s given me nothing but useless heirs, disgusting upstarts who think they can overpower me.”

Eris tried to look around the room, but there were no other options. No final play, no additional power to grasp from. Why had he thought he could overpower his father?

He grasped at his wrist to find it empty. Where was the damn bracelet?

Eris stood alone and alone he would fail.

Beron continued to taunt him, sending flames to match each word. “I could always take another wife. Someone more beautiful. I’m utterly bored with your mother’s face.” The tyrant stepped even closer so Eris could see the utter hatred in his eyes. “Maybe even that pretty little mate of yours. What was her name again? Oh right.” Beron cackled as he prepared his final blow to murder his son. “Rhia.”

Eris woke up gasping for air, his father snarl still ringing in his ear. He ran a hand over his face. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead. The refrain calmed his breathing and slowed his heart rate, like it did every morning after nightmares haunted him every night. Neither tonics nor working himself to the bone had helped bring Eris a restful night of sleep.

Hearing his mate’s name in his father’s voice had been a particularly effective type of torture. Eris had done everything he could to avoid even thinking about her while his father was still alive, especially after that horrible incident with Lucien’s first love. Jessminda had done nothing except bring one of Beron’s sons happiness, and yet she paid the ultimate price.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

The rest of the day continued in a similarly joyful manner. One of Eris’ advisors, an ancient male named Julius, had attempted to undermine the latest efforts to modernize the royal court by poisoning the newest Minister of Finance for daring to be a female. Leanna had recovered quickly, given Julius’ ineptitude at everything except for being a misogynist, but Eris still had to handle his punishment. He then missed lunchtime because one of his spies had to give him an update on Auster’s movements, which still did not reveal the prince’s intentions or goals. Finally, Gerwin absolutely demolished him in the afternoon training session, shoving him into a weapons rack and giving him a lovely bruise on his forehead. The headache that manifested during dinner felt like a fitting way to end the day.

“Are you even listening?” his mother admonished, though her smirk suggested she was anything but annoyed. “I would rather not repeat myself for a third time.”

Eris put down his wine glass, feeling as though alcohol would only make the day worse. “Sorry. Horrid day. What were you saying?”

The Lady of the Autumn Court placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Dare I hope that the cause for your distraction is a happy one?” At his hesitation to respond, she added: “I know the walls have ears and you keep your secrets close. But come to me when you’re ready. I hate seeing you handle so much on your own.”

“I have happy reasons to be distracted, but no, today I’m simply tired,” he replied, turning his palm face up to grab her hand. “I wish I could say more and I hope I’ll be able to soon.”

His mother smiled, appeased for the moment. Eris wanted to tell her more than anything, let her know that he was happy and in love. Shit. He was in love. The thought made him cringe, because surely no undamaged person fell in love so quickly and easily. Surely only someone deprived of affection and wounded as he would consider 5 nights of conversation enough. No, Eris reasoned, he probably wasn’t in love, but the horridness of the day and the bitter taste of his nightmare had twisted his mind into thinking so.

He couldn’t tell his mother because he would not subject her to his heartbreak if Rhia decided she only ever wanted his friendship or no longer wanted him at all. She already had to watch Lucien, the true joy of her life, suffer without a true home and without love from his mate for so many years. Eris would not add to her burden, even as merely her second-favorite child.

“Go to bed early tonight,” she declared, giving him a look that made him feel like a child again. “I’ll oversee Julius’ imprisonment tonight and send word if anything goes astray.”

Eris nodded and kissed her on the head as he stood to head to his bedroom. If nothing else, murdering his father had been worth it just for his mother to live freely. If she was capable of finding her freedom once again.

Luckily, one tiny thing went right for the High Lord of the Autumn Court that awful day. The glowing piece of parchment in his top dresser drawer might as well have been a star coming down from the night sky, shining bright enough to scare away the dark. Rhia had written to him.

I’m glad you didn’t think it was terribly awkward two nights ago. Sofine can be quite abrasive, but I think she may have liked you. She worries about me, you see, even if she can’t argue with the High Lord. I’m very glad you met her though. I have a silly thought for you when you reply.

Eris couldn’t remember a single thing on his to-do list. The only possible thing he had to do was reply and reply quickly.

Let her know she is allowed to argue with me any time. I’ll probably regret saying that. My day was absolutely horrible and your silly thought is the only thing that might bring me joy again. Please share before I perish from curiosity.

She took a few minutes, either caught up in cleaning her house or making him wait on purpose. Masochistically, he hoped it was the latter and she enjoyed playing games with him.

If you mock me for this, I will, well I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pleasant.

After you both left, I thought about how I might never have had the courage to introduce you or include you in my life. But then, I thought about how relieving it was that Sofine knew about you. Because that makes it real. I can’t back out now and I don’t want to.

No one was watching, so Eris could deny that a few tears pricked the corners of his eyes when he read that. Yes, Rhia was often withdrawn and overly cautious with him, but she was still moving forward. The two of them were still progressing into something, something more beautiful than anything Eris had ever experienced before.

That’s not silly. That’s a wonderful thought that I enjoyed immensely. Can I share a silly thought with you now?

Please. If only to make me feel less alone in my mortification.

You’re so easily mortified. Have you considered that I’m much more desperate and embarrassing than you are? Here’s my thought:

He hesitated, wanting to write so many things. He could write three dangerous words, but knew it was much too soon. He could ask her for permission to tell his mother, but knew that might bring more danger and scrutiny than could be prevented. He could even tell her about the worst mistake of his life and pray to the Mother that she wouldn’t see him like Mor did. Instead, he added:

I think once a week is ridiculous. I think about you too often to only hear your voice once a week. How would you feel about twice a week? If we’re feeling reckless, three times?

Infatuated, but not damaging enough to push her away.

I’m amazed this Court continues to run if you truly are thinking of me so often. If it will help the High Lord function, two-three times a week is acceptable to me. (more than acceptable). When should we start this crazy, reckless plan?

Not to upgrade the recklessness to outright foolhardiness, but tomorrow night? Unless your social calendar is full.

You know I have one friend, don’t be rude. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Bring food and wine.

She always did love trying the foregin cuisines he brought from the capital, offerings that weren’t available in more rural areas. Eris enjoyed nothing more than watching her try a new food cautiously before digging into it enthusiastically. Rhia’s face had seemed unreadable when he first met her, but he had begun to understand her expressions the way some scholars learned new languages. Food certainly helped soften their relationship, as indicated by the way her eyes narrowed when she saw something interesting and her lips quirked upward when she discovered a new favorite flavor.

Eris frowned as a realization swept over him. He was thinking about her lips, yes, but not at all in a sexual manner. This fact alone was not troubling; Eris only felt sexual attraction rarely and towards Fae he had some sort of prior connection with. However, Rhia was his mate and he thought he could be in love with her; desire surely should follow. Yet it felt as though some boundary stood between them and intimacy, as though sex was not even on the table at this moment. Too exhausted to unpack that strange feeling, Eris decided not to question the best thing in his life. Sexual desire would come or it wouldn’t.

----

Rhia had another bad night. One step forward, two steps back, her thoughts ran like an angry river towards an endless sea. She could feel the Mother laughing at her predicament.

XXX

As Rhia started trusting and liking Eris more, she thought about them as a couple. Every time she thought about them as a couple, a cold wave of terror rushed over her at the thought of being intimate with him. Eris could overwhelm her without a second thought, his power ten times her own. Even with Rhia’s strongest gusts of wind or quickest winnows, she would not escape him.

He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. Her constant refrain did nothing to quell the anxiety that followed any time she thought about sex. The logical side of her brain screamed and yelled that he had not even touched her yet, had observed every boundary she set, had made no move to pressure her forward. Unfortunately, logic did not win out against trauma.

Rhia gripped her bathroom sink, staring at herself in the mirror like she always did when her thoughts grew too loud. Looking into her own eyes and seeing that she’d survived that night, survived her fucking rapist, slowed her heart rate back to normal.

Cauldron, this stupid problem only existed because she wanted him. Rhia had wanted him the moment she laid eyes on him. She thought about kissing him every time he stepped through her doorway. But males never stopped at kissing and Eris might walk away if he understood how truly fucked up she was.

You’re not the first female to ever get attacked. Pull yourself together. Rhia screamed at herself until her inner voice was hoarse. Do you know how much worse others have it? Can you even imagine what his own mother went through for centuries?

A voice that sounded eerily like Sofine’s challenged her back. Just because others have it worse does not lessen your burden or your worth.

Rhia breathed in, then out. In, then out. She would hopefully be able to fall asleep soon, this panic attack lasting less time than last week’s.

XXX

Exhaustion finally came, crashing over her as she finally felt her body relax. Rhia gave herself one last, long look in the mirror before coming to a decision.

She would not let herself ruin this relationship before it even had a chance to start. If it took jumping off a cliff and telling Eris about the worst night of her life, that was a small sacrifice to pay for potentially finding happiness. Smiling at that unusually optimistic perspective, Rhia washed her face and grabbed her silk bonnet, hoping that tonight’s dreams would carry her towards that mysterious, happy future.

Chapter 6: shifting eyes and vacany, vanished

TW: mentions of past sexual assault. same thing as last time, absolutely nothing graphic, will put an XXX before and after.

Eris had just grabbed his cloak, preparing to winnow to Malefic, when he heard a sharp knock at his door. He grimaced, imagining some sort of bureaucratic nonsense that could have undoubtedly been saved for tomorrow morning.

Instead he found Gerwin, nervously pacing the hall outside of the High Lord’s bedchambers. The weapons master rarely brought Eris news directly, and wouldn’t disturb him at night unless it was absolutely urgent.

“Come in.” Eris stepped back into the sitting area, tossing his cloak on the back of the nearest chair. “How long do you think this will take?” He’d rather send a quick note to Rhia then leave her waiting for hours.

Gerwin remained standing. “Not long, but I suspect you’ll want to take action after you hear this. One of your spies was found dead last night. We suspect Auster figured her out.”

“Who?” Eris mentally ran through the five Fae he had employed to look into his brother, shocked and hurt at the prospect of losing any of them.

“Mellie,” Gerwin responded, naming the air wraith who could walk as silently as the wind. Eris could only imagine how his brother had caught her and what detestable things he had done before killing her. “Jyn found her body an hour ago and we’ve covered the area up so none of the other staff will find out. How would you like to proceed?”

I’ll be a bit late tonight. Would you rather reschedule?

No, I want to talk to you and I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve. Come when you can.

That message from Rhia certainly didn’t calm Eris’ anxiety.

The two males debated and strategized over the next hour, going back and forth on how to manage the prince. Since he surely left no evidence behind, Eris couldn’t arrest or prosecute his brother without possibly inflaming any support Auster had. They didn’t want to send any more of the spy cohort after him, since he’d proved tragically capable at sniffing them out. Unfortunately, the best move at the moment was to wait for Auster to make another move or present his purpose. Eris strengthened the wards around the palace, including extra alarms for anyone entering or leaving Auster’s chambers. It was an infuriatingly small response to Mellie’s death.

Eris had one person he considered asking for help, but she wasn’t in the Autumn Court and he didn’t like the idea of his familial problems becoming gossip across Prythian. Another thing I should probably discuss with Rhia , he mused, as he finally gathered his cloak and set off for her house.

Eris winnowed and raised his fist to knock, but Rhia flung the door open before he had a chance.

“Hi.” She sounded almost out of breath, but looked stunning as always. Her dark curls were pulled back into a low ponytail, with several strands escaping in the front. Eris could have looked at her face forever, her smile illuminated by the lantern above her door.

He stepped inside after her. “I’m sorry for the delay. Sometimes I actually have to do work as High Lord, contrary to popular opinion.” The joke fell flat, his anger at Mellie’s death darkening his tone.

Rhia placed the tea kettle and two mugs on the table, gesturing for him to sit. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Eris grabbed one and poured some of the tea, smelling cinnamon and honey. “I believe you had something you wanted to talk about first. I’ll tell you after; I don’t want to ruin the evening too quickly with my melancholy”

Rhia laughed. Eris frowned, his remark hadn’t been humorous.

---

Rhia laughed. She couldn’t help it. Eris had said didn’t want to ruin the evening, as if he imagined she had something funny, endearing, or whimsical to share. He shot her a confused frown, which only made her laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she giggled, pouring herself a cup of tea and attempting to find her composure. “This isn’t funny at all.”

“I would never deny you an opportunity to laugh,” he replied, smiling a bit at her oddity. “But would you mind letting me in on the joke?”

She took a deep breath and a sip of tea, forcing herself to calm down. She often laughed when nervous and she hadn’t realized how nervous she truly was until this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Rhia said one more time. “It’s just, you said you didn’t want to ruin the evening with your news, but I’m afraid my topic of conversation is quite unfortunate. Also, I laugh when I’m nervous,” she finished lamely, looking down at her mug instead of his face.

“There’s nothing you could tell me that I wouldn’t want to hear,” Eris encouraged.

She only wished encouragement was enough.

Rhia took another breath. “I don’t quite know where to begin. I guess, well, I’m sure you had some sort of expectations for your future wife.”

Eris interrupted. “I told you, I don’t have any expectations for you. I just--”

She placed one of her hands on his instinctively. “Please, don’t interrupt me. I know you have no expectations for me and I appreciate that so, so much.” She tried to continue, but her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. He had gone completely still.

This was the first time they had touched. Their eyes locked.

Rhia couldn’t help herself. She let out another giggle. Eris grinned at the sound of her laughter and at the absurdity of the situation.

“We’re quite useless, aren’t we?” She looked down at her hand on his again. “Two Fae over a century old who can barely hold hands.”

Eris flipped his hand so his palm touched hers. “I’ve told you time and time again the effect you have on me.” His fingers ever so slowly interlocked with hers. “We’re either extremely touch-starved or incredibly pathetic.”

Somehow, the small action of holding hands spurred Rhia to continue. She felt grounded and calm, trusted and trusting.

“I knew you were pathetic, but I had no idea I was also so wretched,” Rhia replied. “This sort of adds to my point.”

She allowed herself one more breath before continuing.

“I’m aware you have no expectations for me, but we both know what a mating bond or a marriage usually entails. I want to tell you this because it affects both of us, our relationship. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have an intimate relationship with you.”

Eris, to his credit, stayed silent. Rhia didn’t sense any shock or strong emotions coming off of him, so she took that as a sign to keep going.

XXX

“Halfway through Amarantha’s rule, while myself and a few others were warding Malefic off from the outside world, a group of males somehow broke in. Everyone else was left unharmed, except for me. My power was depleted from maintaining the constant security, and one of the males had enough magic to keep me still.”

Her story was definitely not clear or easy to follow. Rhia couldn’t find the energy to make it make sense.

“And, well, that’s that. I’m...well I’m improved. I thought I was back to normal. I usually don’t have a problem with intimacy and I’ve had plenty of sex since then.” She glanced up. “Sorry, is that too much information?”

Eris cleared his throat. “Rhia, if you think that your sex life is at all one of my concerns with this conversation…”

“Right, the trauma is probably more important.” She realized she was still gripping his hand and loosened her fingers a bit. His fingers opened, as if to give her the space to back away. She didn’t take it.

“If I have my full strength and I know the male isn’t powerful, it’s really not a problem.” She looked up at him. “So it’s really fucked up that the only person I can think about now is the most powerful male in the damn Court.”

XXX

His face was still frustratingly unreadable.

A wave of anxiety hit Rhia. “You can talk now.”

“I love you.” Eris swore under his breath. “Fuck, that’s really not how I wanted it to come out. I know it doesn’t fix anything and I know I can’t fix anything, but I am just so incredibly honored you chose to share this with me. And it doesn’t change a damn thing about wanting to be with you however you want me.”

Rhia breathed in his confession like a drug. Love won’t fix trauma and a romantic partner won’t fix a broken person. But it felt undeniably good to have someone there, someone who wouldn’t look at her differently or see her as less worthy.

“That wasn’t a good response,” Eris continued. “Let me try again. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I am so sorry that happened to you. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Both responses were good, you idiot,” Rhia sniffed once, a little more emotional than she thought she would be. “Stop it or I’m going to cry.”

“If you cry, I might also cry,” Eris warned. “And then I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life for crying and taking the attention off of you.” He slowly placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed once. “We definitely do not have to continue this conversation now, but I would appreciate knowing how I can help you feel comfortable and safe.”

She didn’t reply, but gave him a weak smile in response. “Tell me about your thing now. I’m emotionally fried.”

“Are you sure?” When she nodded, Eris added: “I feel a bit silly now, complaining about my brother and his mysterious intentions.”

Rhia let go of his hand briefly, only to stand and walk over to the kitchen. “I’m sure it’s not some trivial matter if you were late tonight.” She grabbed a bottle of dark brown liquor from a cabinet above the sink. “And please, anything to change the subject.” She poured a splash of liquid into each of their teacups, causing Eris to grin.

“Nothing like alcohol to dull the ache of familial drama. I actually found out one of my spies died tonight, surely at Auster’s hand.” His expression quickly morphed from amused to solemn. “Mellie. She was absolutely brilliant and I wasted her life on pure suspicion. I should’ve investigated him myself from the beginning, instead of risking my employees for a personal cause.” Eris finished this thought with a few large sips.

Rhia also took a drink. “Is it truly a personal matter? If your brother is willing to kill someone, it sounds like he’s actually a risk to your entire court. And I’m very sorry to hear about Mellie.”

“Thank you,” he replied automatically. “That’s...I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right, murder wouldn’t be the typical response to finding a spy. I just wish I knew what he hoped to accomplish.”

“Tell me more about him and I’ll take a guess,” Rhia offered. “It’ll be poorly thought out, but another perspective can’t hurt.”

So Eris began to describe his younger brother. Auster had been a quiet child growing up, never as violent or hostile as the other Vanserra siblings. Youngest only to Lucien, Auster hadn’t even bullied his younger brother to the extent the middle brothers did. However, once they had all reached maturity and especially after the Jessminda incident, Eris suspected that Auster’s quiet demeanor had more to do with remaining unnoticed than introverted tendencies. After two of the brothers died and one escaped Beron at Tamlin’s hand, Eris had investigated the remaining three brothers to maintain his role as Heir. Morian and Dedus were idiots, all brute force and horrible manners. While those characteristics endeared them to Beron, the former High Lord kept the twins far away from the capital and wouldn’t risk giving them actual power. Auster, on the other hand, seemed to have half the staff on his payroll according to financial analyses.

Eris had his own casual spies in the palace and began a more formal cohort, led by Gerwin, at this point in time. Auster never seemed to take action, but Eris suspected he had a role in revealing secrets of multiple political rivals. Beron had also put him in charge of punishing any traitors accused of treason, allowing Auster to demonstrate his cruel tendencies.

Months before Eris had taken the throne, Auster had simply disappeared. Beron had never addressed his missing son and they received no news of his death. Eris had spent those months clearing the palace of anyone with ties to his brother and hired new staff completely loyal to him. Only weeks after Beron’s official funeral, Auster had returned and pledged his support to his older brother. He had spent the time since holed up in his room, without any obvious communication to the outside world.

“Sorry, that was a bit of a rant,” Eris finished. Both Fae had finished several cups of tea-and-liquor during his explanation, and Rhia could feel her cheeks heating up under the alcohol’s influence. But she attempted some logic and reasoning for Eris’ sake.

“He sounds horrible and manipulative. Just the kind of male to come back in the picture only when it suits him,” she theorized. “If he hasn’t spoken to anyone outside the palace, maybe he’s trying to get some of the staff under his control again. Or one of them is sneaking messages out for him.”

Eris nodded, eyes drifting off into the distance as he considered her words. “I’ve been lazy. I’ve put up wards, but that would only detect magic or Fae who don’t belong in the palace. He could have easily snuck out paper messages with one loyal servant.”

Rhia wanted to help out, she really did. But his fingers had been unconsciously playing with her, lightly skimming her wrist and forearm, as if they had a mind of their own while he spoke. Distracting, and devastatingly tender.

She stood suddenly, concerned about where her thoughts might take her. Eris’ gaze snapped back to her face.

“It’s late,” she offered as a clearly fake excuse for her behavior. “I feel terrible, keeping you up when you’ll have to deal with all this in the morning.” Not to mention, she had a group of children coming in for a class in less than six hours.

Eris stood as well, grabbing his cloak. He seemed so hesitant, so unwilling to leave, staring at her face as if to memorize it. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come back here for awhile.”

Rhia’s heart dropped to the ground. “What?” He saw the panic, noticed her heart rate elevate and immediately corrected.

“Not because of you! Not at all because of tonight. Tonight was everything to me,” he emphasized, holding out a hand between them. “Because of Auster. If I start seriously investigating him, I worry he’ll try to follow me. Or figure out my weaknesses. Rhia, I only introduced myself to you because I thought you’d be safe after I became High Lord. If my brother were to ever try to harm you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

She breathed a bit easier. “How long?”

“I’ll write to you. The paper is safe, enchanted for only our eyes.” Eris shook his head. “Hopefully a couple weeks? I wish it were simple, but Gerwin and I decided to wait for his next move. So it’s difficult to know.”

The idea of not seeing him for a couple weeks hurt. It hurt so much more than Rhia wanted to admit.

So she decided to be brave. She stepped close enough to him that she could feel his breath on her face. She grabbed each of his hands in her own and pulled them up to rest on his chest. For a moment, she swore their hearts beat in synchronization.

“I don’t think anyone would miss him if you had to kill him,” she said, her voice steadier than her thoughts. “Just handle him quickly.”

Eris laughed lightly. “I am very motivated, trust me.” He kissed her knuckles. “Good night.”

Eris gathered his cloak and winnowed back to his palace. As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he wondered how it would feel to fall asleep somewhere he felt safe, somewhere full of good memories, with someone who cared about him.

Funnily enough, Rhia fell asleep wondering the same thing.

Chapter 7: until I see you again

After five days of silence, Rhia was about ready to lose her mind. Eris hadn’t written or called her in any way, and there wasn’t even any new gossip about him from the capitol. Her mind wandered off at inopportune moments, imagining him dead by his brother’s hand or finally deeming her unworthy of him and moving on to someone else.

“RHIA!”

She jumped, startled at the high-pitched squeal that cut off her most recent vision of Auster chopping off Eris’ head. One of her students, Raquel, stood outside one of the studio windows, banging on the glass.

“Shit,” Rhia swore under her breath, glancing at the clock above the wall of mirrors. Her next lesson was starting now and she hadn’t set up anything.

She jostled over to the door and opened the door to see Raquel standing with two of their peers. This group was one of her favorites, three young Lesser Fae who manipulated nature and lived right at the edge of the forest. Raquel was the certified leader of the group and took that role seriously: they made sure Leyora and Aliar always arrived on time.

Rhia usually loved all the sass and attitude that came with this trio, but today she was close to strangling the little jerk.

“Come in, come in,” she said instead, herding the children into the room and helping them with their coats. “I must’ve forgotten to unlock the door. How’s everyone doing today?”

“We were having a good day until you left us in the cold for so long,” Raquel grumbled, their cheeks pink from the frosty air. “I screamed your name four times before you noticed me.”

Leyora nodded. “Raquel was very loud. You really should answer your door faster.” She looked extremely serious after the minor inconvenience, in the way only children can.

Rhia finished hanging the coats and walked over to her supply closet. “Well I am very sorry that I ruined your morning. Blow breezes at each other while I set up.”

As they sent blasts of air at each other, the children soon forgot their anger and quickly turned to laughter, describing their breakfasts and every little detail of the walk over. Rhia tried to be engaged and charming, like she usually was, but kept glancing at the empty piece of paper sitting on her counter, yearning for it to glow.

An hour later, and after several very close calls with fire and her curtains, Rhia stood staring at the paper again. She’d tried, she really had, to give Eris time to deal with his brother and let him write her first. The last thing she wanted was to distract him while he was potentially fighting for his throne. Well, he could always ignore her if he didn’t want to respond, so she might as well write something.

Just let me know you’re okay.

---

After five days of hunting, Eris was ready to lose his damn mind. He’d returned home to find the palace in complete chaos, with the staff fleeing and his mother missing. Gerwin gave him the quick update as he sprinted to her chambers, sure his brother was to blame.

“Thirty minutes ago, we found half your mother’s guard dead and her rooms empty. Whoever it was left the damn bodies in the kitchen , like a maniac, to scare everyone away and cause all this.” Gerwin gestured to the general panic and disarray. “We’ve already searched for your brother and he’s long gone. I don’t think he came anywhere near here”

Eris ignored him and burst through the door of the bedroom. Indeed, Auster’s scent was completely absent.

“We found a note and left it untouched for you,” Gerwin explained, pointing at a delicately embossed letter sitting on the coffee table

An oathbreaker is not fit to be High Lord. Relinquish your title before the week is up.

“Shit,” Eris swore. “This is bad.”

Gerwin glanced at the note again. “What does it mean?”

Eris scrambled for a plan, an idea, anything that would fix this mess. “It means the Court of Nightmares knows I broke the alliance.” He grabbed a piece of stationery off a random dresser, scrawling out a quick note. “Auster found himself an army of bastards, willing to help bring me down.”

I need your help. Come to the palace immediately.

With a flick of his fingers, Eris sent the message to the only person who might be able and willing to help him.

“The advisers are waiting,” Gerwin said hesitantly. “I know they won’t have anything useful to say, but I believe it best if you appease them tonight.”

“Fine,” Eris growled, in no mood to handle the overly emotional politicians.

As expected, he could hear the arguments and heated debates from down the hall. Entering the main conference room, Eris shot a wave of power across the room, silencing the chatter.

“My mother is missing. Don’t waste my time.” He glared directly at Moris, one of the ringleaders and most vocal on the council.

To his credit, Moris inclined his head in respect and kept his tone calm. “My Lord, I cannot imagine how stressful tonight is for you. We only wish to help you come up with a strategy.”

“The note is quite concerning,” added another male. “Could you elaborate on the meaning of ‘oathbreaker’?”

Eris let out a breath. “I don’t have time to explain everything to you all. Clearly, my brother had some hand in this, and I believe he had foreign aid.”

“That’s quite a claim,” Moris responded thoughtfully. “Without evidence, however, how can we take action?”

“ You won’t be taking any action.” Eris resisted the urge to snarl. “I don’t remember seeing any of you hunting down fugitives in the past few centuries.” Gerwin snorted behind him. “I’ll track down my brother and bring him back to stand trial.”

The room erupted into discussion. Beron would have never taken on such a task himself, leaving the throne empty and the palace unruled. Eris ignored every one of their complaints,

He couldn’t recruit anyone else from the Autumn Court for this task, or he would risk revealing the secret that threatened his legitimacy as High Lord.

“Well that could have gone better,” Gerwin remarked, following Eris away from the conference room. “At least you didn’t set anyone’s hair on fire.”

“I thought about it.” Eris stalked into his bedchambers, waving the door closed behind his weapons master.

Gerwin stiffened. “Eris, someone’s in here--”

Eris cut him off. “Hello, Carina.”

The infamous Heir to the Night Court stepped out from the shadows. Dark haired, dressed in all black, and heartbreakingly beautiful, Rhysand’s daughter winked at him.

“Already trouble in paradise?” she smirked.

Gerwin grabbed Eris’ arm. “This is your idea? Bringing in the Night Court again?”

Eris shook him off. “If Keir is involved in any capacity, then her family will need to know about it.” Gerwin opened his mouth to argue, but Eris continued. “Besides, she’s already helped me more than anyone can know.”

He looked at the female who might be his only other friend. They’d grown close after Eris had called in his deal with the Inner Circle, demanding they support him in overthrowing Beron. Carina had convinced them to take it one step further, providing magical bracelets that let two Fae share power, to ensure that Eris could actually defeat his father. She had lied to her parents and mate when she had actually worn the bracelet herself, letting Eris use her strength to kill Beron.

If anyone found out, the advisers could use the information to call for Eris’ resignation. The Court could likely agree with them.

“Can I see the note?” Carina asked. Eris handed it to her. After inspecting it for a moment, she gave it back. “It stinks of Keir’s right-hand male, Toren. I’ll have Azriel look into him.”

Eris sighed in relief. Finally, a small clue into his mother’s location. “Thank you. I already owe you so much--”

She waved his gratitude off. “It’s what friends are for. I do enjoy extravagantly expensive dresses, if you must know. What else can I do?”

“I can’t ask anything else of you,” Eris insisted. “Just--anything you find from the Hewn City.”

“Of course,” Carina smiled. “We’ll find her, I promise. Absolutely do not give up the throne.”

And so Eris had spent the next four days across the Autumn Court, running into dead ends and even a few traps. Gerwin returned to the palace after two days, promising to keep any nobles from attempting a coup.

Carina had sent a message, letting him know that Keir remained in the Night Court and no one had seen any sign of Auster. Azriel had assigned several Fae to watch everyone in the Court of Nightmares, and had begun sifting through all their communications. If they are working together, they’ll have to discuss at some point. Her words did not inspire much confidence.

The High Lord was exhausted. He missed Rhia every second of every day and wished he’d thought to grab their parchment before leaving. The logical side of his brain screamed at him to return home, get some rest, and request help from his spies. The guilt fueling him, however, demanded that he never put someone else in danger again, that he alone murder another family member to keep his Court safe.

Eris shook some leaves from his hair and splashed cold creek water onto his face in a lame attempt to wake himself up. He was outside a small town where Auster’s scent lingered, but found no actual trace of the murderous prick. There were no other trails, no further moves to make.

He closed his eyes for one moment, gathering his composure to winnow back to the palace as a failure. Eris woke up several minutes later to a sword at his throat.

“What in the name of the Mother are you doing?” Lucien demanded. “Falling asleep in the middle of a random forest like a vagabond? Our fucking mother is missing.”

Eris shoved the blade away and got to his feet. “I’m searching for our fuck of a brother, you bastard. And looking for her. Why are you here?” As the question slipped out of his mouth, he suddenly remembered that one of the only Fae Lucien still loved had been stolen in some twisted plot.

The younger Vanserra looked even more exhausted, if that were possible.

“Trying to find you.” Lucien tucked his sword away. “I was hoping you’d have tracked him down by now or have found some new information.”

“Nothing,” Eris groaned, running a hand over his face. “This was all a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have let Auster run me around the Court like a fool.”

Lucien snorted. “Your savior complex is going to kill you one day. I have news from the Night Court, if you’re awake enough to listen.”

Eris hated accepting help, especially from his youngest brother, but took the hand Lucien offered anyway. They took turns winnowing back to the palace, as Lucien gave him a summary of the last few days.

Keir had thrown a massive temper tantrum when members of the Inner Circle appeared in the Hewn City and demanded to search his palace. After failing to link him directly to uprisings in Illyria several months ago, Carina had done everything in her power to find evidence that Keir was working with Auster.

“She’s bitter,” Lucien noted. “They all are. This is the second time this year that Keir has attempted some sort of terrorism or treason.”

Eris ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m just grateful for their help, even if it has nothing to do with me. Did Carina find anything?” Only one more jump and Eris would be in his chambers again. He almost cried at the thought of a nap in an actual bed and a chance to contact Rhia after days of silence.

“Yes and no,” Lucien continued. “Azriel tracked down the messenger who connected Auster and Keir in the first place, confirming our worst fears, but no sign of Mother.” The male sighed, preparing to winnow them the final few miles home. “I’m concerned that there’s something else going on, some other plan that we aren’t seeing.”

“I agree,” Eris replied. “Auster’s trail was authentic; I knew for certain he had visited the places I tracked him. But I think he set it up weeks ago, before staying in the palace.”

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. He grabbed Eris’ arm and vanished them, landing directly in the High Lord’s chambers.

“Fuck,” Lucien swore, looking around the room. “I can’t believe you sleep in here. Lovely decorating, though.”

Eris couldn’t agree more. He hated living where Beron had abused and fought him. “I wish I had a choice. If I remained in my old rooms, the advisers would’ve pounced on my weakness.”

Gesturing to one of the large couches, Eris continued. “You’re welcome to stay, rest for a bit, if you don’t want to announce your presence to the entire Court.”

Lucien looked taken aback at the offer. “I--That would probably be smart, yes.”

Eris barely heard his agreement. Mumbling something about a bath, he stumbled into his bedroom, stripping off his disgusting jacket and pants. Cauldron, he was an idiot for letting Auster wear him down so thoroughly.

Eris sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the door of his bathing room, debating whether he shouldn’t skip the bath in favor of falling asleep immediately. Something glowed in the corner of his vision, dragging his gaze to the nightstand.

“Rhia,” he breathed, snatching up the parchment. He read the message, drinking in her words like a life-saving potion.

Just let me know you’re okay.

Magicking a pen, Eris scrawled back as quickly as he could.

I’m so sorry to have worried you. I’d like nothing more than to rush to your side and never leave again. Unfortunately, I do not have any good news. Lucien is with me now, and we’ll resume our search after I’ve rested. I’m back at the palace, so I can promise my safety for the time being.

When she did not respond instantly, Eris put down the pen and took off his undershirt. She would know he was alive and back home, without a reason to worry for at least the next few hours.

With that thought comforting him, he leaned back on the pillows. His eyes fluttered shut a moment before his head hit the soft fabric, meaning Eris did not watch the massive blade appear above him and stab him through the heart.

#eris vanserra #eris #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #acosf #autumn court

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